perspective--little things that are big things

You know, sometimes you can get so caught up in the stresses of life that you miss the little things that are a reminder that you are truly blessed. 

Yes, life is difficult sometimes. You get behind and there is just no way to ever get caught back up. Honestly, for many of us, we no longer have hopes or dreams of getting ahead, it's breaking even that stays just out of our reach, and wears you down. BUT, even in the midst of that, it seems there is always something that will bring you back to the reality that life is a good thing.

I admit I have been struggling with depression again. It's just hard to be behind all of the time, and every now and then I give in to wallowing. 

But the good thing is I know I have good friends,and I hope I have value to the world. 

So, you go along wallowing and then the littlest thing can make you snap to.

My son is autistic. He has never said the words I Love You to me. But, he does things that let me know. At my  infant sons christening I asked Most High to help me make sure that my son would experience the magic of childhood. The answer was the gift of autism. The most amazing blend of special needs, genius, and faith that is my son. My son believes that God will always provide, and that whenever we meet a challenge, Mom can find the answer. My son trusts me to help him learn to navigate a world he has trouble understanding.

But, even knowing all of that, sometimes I just wish he could tell me he loves me. AND THEN, he does.

Well, he doesn't use words. He does things like bake cookies, or carry all of the groceries in from the car, or opens a tight jar lid. Or the one I noticed recently is the TV.

 I only watch one show that he doesn't watch, and I admit, I always have to ask him what channel somethings on if I am the one with their remote in my hand. But, the last couple of weeks, as I get ready to watch TV on Monday night (yes, I admit to loving dancing With the Stars) I have noticed that no matter what channel we were watching earlier in the day the TV is already on the correct channel for my show. It is such a tiny little thing, but it shows me my son cares. He loves me. 

Well, either that or he doesn't want to hear me ask "What channel number is ABC."I am choosing to believe he loves me. It's the perspective I embrace today.

Peace and Blessings,
EB

p.s. I dislike doing this but there is a paypal button over there, just in case. I told a friend who was embarrassed about asking for help that if we don't make our needs known how does anyone ever know we have needs. So, just as embarrassed, I am pointing out the button. Blessings.

Dear Mother Nature...

...It's March 24, and I sit at the patio door watching snowflakes. Seriously? Girlfriend, we need to talk. Your behavior is worrisome. But, you know what, that's OK. No one knows better than me that it won't always be like this. In my mind, as I sit at the patio door, listening to the morningsong of the birds it is always sunny and glorious on March 24th. So, there! You might as well straighten up and let spring come, because you can't take spring out of my memories!!

This is what March 24 looks like...

It was a beautiful day. The kind of spring day that we wish they all could be. Bright sunshine, about 60 degrees. I had been to a meeting and after my friend dropped me off I remembered that William needed something for school the next day. It was the perfect day for a walk, so I decided I would walk to the neighborhood store. As I was walking down the street I looked up and this tall thin man was cutting across the street diagonally. He was going to end right in front of me. My mind immediately started searching for a reason, but this was not someone I knew. He walked up to me and said "I have been trying to get up the nerve to talk to you for six months. You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." I laughed. It definitely was not a pick up line I had ever heard before. But when I laughed I saw his eyes, and he meant it! "Excuse me?" was all I could say. He said it again, "I've been trying to get up the nerve to talk to you. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." I am still kind of speechless, and I say "Thank you, I guess." He goes on to explain that he lives at the bottom of the hill and he sees me walk my son to the school bus every day. He has tried a couple of times to speak to me, but he was too nervous. But when he saw me walking down the street today he told himself it was now or never, and he crossed the street. I was prepared to continue walking, but he kept talking. He told me how he had just got out of rehab 4 days earlier, and that he was on his way home from putting in job applications. Well, I had been clean and sober for 16 years and the friend of Bill W. in me wouldn't let me just ignore him. I told him I had to go to the store, but if he was still in the park at the end of the street when I got back I would talk to him. He was there, we talked for 2 hours that afternoon, and every day after that.

Such a simple act, crossing the street. No big deal. But in that simple act of walking across the street the world would never be the same. In that moment our lives became eternally joined, entwined. We would never again make a decision without discussing it or considering the impact it would have on the other one.We would never again think of ourselves as Bill or EstherBelle. From that moment on we were BillandEstherBelle.

So, give it up, girlfriend, it's sunny and glorious in my heart. In Springtime love is carried on the breeze--even if it's accompanied by a snowflake or two!!

Valentines Day

Valentines Day. Such a lovely holiday, let's all celebrate love.Yada Yada Yada. (can you see how I feel about it?) But Valentines day can be a minefield for those, like me, that have mixed experiences of the day.

Oh, I hated Valentines day as a child. The Fat Lady started out as the Fat Girl, you know. Back in the dark ages when I was in elementary school 'self-esteem' wasn't a part of the psycho-babble yet. So those of us who were outcasts for whatever reason hated Valentines day. Oh, it was all so innocent. For a few days before we would spend our art class time creating a receptacle for the valentines. There was red and pink construction paper and paper doily scraps everywhere, and the Elmer's glue residue stuck to your fingers. At least that was fun, peeling the Elmer's glue from your fingers.

Then the big day arrived, and we were allotted time to deposit our valentines in the boxes. A mimeographed list of names had gone home with us,and we were free to create to our hearts content. If you were lucky your Mom would let you buy a box of school valentines, 32 to a box back then plus the bonus teachers card. So, every one went around and put their little cards in the box. Then of course we had the treats our room mothers dutifully provided and everyone looked at their valentines. As you reached in your box and took out 2 or 3 cards, after all the teacher had to give you one, and maybe you had one friend, and then some dumb boy had to tell you why you were outcast, you did your best to make sure no one else saw. But it seemed like they all knew anyway. But, you knew that if you showed any emotions they would have power over you, so no tears. You bravely told everyone that you wanted to wait and look at them at home.

Fortunately all of those classroom Valentine parties were in elementary grades, and you didn't have to repeat that particular little piece of Hell again once you reached middle school. But, Valentines day was still an empty day, void of love, and rife with bad memories.

Decades pass, and one day a tall thin man crosses a street in a small town in Missouri. He teaches you, among other things, that yes, you are able to love and to be loved. He manages to surprise you every year with a lovely expression of love on Valentines day. You give him a small plush animal for his collection. A collection that he started when you gave him his first one. A silly little collection for a big tough Marine, but a collection that is cherished by him.

