Having a Party

 

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”  Joshua 1:9 

I have a confession to make.  Thanksgiving morning dawned, and in the midst of so much to be grateful for, I was feeling deep in despair.  I remember my mom used to describe these moments as being down in the toolies (is this even a word?) or having "a pity party," and if I am full on confessing, I never really got it.  Most days dawn Pamtastic to me, and it's another opportunity to jump into the fray of life.  

Thanksgiving, after the turkey was eaten and the Zoom calls were over, I sank into the comforting confines of our ancient sectional sofa and hunkered in to watch our old home movies.  Just as I was about to wallow, it was then that I experienced a resurrection miracle.  I watched, I remembered and I prayed.  I laughed and I cried- sometimes both at the same time.  And as I did that, my attitude was transformed from one of grief to that of gratitude.  I recalled the Wolfgang Van Halen video, "Distance" and was inspired to try...In Thanksgiving

In the Dark

A few days ago, a wind storm blew into New England and immediately, I was transported back to my days of living in Nebraska and my Boy Scout training.  I mean, I knew it was a Monday, so I should have known better.  I should have been prepared, and I was anything but!

I actually knew that the power was out when I went to bed Sunday night.  I knew that I borrowed my husband's special "Goal Zero" battery operated torch to charge my cell phone, so when it was time to wake up and the lantern was dead, I knew I had to leap into action.  I used what little cell phone flashlight that remained to make my way to my car.  I plugged the depleted torch into the charger, punched the car into reverse and sped my way out of the church parking lot.  As I prepared to pull out on to Oenoke Ridge, I looked to my left and to my right, and I was surrounded on both sides by police blockades.  Trees were lying across the road in both directions.  The baffled police officer approached my car, and as I rolled down my window, she said, "Where did you come from?"  Hmmmmmm....  I didn't want to touch this one on a Monday morning, but I needed supplies and I needed them now.  Reluctantly, she removed the Crime Scene tape that sealed the area, and I eased my little Honda onto the sidewalk and down a side street I had never noticed before.  

Once around the corner, I could see the filling station and Dunkin' Donuts.  At the gas station, I fueled up the car and loaded bags of ice into the trunk.  Next, I walked into the Dunkin Donuts, ordered breakfast and coffees (large) for me and my sweetie.  As I was leaving, I called out to the DD barista, "Just so you know, the power is out."  I will never forget the look of terror in her eyes as she screamed into the back, "POWER'S OUT!"  Moments later, as I was backing away from the storefront, five cars were making their way down Elm Street and eased into the spaces out front.  I was exiting just in time.  

With the lantern fully charged now, I raced back to the parsonage.  I crisscrossed my way through the town, nodded at the patient officer who watched me drive by via the sidewalk again and arrived back at the house.  Immediately, I stuffed the bags of ice into the fridge/freezer and began to make a fire in the fireplace.  The glow of the roaring blaze warmed my fingers and toes.  In my mind, I was no longer in Connecticut;  I was transported back in time to all of those Boy Scout campfires in Nebraska.  There is something very primitive and satisfying about being out in the wilderness, whether it is in the Midwest or New Canaan, Connecticut, solving problems on the fly and lighting a fire in the darkness to light the way for others.  I snuck back into the bedroom and placed the lantern next to the bed.  When he awoke  for the day, it would be there at the ready.  Then I walked back out into the storm and headed to school.  

In Physical Therapy

       Life Lessons 

                                                                           

parksportpt.com

        The Physical Therapist holds my crooked and gnarled hand through the aperture beneath as she stares me down through the plexiglass that divides us.  She says, "I don't think that you are giving me your best effort."  

         Calmly, without blinking, I reply, "That really doesn't sound like me."  And just as I was about to congratulate myself on my pithy response, she retorted, "If you don't push past the fear and the pain, you will never heal."  

        Ouch.  

        

      

St. Vincent's Hospital

I remember when we lived in Nebraska. I would walk Princess Leia past the Sellon’s house each night, and Joedy would prophetically call out to me chuckling, “ Hey, who's walking whom?”  Fast forward to 2020.  Yes, our princess has always been a powerful walker, but when I stepped out onto the front porch on July 6th, the morning of my 55th birthday,  I'm not sure what happened. Was it a squirrel? Was it a chipmunk?  We just don't know. What I do know though, is that Princess Leia and her leash went in one direction, and alas, my finger went the opposite way.  There are many funny parts to this story like how the guys in the emergency room really liked the challenge of getting my wedding rings off of a swollen, broken finger.  Or how they thought it was a cussing contest when the colorful language kept erupting from my mouth during the previously stated “ring removal” game, and they would swear back at me.  But there is more to this story...

Yesterday, I was prepped for surgery to screw the bones in my finger back in the right places, and I waited for three hours in a little stall behind the operating room.  No iphone, no book- just sitting there, waiting, praying and listening.  I tried not to listen, but I couldn't help it really.  Nurses, doctors and anesthesiologists paraded through the patient rooms asking all of us the same questions, and I was struck by this deep sadness as I heard all of my fellow patients tell their stories of brokenness. I always try to find the humble humor in my own narratives of klutziness and impulsivity.  Other patients answered the questions and shared their stories of how they became broken-  addiction, loss, conflict and fear.  Yesterday, I felt exposed and alone. They must have too.  I wanted to reach through our rotational curtain and just hug their brokenness whole, but I sat there and prayed for each one of them.  I looked down at my crooked finger and was reminded that all of us are broken in visible and invisible ways. I was moved to take my attention from my own selfish and petty pain and focus more on sending love to the others around me. 

And maybe that is just what the world needs now is a little love. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qv7jI5ACHCw