Then circumstances change again. The love of your life is taken away from you by a drunk driver, and you get thrown into the long, difficult act of grieving. Every special day, every holiday is another reminder that you are alone again. That no one will make you smile, and tell you you are loved and ask you to be their valentine. Valentines day is a difficult, difficult day for those who are on the outside looking in. Those who have never had a love, and there are many, those who have lost their love and are all alone again.Valentine's Day is hard.

The other holidays are difficult, but there are ways to get through. But Valentine's Day, that is hard. Everywhere you look, from the aisles of the grocery store, to the restaurant ads in the paper, the commercials on TV you are reminded that this is a time for love and a time for lovers, and you feel all alone. It seems as if the whole world is operating two by two, that no matter which way you turn you are surrounded by couples, and you no longer have the person that made you part of a couple. Valentines day is long and lonely.

If you know someone who is alone this year on Valentines day, please reach out to them. A note, a small card, a phone call. Let them know that they are not alone in this world. Let them know that another human being cares about them. See, we all need a human touch. We may be rooted in faith,and know that there is a Creator,and that that Creator loves us. We may know that there is in us a part of the Divine, and that there is no where we can go that the Divine is not with us. But, the love of Most High, as wonderful as it is doesn't have the human touch unless we provide it. We are made in the image of the Creator, we are told,and so we must be the arms and hands and voice of love. We must be the human touch. There is someone out there in need of your voice, or a hug, or just the touch of your hand on their sleeve. So, make sure that you do something special for your sweetheart. Do not ever let a day go by, and especially on the holiday that is about love, make sure the one you love, the one who loves you, knows that you never take one moment for granted. But, please, if you have an extra moment reach out to one of the lonely ones. They will appreciate you more than you can know.

Love Is Stronger Than Death

Love is stronger than death.
So I must be content to know that
love is not affected by death-- ...
it doesn't end, it doesn't diminish,
it doesn't change.
Instead, love is immortalized
and eternalized through death.
And the possibility of that love ever
being damaged or broken
is eliminated forever.
I'll put my trust in love.

 

L-O-V-E

How do you spell L-O-V-E?

Well, sometimes my son spells it C-O-O-K-I-E.

My son is a cookie baker. He learned how to bake cookies in middle school, and has traditionally baked cookies every holiday season since. He is a very good cookie baker.

 He is not as good at expressing feelings and emotions verbally. I may never hear the words "I love you" come from him, but that doesn't mean he doesn't express love or caring. He just expresses it in more tangible ways.

My husbands family had to make the difficult decision to take their mother off of life support, it was a long night at the hospital. We came home and there was a plate of fresh baked cookies sitting next to my husband's chair.  It was my son's way of telling his dad that he was sorry he was sad and that he cared. My husband never forgot those cookies.

This morning as I enjoyed my coffee my son brought me a cookie. He can't tell me he loves me with words, but he tells me. This morning a cinnamon roll cookie said "I know you are sad and I am sorry. I know it is a hard day for us, and we miss him. Oh, and I love you."

Don't forget to tell someone you love them today.

Peace and Blessings,

EB

Always Say I Love You

Today is a hard day for me. Just a couple of short years ago I went to bed on August 22 married to  a great husband and father, and woke up on August 23 his widow. The grieving process seems to be taking me a very long time-but as my therapist says it takes as long as it takes. Part of the problem is that so much else has gone wrong in my life since my husband was killed, but that is a subject for other days.

Today, I will grieve, but I will also know that I am surrounded by the love and caring and support of family and friends and even a few strangers. Today, in the midst of my grief I will temper the sadness with remembering the good, sharing the blessings.One of the most difficult parts of being a widow, is that there is no one to talk to in the middle of the night. Mr. Bill and used to talk to each other for hours at a time. We were very much blessed by being very much in love, but we also genuinely liked each other.

One of the things that made our marriage good was that we talked to each other. If I were giving advice to those getting married it would be to set aside time every day-no matter how busy or hectic your life can get-to talk to each other.Talk about your life, talk about your dreams, talk about the weather-but talk to each other.The other advice I would give is never end a conversation without saying I love you.

Now, I know that sounds a bit contrived, but Mr. Bill and I never regretted making it a rule for our life. Believe me, many,many minor disagreements were settled with just those 3 words. Major disagreements brought into focus, routine conversations made sweeter.It was such a habit for us, that if a phone conversation ended without it being said, we immediately called back.It was a habit that we extended to our conversations with our son-much to his chagrin sometimes. But, hey, isn't it a parents job to make their teenage son squirm?

But doesn't constantly saying I love you trivialize the sentiment? Doesn't it change the 3 most important words in the language into something less meaningful when it simply becomes a habit? My answer is HOW? How can you ever make love not meaningful. I grew up in a home where the words I love you didn't exist, and when I finally found love I knew never to take it for granted. Never. I remember the first I knew what love truly was, and the overwhelming sensation that enveloped me. Not something I would ever be able to take for granted. That was one of the reasons Mr. Bill and I made it a habit to always say I love you, we knew that love was so important that we must never take it for granted.

On that August 22nd, Mr. Bill had started a new job, and we worked different schedules that day. He called me from his new job on every break. That was another one of our habits, we called each other on our breaks. That night, I was at home,and he called me on his breaks and lunch. The last time we spoke was about 11:00 pm. He told me he would be working until about 2:00am, and for me to not wait up. "Take your medicine and go to bed," he said, "you'll  wake up when I get home.I love you." My answer was "OK, wake me up so I can hear about your new job. I love you." I took my medicine and went to bed.

My husband coming home from work wasn't what woke me in the early hours of August 23rd. A Highway Patrolman knocking on  our door to inform me that my husband had been killed by a drunk driver on his way home from that new job is what woke me.While I will never forget that moment when I opened the door and what that highway Patrolman said to me, the more important thing is I will never, NEVER forget that the very last words my husband heard from me,and that I heard from my husband were I LOVE YOU.

Always tell those you love that you love them. Never let a conversation end without reinforcing that.Life can change in the blink of an eye, and if you didn't say it you may not have another opportunity. Make it a habit, make it meaningful, never ever take love for granted.

Always say I love you.

 

Road Trip-a Healing prescription!!

The summer was always our favorite time of year! Starting with Mothers Day until the end of July we were celebrating something every couple of weeks. Mothers Day-Memorial Day-Fathers Day-My birthday-4th of July-My husbands birthday-and our wedding anniversary, every two weeks or so all summer long. That all changed for me when he was killed a few weeks after our wedding anniversary, and the long, difficult healing process of grief began.

The morning before my husband was killed, we sat on the deck for a couple of hours. We talked and planned. Mr. Bill was starting a new job that day, and we discussed getting back on track financially, and we discussed our 10th wedding anniversary. We were married at a courthouse,our son the best man and  the snack bar attendant as my witness. We planned to have a vow renewal, a small wedding for our 10th anniversary.A wedding, with a beautiful dress that I had already designed- I spent a long time in the theatre as a costume designer-it would have been a spectacular dress! We would make the same trip that we made as a family honeymoon trip-going back to the Black Hills, a wonderfully spiritual magical place that we all adore.As my friend Michelle referred to it,"the place where love and family became one!"

July 30 is that 10th anniversary. As part of my continuing healing, I have just booked the trip for my son and I to take. We are not going until a few weeks later, I want this trip to be a new beginning, and if we went on the anniversary it would hurt too much.So we will go after all of the days that are no longer celebratory for me, and we are hoping to continue learning how to celebrate life again.

I firmly believe in the idea of sacred space. I after all, spend a lot of time on my deck, which is for me a place of safety and sacredness. Most faith traditions have an idea of sacred space. For me, sacred space is often more a state of being than an actual place, but there are also places where we can instantly feel more at peace, more able to access the things of Spirit. My deck is sacred space, but when I am away from home it is almost as if that sacred place is where ever I am. I visited the home of a dear friend, and her deck, which looked nothing like mine, felt the same, and was for me a refuge of meditation and worship. Staying in a convention hotel, I once slipped out of the room without waking my roommate to find a lovely secluded chair in the lobby that felt like a sacred space for my prayers and meditation. A sacred space feels right, it feels safe, and nurturing, and healing.

One of Mr. Bill and my favorite ways to spend a Sunday afternoon, was to take a Sunday drive. We always planned to buy a house, and we would drive through different neighborhoods just looking at the for sale signs. I often made him a little crazy, sometimes we would turn into a neighborhood, and I immediately asked him to get out of it, it FELT wrong. Now some of these were lovely neighborhoods, in the best parts of town, but the Spirit of the place was just disturbing. When we were ready to actually purchase a home, we looked at dozens, and I drove our realtor crazy too. When we turned onto the street we live on, I felt safe and nurtured. As our realtor opened the front door of this house before I stepped a foot across the threshold , I knew I was home.

Home is what I feel in the Black Hills. I think because it was where our life as a family began it will always be a sacred place for me. So, as my spirit heals, I feel the need to return to that place to honor the memory of the time before the grief, and perhaps to move into a time where the grief can heal. Paradoxically, I will be traveling back to the place where I experienced my first symptom of neurological disease (you can read about it in the blog post from 4/29 A Glimpse Into One Part of My Life).

Last spring when my son's health and our financial problems became an issue, Spirit told me that this trip would be provided in September. Thanks to our "Great American Road Trip" last fall, I have enough rewards points that I only need to pay for two nights lodging-and those will earn me enough points that I will be able to receive free lodging again next year!!! So, the majority expense will be gas and food, and I know when Spirit has promised something, provision will be provided. My therapist said this week that this trip is just the prescription she would write for me.

So, as I move through the minefield of birthdays and anniversaries this summer, I feel stronger, and part of that is because I know I am supposed to go home to the place where love and family became one!!

Once Upon a Time...

Didn't the Royal wedding recently make you think in fairy tales?

Once Upon a time, a long long time ago, in a kingdom far far away, the royal superintendents of schools were working out how to respond to the new young kings decree that we would educate our children better and use the best and the brightest to win the race for outer space. In a far away corner of the kingdom, a group of children, only 6, were identified as a precious commodity-geniuses.All of the schools in this part of the kingdom examined their children. Tests were taken, scores were analyzed, and 6, only 6, were deemed worthy. Among these special 6 were 5 males, and surprisingly to everyone, a female. Now  they expected to find  young males,in fact they expected to find more than they found. But in the end, after all of then inspections and evaluations, they were left with 6 young persons who fit the bill, and one of them was a female whose IQ turned out to be the highest of the 6. Well, That was just not what they expected at all!

The Royal Superintendent of the county of La-La land, decreed that the 6 special children would be the first students designated as "Gifted and Talented" and these 6 special children would be examined and analyzed for the rest of their years in school. They would be precious gifts to their districts and should be treated as such.

So, they decided to see if they could find out why these 6 were so different. They sent them to the hospital at the University. They tested them, they x-rayed them, they took their blood. For 3 days they had them in the hospital looking at them upside down and backwards. They never released the results to the 6. After all they were just children.What threy didn't take the time to ask was what the dreams and aspirations of the special children were. They really didn't care, they just wanted to be able to say that there were special children in the school district.

As the years went by, and the school district tried to educate the special 6, some strange things happened. Several of the 6 turned to drugs and alcohol. It seems that being different is very difficult to deal with for a young person. Since this was the first attempt to corral the intelligence, mistakes were probably made. Hopes and dreams were not important, and they tried to make the special ones conform to what 'they' thought they ought to be. It was no easy task.

The girl was probably the most different of them all. Not only was she the smartest one, she was the only girl, and she was different in many other ways. She was tall and obese and was treated as a freak by those around her. Mothers in her neighborhood often were heard calling their children in so that they wouldn't be able to play with her. She was so big, mothers were afraid the children her age might get hurt.

Then she was called names every day. Back in the late 50's and early 60's being fat was an anomaly. She really was The fat girl in school. So she was ostracized for being fat, for being smart. She knew the sound of a common ordinary word like 'smart' being used as a curse.

But children grow up, and graduated from school. The Royal Superintendent had no more interest in the 'special' children. They were sent out into the world to fend for themselves. They are all grown up now, parents, grandparents themselves. One of them died young, the ones who drifted off into drugs and alcohol grew up at long last and stopped abusing their bodies. They learned to be who they are, nothing more, nothing less, and that is OK.

Special wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Special was scary and lonely, and everyone wants to belong to someone. So the special children became grown-ups and discovered that being themselves was the most special thing they could be. Because when you learn to love yourself, others find it easier to love you. Being loved is all the special children ever really needed anyway.

Mothers day

My guys were not the best shoppers. So, I would get really sweet Mother's Day gifts like a San Francisco 49'ers ink pen-we live in Kansas City and were die hard Chiefs fans. So, we began a new tradition. I would go shopping for my annuals and soil, and my guys would provide the muscle for me to spend the day planting flowers. Then rather than go out to a crowded restaurant, William would bake a Di Giorno pizza and serve dinner. It became a wonderful tradition. I loved it so much. Amazing how traditions are formed,and how important they become in our lives.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to all of my followers and readers. You either are a child of a  mother or  a mother or are truly blessed to be both of those things. You may be a friend or an auntie or a neighbor who smiles, but you deserve to feel the love and respect and admiration that comes from those words.

Some Mothers may not hear those words out loud. OH, I could remind my son to say them, but it would sound forced.So, I choose to not remind him. I choose to allow myself to feel true gratitude for the gifts I have received this morning. Brother sun shines brightly in the sky, grandmother oak tree smiles down on me as I sit on the deck next to my orange tree.An 8 foot tall reminder of the faith of a small boy. I choose to feel the love and miracle in a 3 sentence conversation with my autistic young man.Now there is a gift worth treasuring. NOT that I didn't treasure the ink pen all those years ago, in fact I still have it. But I will treasure the ability to have a spontaneous conversation no matter how short or long every single moment of my life. I choose not to feel left out because i do not receive gifts or hear the words. I choose to know and believe that they are there.

I will not feel silly because I was touched by the Mothers Day greetings of a race car driver as he was interviewed in victory lane last night. I will feel the gifting. I will not feel silly that  I wept like a child when I was clicking through the photos that my little sister posted of her incredible beautiful daughters and grandchildren. I wept with joy at seeing her gifts, knowing that she and I are both wonderfully blessed and fortunate Mothers. I felt so close to her as I looked into the eyes of her grandchildren.

I choose to see all of these things as gifts and blessings. Because they are. Being able to share the gifts and blessings of others is definitely a choice, and I choose to feel gifted instead of bereft.So, blessings to all who share their gifts, and to all who can be grateful for those gifts.

Are you feeling alone today? Has someone forgot to call or write? I am so sorry. We will choose to forgive them and pray asking Most High to bless them. Recognise the gifts all around us, thank our Creator for the sunshine, or the rain, or the rainbows. If we are Mothers, thank you Most High, we are humbled by the gift of Motherhood. Thank you Most High for the gift of our mother. Happy Mothers Day to those who need to hear it.

There is a place in all of us that needs to know we belong. Thank you Most High that I know I belong to you. Help me to share that knowledge with all who know me, or have opportunity to see me in my daily life.Thank you that on this Mothers Day I can receive the gift of knowing that I am a child of a Creator who is Mother, Father,related to all, no matter how they believe. We are honored and humbled by the gift.We may forget to say it, but we are grateful.

Happy Mother's day, Most High. Thank you for the choices you provide every day.

Blessed

I think the first time I realized what a challenge my son was going to be was the day(2 years old) we took him down off the roof...then there was the day he went shopping(4 years old), moving a 250 pound sofa sleeper, unlocking 3 locks to get out the front door. Running down the street, entering the grocery store , grabbing a cart, and methodically heading up and down the aisles choosing items. The shopkeepers recognized him, we were regular shoppers in our neighborhood grocery store.The manager said they  assumed I would soon follow, so they let him shop.That was the day I put bells on the door.

Or was it the day when he was 5 years old and he slipped out--he had an uncanny knack for taking advantage of my bladder--of my auntie's front door, ran down to the intersection of a one lane street and a 4 lane thoroughfare. STOPPED traffic with his hand upraised, crossed the thoroughfare, and calmly entered the convenience store,where kind people called the police,and bought him an ice cream while waiting for the police and mom to show up! The police and I got there about the same time.

Perhaps it was the day in third grade when they called to inform me that my son had hacked into the school computer system and locked everyone else out! They wanted me to help convince him to tell the IT guys what he had done. When I asked him to tell the IT guy what he did he responded "He is the computer guy he should be able to tell." I said "Well, he can't, you have to tell him." Then I heard a sigh and a few keystrokes and my son said,"There I changed it back." We discovered that he had stolen his teachers password, not by watching, but by hearing her type it in. He could tell the sound each key  made. So, William had to go into the hall with the classroom door closed whenever his teacher wanted to log in.

He has kept me on my toes through the years, and it is evident to all who meet him that he is a unique individual. The most amazing person I have ever met.This week we met a new challenge, illness. He has been a very healthy young man. All of his life. So, when he let me know last Sunday that he was in pain, I knew it was serious.The pain was in his lower right abdomen, so of course, the immediate thought is appendix. When we finally got to see a doctor in the Emergency Room, that was her first thought too. So, off we went for a CAT scan.Fortunately I am not squeamish, so I was able to be with him through all of his procedures.

I felt like a really bad Mom, because as we answered questions, it turns out the pain had started several days prior to my finding out. I had been questioning him, since it was evident he wasn't feeling well. But, I didn't ask just the right question until Sunday. So, we wait, all day Monday, in the ER. The CAT scan comes back, and the first diagnosis is possible ruptured appendix. That scared the hell out of me, but I couldn't let him know. He was already stressing out, and shutting down. Autism at it best. In order to deal with pain,  he could just retreat into his world, where it doesn't exist. But, in order to help the doctors and nurses find out what is causing the pain he has to be able to communicate with them. Now, we need the translating skills of Mom.

As we are admitted to the hospital, he is using all of his coping skills, and doing an amazing job. Then, during the day it happens. The nurse is not having much luck finding a vein for the blood draw. She is hurting him. He does not cry out, does not yell-all things I do when I am getting my blood drawn. He closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and reaches out and grabs my hand.

The surgeons come, they poke and prod and then leave to read the CAT scan. Miraculously they find a healthy appendix. But right next to it is a large abscess. It must be removed, but how? Fortunately a wise surgeon decides that surgery is out of the question. We do not know yet what type of infection is contained in the abscess, so we go off to the ultrasound department. The doctor is going to attempt to draw out some fluid from the abscess to culture. He looks at the image on the screen, even I can understand what the image shows. He changes needles, and he decides that he can totally drain the abscess. Everything is explained to us, I explain to my son,  the doctor uses a local anesthetic,and once again my son reaches out for my hand and I watch through tears as the abscess disappears, its contents in several large syringes.

 I can not remember the last time my son allowed  me to hold his hand, and here he is holding on to mine. At this moment in time, all of my grief, all of my fears, all of my stress do not exist. There is only my son holding my hand, and me thanking my Creator for choosing me to raise this child.

At my  infant sons christening I asked Most High to help me make sure that my son would experience the magic of childhood. The answer was the gift of autism. The most amazing blend of special needs, genius, and faith that is my son. My son believes that God will always provide, and that whenever we meet a challenge, Mom can find the answer. My son trusts me to help him learn to navigate a world he has trouble understanding. It seems miraculous to me that he is holding my hand. I will never forget the feeling of his hand in mine. I am humbled by his trust and faith in me, humbled by God trusting me to raise this special child. I am overwhelmed by emotion. I am truly Blessed.

Lemon Drops

Merchandising is a science. We are treated to the theories on a daily basis. Why is that cereal on the lower shelf,and the other one on the top shelf. Why is that product next to this product on the display. All ways to tempt us to buy things that we hadn't gone shopping for in the first place. There you are, attempting to navigate the grocery aisle and in your way is a display of something. We've all fallen under the spell of an item we never imagined we needed until some merchandiser worked their magic.

Yesterday, I fell under the spell of one of those incongruently placed displays, and yes, I bought an item that I wasn't thinking of until that moment. But this time I think it must have been a nudge from Sacred Spirit that caused the grocery manager to drop that shipper in that spot. Right there at the end of the laundry detergent/dish soap aisle was a display of small bags of hard candies. Butterscotch, peppermints, and shining as if a spotlight was turned on them, a 4 ounce bag of lemon drops.I reached out and picked up the bag of lemon drops, put the bag in my basket and brought it home with me. This morning, as I sat down to work, I popped a lemon drop in my mouth and was instantly transported from a day of dreary weather and tedious chores to summer days of childhood and the unconditional love of a most amazing woman.

My favorite Auntie loved lemon drops. She carried a bag in her purse and had a bag in the car.Trips with her meant that you would be offered a lemon drop. In fact, you never knew when she would pull the bag out of her purse and offer them around, but you knew that she would.She loved the sweet and sour, there were days that she only kept the drop in her  mouth until the sugar was gone. As kids we cringed when we knew that perhaps she had sucked the sugar off the drops, I think she let us believe that to keep us on our toes.

In that way, isn't life like a lemon drop. Wonderful days with nothing but sweetness, and days that make us pucker from the sour, but the days that are the most important I think are those days that are like that moment when the lemon drop is an exquisite combination of both.

My Auntie was the glue that kept our family together. She taught the most important lessons in the way she lived her life every day. She loved each of us unconditionally, even those of us who weren't particularly lovable. She survived horrible tragedy in her life, and reveled in her blessings. She taught us how to forgive by being forgiving. She forgave some pretty unforgivable things.

She knew great loss. She was pregnant six times. All of her pregnancies were apparently normal pregnancies, lasting the full nine months. But only 2 of her children survived past the first 24 hours of life. Her second child, and her sixth child. How does a woman manage to be pregnant fearing that her baby will die? Of course, in our present time, we have medical technology that can tell us what is happening with our pregnancy. How much harder would it be to know that the child you are loving will not survive. I know young women who have gone through that, and I can't even imagine the strength involved. I asked her how she was able to keep trying, and she just looked at me and said her living daughters were worth it.

She knew great pain, both physical and emotional. Her arms were scarred from burns suffered in girlhood. She was participating in a school Christmas program, and her sleeves caught fire as she placed an ornament on the tree. Trees were lit by candles in her childhood. She suffered months of pain and recovery from  the second and third degree burns on such a large part of her body. Yet, when inevitably a child would point to the scars and ask "Auntie, why do you look like that." She would share how she was burned, but then she would share lovely stories of how her big brother fed her bananas against the doctors orders. She acknowledged that there was pain, but she chose to remember the loving care of her family.

She knew betrayal. She was divorced after 35 years. For reasons the rest of us never understood, her husband left her for another woman. Auntie had forgiven him over and over for being unfaithful. At one point he had an affair with one of her sisters. She forgave him, and she forgave her sister.None of us children had an idea of these things. When, as an adult I brought her my problems,she would never tell me what I ought to do, but  she would share the stories from her life, showing me that life is always about choices. She chose to forgive her husbands affairs because she was a woman of a different time. Had she been a woman of  my generation, she may have had more options and made different choices. But, she was a woman of her generation,and she chose to stay. In her mind it was more important that he was a good provider and good father. She knew that people were imperfect, and felt that he loved her the best he knew how. She remarried a few years later, and had over 20 years with her second husband,who loved her and treated her as if she were a great gift.

My favorite auntie was every one's favorite.She was the favorite sister to each of her siblings.My father was her oldest brother, and he loved and admired her.He was the brother who fed her bananas when the doctored told him they weren't good for her, and it turned out the doctor was wrong. Loving unconditionally was her greatest gift to all of us. It seemed like she took in those of us in her family who were most flawed, and took care of us in such a way that we became better people. We learned from her how to love, how to forgive, and that life is always about choosing to do the best you  know how in each moment, and if you make a bad choice it doesn't keep you from making a better choice the next moment.She taught us that forgiving wasn't about who was right and who was wrong. That when you forgive you give up the right to be right, and you simply offer grace and love.She taught us that life is like a lemon drop. Some days it is sweet, some days it is sour, and if you keep it in your mouth long enough you will be rewarded with that moment when it is the perfect combination of both!

Words

Sometimes I will dash off a blog post in a matter of minutes, as I did with the last post. Most times I will have a blog post in draft for weeks because I am rewriting, choosing just the right words in each sentence. Words are important.

Words are important whether we are typing them, speaking them or thinking them. So, I have chosen to attempt in all instances to choose good words. I am trying to make my speech more positive in all matters. I do believe that when we speak something we are sending the words out into the universe. So, I am attempting to be aware in the moment of whether I am sending out positive or negative words.

Do you remember that schoolyard taunt...
Sticks and stones will break my bones
But words will never hurt me!

Well, it's just not true. Words do hurt, probably more than the sticks and stones. So I find that I try to choose my words carefully. But, even though I try, sometimes negative words will crop into our lexicon almost without our knowledge. Raising a child with autism has helped me be very conscious of the words I choose as my son will take things very literally. I can remember a time when he was young that he was getting in trouble for something-I don't remember what but i do remember that his defense was "But you did not tell me there was a rule about that!" I am certain that I probably thought it was implied in one of the rules I had told him about, but he takes words very literally most of the time, so he didn't realize that the rule covered this particular transgression.So, we made a new rule that covered it.

Early in my relationship with Mr. Bill, he had a bit of a tendency, he had a major tendency towards road rage.If someone cut him off on the freeway it was a major transgression and he would yell, and swear, and rant , and swear-he was a Marine, need I go on? Immediately the energy inside the car would change and become negative and angry and hate filled. You could feel it, it felt bad. It was upsetting for me. I am very sensitive to bad energy,and so I would try to get him to calm down. After a while, it worked. He finally understood, I was the only one who could hear him, and so it felt like he was swearing at me. I knew he wasn't, but a car is a contained space, and the negative energy filled it quickly, so that it felt personal.

Then, when I was driving by myself one day, I noticed how often I used the word hate in my thinking.Someone would tailgate me and I would say, "I hate when someone does that". I would get close to an intersection where I had a bad experience once and I would think "Oh, I hate this intersection." How easily negative energy slips into our thinking. I practice meditation, and I practice living in the moment, so in that moment I was practicing hate. What an epiphany that was for me.

Hate...is not one of the things I want to put out into the world. As I am prone to do with a word I started looking up the definition, grabbed my thesaurus and checked for synonyms and antonyms. I started thinking about the times the word slips into my thinking and the times I use the word. Hate is an intense passionate emotion. Is this the emotion I want surrounding me?

So, I made it my intention to catch myself when the negative words, such as hate, came into my thinking. It became my practice to change the words I used. I was appalled at how many times a day the word appeared in my thoughts or speaking. Oh, the things I said were seemingly innocent. I rarely pointed the word at persons, usually at an object or situation. Lid too tight on a jar, "I hate that!" I left a book on the wrong shelf, "I hate it when I do that!" Just this morning, time to put my dentures in "I hate these things." I caught the word,and changed it. I choose to not put out negative energy.

I have had Christian friends who tell me I am too 'new age' to be a Christian because I worry about things like what energy is surrounding me. Yes, I cleanse the energy of a space whenever I am going to spend time there. When I stay in a hotel or motel, the first thing i do is cleanse the energy. I think it makes a difference in how I feel and how others feel when they are around me.If I make an effort to remain surrounded by positive energy I think it makes it easier for others to see Spirit in me.

As the quote from Francis of Assisi reminds us...Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words.


What energy surrounds you? Are you aware of it? Do you make it your intention to make the kinds of choices with the words you choose to keep your energy positive?Do those who come into contact with you on a daily basis see Spirit in you, or is the negative energy of the words you think and speak keeping the Spirit in you hidden?

Today, as you go through your day, you can make it a habit to catch negative word and replace them. The car that cuts you off, ask Most High to bless the driver today. The dentures that annoy, thank Most High for the ability to eat and smile. The positive energy will shine brighter, and send love farther when you work on the energy you give off. The world needs our positive energy more than ever. People are surrounded by problems, and fear seems to be the main energy these days. But, we  know that Love wins, and so when we add positive energy by simply being there, we help Love to win. We preach the gospel at all times Whit the energies we choose for our day.

Choose love, loves energy feels awesome.

Peace and Blessings,
EB

Valentine's Day

Valentines Day. Such a lovely holiday, let's all celebrate love.Yada Yada Yada. (can you see how I feel about it?) But Valentines day can be a minefield for those, like me, that have mixed experiences of the day.

Oh, I hated Valentines day as a child. The Fat Lady started out as the Fat Girl, you know. Back in the dark ages when I was in elementary school 'self-esteem' wasn't a part of the psycho-babble yet. So those of us who were outcasts for whatever reason hated Valentines day. Oh, it was all so innocent. For a few days before we would spend our art class time creating a receptacle for the valentines. There was red and pink construction paper and paper doily scraps everywhere, and the Elmer's glue residue stuck to your fingers. At least that was fun, peeling the Elmer's glue from your fingers.

Then the big day arrived, and we were allotted time to deposit our valentines in the boxes. A mimeographed list of names had gone home with us,and we were free to create to our hearts content. If you were lucky your Mom would let you buy a box of school valentines, 32 to a box back then plus the bonus teachers card. So, every one went around and put their little cards in the box. Then of course we had the treats our room mothers dutifully provided and everyone looked at their valentines. As you reached in your box and took out 2 or 3 cards, after all the teacher had to give you one, and maybe you had one friend, and then some dumb boy had to tell you why you were outcast, you did your best to make sure no one else saw. But it seemed like they all knew anyway. But, you knew that if you showed any emotions they would have power over you, so no tears. You bravely told everyone that you wanted to wait and look at them at home.

Fortunately all of those classroom Valentine parties were in elementary grades, and you didn't have to repeat that particular little piece of Hell again once you reached middle school. But, Valentines day was still an empty day, void of love, and rife with bad memories.

Decades pass, and one day a tall thin man crosses a street in a small town in Missouri. He teaches you, among other things, that yes, you are able to love and to be loved. He manages to surprise you every year with a lovely expression of love on Valentines day. You give him a small plush animal for his collection. A collection that he started when you gave him his first one. A silly little collection for a big tough Marine, but a collection that is cherished by him.

Then circumstances change again. The love of your life is taken away from you by a drunk driver, and you get thrown into the long, difficult act of grieving. Every special day, every holiday is another reminder that you are alone again. That no one will make you smile, and tell you you are loved and ask you to be their valentine. Valentines day is a difficult, difficult day for those who are on the outside looking in. Those who have never had a love, and there are many, those who have lost their love and are all alone again.Valentine's Day is hard.

The other holidays are difficult, but there are ways to get through. But Valentine's Day, that is hard. Everywhere you look, from the aisles of the grocery store, to the restaurant ads in the paper, the commercials on TV you are reminded that this is a time for love and a time for lovers, and you feel all alone. It seems as if the whole world is operating two by two, that no matter which way you turn you are surrounded by couples, and you no longer have the person that made you part of a couple. Valentines day is long and lonely.

If you know someone who is alone this year on Valentines day, please reach out to them. A note, a small card, a phone call. Let them know that they are not alone in this world. Let them know that another human being cares about them. See, we all need a human touch. We may be rooted in faith,and know that there is a Creator,and that that Creator loves us. We may know that there is in us a part of the Divine, and that there is no where we can go that the Divine is not with us. But, the love of Most High, as wonderful as it is doesn't have the human touch unless we provide it. We are made in the image of the Creator, we are told,and so we must be the arms and hands and voice of love. We must be the human touch. There is someone out there in need of your voice, or a hug, or just the touch of your hand on their sleeve. So, make sure that you do something special for your sweetheart. Do not ever let a day go by, and especially on the holiday that is about love, make sure the one you love, the one who loves you, knows that you never take one moment for granted. But, please, if you have an extra moment reach out to one of the lonely ones. They will appreciate you more than you can know.

Equal Time

Well, I really must tell some stories of my little mama, equal time and all of that.

Talking about Mother is totally different than talking about Papa. I occasionally called her little Mama, especially if I was talking about her, but usually I called her Mother.Her grandchildren called her Mom-she didn't like to be called grandma. Mother was a lot more complex person than my father. Not as easy to get a handle on most days. She would look you in the eye and truthfully tell you her age, or her weight. But she would lie about her height. Mother was probably just a tad less than 5 foot tall. As she aged she shrunk down to about 4'10". But all of her adult life, she would tell people she was 5' 3". Now, everyone knew that wasn't true, but you did not contradict my little Mama. So, even though I was taller than her by the time I started kindergarten, Mother continued to claim that she was 5' 3". I asked her once, when I was a brash young teen, why she told people she was taller than she really was. She looked up at me as if I were an alien from outer space, calmly said "I am 5' 3" tall, I always have been." That was the last time I brought up the subject.

I was 6' tall by the time I was a teen, and 6' 1" before I stopped growing taller. People would look at us when we were together, of course, commenting on my size, and Mother would tell them "Shoot, she'd be 7' tall if she didn't have so much tucked under for feet." or "I grew her that tall on purpose. The man who built my kitchen cabinets was 7 foot tall, I wanted to find out what he might have left on the top shelf."

Mother was sometimes a difficult woman. She raised 6 children, and as we grew older there may never have been a time when she was speaking to all 6 of us at once. She had a bit of a mean streak sometimes, and she seemed happiest when she was surrounded by drama. Now this doesn't mean she wasn't the best parent she knew how to be. I think in those days most parents were doing the best they knew how. They were so wrong sometimes, but I honestly believe it was because of the times we grew up in, and not necessarily maliciousness on the part of our parents. My Mother may have been a strict disciplinarian at home, she may have exerted total control, but do not let a teacher or other adult pick on or treat one of her children unfairly. Little mama became a giant in those situations.

One of my favorite stories is told from her perspective and mine. My 1st grade teacher was not the best teacher in the world. I was a complication for her, and she would write notes home to my mother. Mother told everyone that she thinks I was born knowing how to read and write, because she certainly didn't remember teaching me and according to her I was reading at age 2. I think she probably wasn't exaggerating too much, because I do not remember when I didn't know how. Well, my kindergarten teacher thought I was a bit of a problem, probably because I would get bored and rather than napping preferred to spend time reading. In first grade, we started learning to print our letters. The issues arose because I already could write, in cursive, and except for the printing lessons, would write that way. So a letter from my teacher would go home with me, and Mother would respond with a lengthy letter back. I suppose it would have been too easy to call each other.

The teacher wanted Mother to tell me that I wasn't allowed to write in cursive. It seems it caused a problem for the teacher because the other students saw me do it. Mother apparently wrote back that the teacher should not be showing my work to the other students and that I was to be allowed to carry on. Well, that letter must have amused my teacher, because I was on the playground during recess when my teacher and another teacher called me over and asked me in not kid friendly terms who my Mother thought she was. In the middle is not a comfortable place for a 6 year old to be. Mother ended up in the Principal's office, and according to her the principal, Mr. Johnson, started explaining that first grade children could not be allowed to write in cursive because, as told by Mother, "We use slim pencils when we teach children to write in cursive, Mrs. Jones, and at 6 years old the muscles in their little hands aren't strong enough to hold a slim pencil." The next thing my mother said was a question, "You don't have any idea which child is mine, do you Mr. Johnson?" He admitted as much and mother told him to call me to the office and that the conversation would not continue until I got there.

Now I knew my mother had planned to speak to the principal that day, and so when the call came to my teacher and she sent me to the principal with a smirk on her face I was a bit anxious by the time I was ushered through the swinging gate into the inner offices. I was escorted into the Principal's office by the school secretary, and my little mama came and stood shoulder to shoulder with me.I was about 1-2 inches taller than her. Then she said "Tell me again, Mr. Johnson,  about the muscles in her little hands." Mother grabbed my 'little hand' and said we were leaving. She asked me where my class was, we marched down the hall, she went in the classroom, the teacher sputtering that she was disrupting the class. Mother told her not to worry, it wouldn't happen again. Mother cleaned out my desk, and we went home. I was transferred to a different school a couple of days and some phone calls to the school board later. My Mother may have had issues with her children, but she was always our staunchest supporter when it came to others having issues with us.I still miss my mother, especially when my son does something amazing. I will think, I should call my little mama. I learned a lot about advocating for my very special child from my mother advocating for me.

I also learned to say I love you to the people I love. It was something I never heard growing up.It was a different time. My parents didn't say it to each other or to us children. I think it would have made quite a difference if I had known how much they loved each other when I was young. I know how much of a difference it would have made if I had known if they loved me.I was blessed that both of my parents died at home in my arms. It may not have felt like a blessing at the time, but as I look back it was. I was able to say good bye to them, knowing that I had forgiven them, and hoping that they had forgiven me. But, no matter, I know that they were loved, and surrounded by love as they crossed over. I wish my husband had not died alone in a car on a freeway. But I know he knew he was loved, and I knew he loved me. We had the opportunity to say that to each other a couple of hours before he was killed by a young woman with almost twice the legal limit  blood alcohol count.My husband and I told each other that we loved each other dozens of times a day. William would turn around, and roll his eyes when would 'make out' in the kitchen. But he knew his parents loved each other, and he knew he was loved, because we told him every day. I still do, I always will.

Traditions

Today is Christmas Eve. In our family that means that my son is in charge of the kitchen. Not a bad tradition! I can hear the dishwasher going as I type. We came up with this tradition because I was a working mother- well we all are, but I went back to work full time outside the home when my son started middle school.We were attempting to establish new traditions for our new family. The first couple of years, I would get home from work on Xmas Eve, tired, but I would fix dinner and attempt to go to the movies with my husband and my son. We had the beginnings of a lovely tradition, but as most traditions do, it needed some tweaking to become just right for us.

 I worked in a huge grocery store. I would finish the midnight shift on the 23rd, and then go back in and work the day shift on the 24th. By the time we closed the store at 6:00 pm, took care of all the customers, and allowed the teammates a few minutes to grab that last item, it was often close to7:00 by the time I got to my car.I would drive home, tired. So, the next year we decided that we would just have pizza for dinner, and if I called home just before I headed to the car, it could go in the oven. We also decided that Xmas day was a good time for a movie if I wanted to stay awake. My son had begun  the habit of baking cookies while I was at work, and so that grew to include the pizza, and then to include his being in charge of the kitchen. He would wait for me to call, and by the time I got home, changed my clothes, and sat down in my recliner to put my feet up dinner would be ready and he would serve Mom and Dad. Then he would finish his cookie baking, while Mom and Dad wrapped presents in their room. It became a lovely way to spend the evening.About the time the gifts were wrapped, the cookies were done, and the three of us would have time together enjoying warm cookies and cold milk. The dishwasher would run again as the plate for Santa was prepared, and then our family would be snuggled in our beds.

We are, once again, in the process of allowing our traditions to evolve to fit our circumstances. This year it is just the two of us once again. This year Mom is again an at home Mom. Because of my health, I am no longer able to stand on my feet and check out hundreds of customers a day, in fact I am no longer able to work outside the home. Because of financial problems this year, there won't be any gift wrapping. But, we will be able to share our kitchen traditions. Today, my son is in charge of the kitchen, and our house is filled with the wonderful aromas of years gone by mixed with a new aroma. My cookie baker makes 2 different recipes every year. He makes the original recipe that he brought home from school all those years ago, and then he bakes a new recipe-either a recipe he has created, or one that caught his eye in a magazine or on the back of the packaging from one of his ingredients. This year the new recipe involves cinnamon chips, and we are eagerly looking forward to trying them.

I hope that you and those you care about have traditions.Traditions are an important way to bridge the gap between generations, to enlarge your tent and bring new people into the circle of your hearts.Traditions are an important way to share memories, to make memories, and to anticipate new memories the next time you act upon the tradition.Tradition is a way that our families, our friends,our communities can stay connected one to another.Tradition can be the way that we remember what it is to love and to be loved. In our house, a boy who was born blessed by autism did not have the ability to tell us with words that he loved us, so he learned to bake cookies.

Peace and Blessings,
EstherBelle

Remembering

"We Remember Them”

 by Roland B. Gittelsohn

In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we remember them.

In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we remember them.

In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them.

In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer, we remember them.

In the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them.

In the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them.

When we are lost and sick at heart, we remember them.

When we have joys we yearn to share, we remember them.

So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.

 

Today I just want to talk about my husband.It's really difficult some days, and talking about him sometimes makes me sad, but usually makes me feel very happy. One of the most difficult parts of being a widow, is that there is no one to talk to in the middle of the night. Mr. Bill and used to talk to each other for hours at a time. We were very much blessed by being very much in love, but we also genuinely liked each other. Not only is your best friend not here to talk to, but people you know don't talk about your deceased spouse. No one wants to make you sad, but sometimes you just want to talk and remember.

Sometimes,I still wake up in the morning shaking and crying and automatically reaching for my husband whose strong arms have been my place of refuge and safety for over 13 years. As I roll towards his side of the bed to be held and comforted because I have just had the most horrific nightmare that he was killed by a drunk driver, the terror strikes me as I realize that I didn't dream it, he was killed by a drunk driver, and I will never have a place of security in his arms again. I will never again feel safe and loved and protected. I will wake up screaming from the nightmares that are the legacy of  a childhood of abuse  and there will be no strong arms to hold me, no fingers to wipe away the tears, no chest to lay my head upon and listen to the heartbeat of the only person who ever loved me, the only person who ever took care of me. I  am alone in our bed, and I will be alone through the rest of the day trying to figure out how to take care of the things that Bill always took care of.

My most serious health concern is a rare neurological disease-reflex sympathetic dystrophy. The nerves of my sympathetic nervous system have gone crazy and I have the excruciating nerve pain that makes this disease the most painful disease known to man. I am more and more disabled every day, and Bill took care of most of the physical tasks around the house. He cleaned the bathrooms, did vacuuming, the laundry, all of the housework except cooking (my only chore) and taking out the trash(one of our sons chores). He helped me with personal care, clipping my toenails, shaving my legs, shampooing my hair. He got very good at combing and brushing my verylong hair.He loved brushing my hair. Bill took care of the yard, raking, mowing, edging. He took such good care of the yard that our neighborhood association called it "one of the best maintained yards in the neighborhood." He took great pride in our home, and in us.

This time of year is a natural time for remembering, the winter season is a time for reflection and renewal. Today, with the solstice upon us, we are reminded that there is a reason why most cultures, from our prehistoric ancestors until the present time have holy days and ceremonies at this time of year. The nights are long, and life has slowed down as the earth sleeps and rests for the growing that will come. We as human beings have always seemed to be more spiritual at this time of year. We have time to reflect, and time to share the stories of our lives and the lives of those who have come before us.We have time to be social, and so we honor this season with ritual, tradition, and ceremony.We have time to tell our stories.

As you go through this season, no matter your traditions, I hope that you will find time to share someone's stories. Take a few minutes to connect with a friend who is grieving, or an older relative, and just give them to opportunity to remember.If they cry, all that is needed is your hand on theirs. If they laugh, your laughter will naturally come to mingle.It may be the greatest gift they receive this year.

Peace and Blessings, and thank you for sharing my remembering today,
EstherBelle

Fear

The quote for today...

Become so wrapped up in something that you forget to be afraid.~~Lady Bird Johnson~~

Fear can be our best friend or our worst enemy. There is a natural fear that keeps us safe in dangerous situations. It served our ancestors well. Big ugly animal looks our way, fear kicks in, our adrenal gland goes into action and we have the speed of an Olympic sprinter removing ourself from the danger zone. The fear response is a natural and necessary thing for our survival. However, for too many of us, fear has taken a place in our lives that it doesn't deserve, so that instead of that fear response kicking into action and giving us the strength to take action, we become paralyzed, and trapped in a place of inaction.We let fear become something that imprisons us, rather than help us. How many of us have allowed our weight issues to keep us from growing and maturing and reaching out for new opportunities. How many times have we stopped ourselves from trying something because we just "know" that we will be judged because of our size. How many of us settle for less in our lives because we think that our weight issues make us some type of second class citizen, undeserving of the best that life has to offer.

 None of those things are true. Overeating is not a character flaw, it is just overeating.

Are you staying in a bad job because you think it would be hard to find a better job, after all, you are overweight. Are you staying in a bad relationship because a bad relationship is better than no relationship and after all who would want you, you are overweight. None of these things are true, none of them. Weight issues should not keep you living in fear of trying for, reaching for the best life has to offer. Now, that is not to say that we shouldn't be learning to deal with our weight issues, but we must not put living on hold until we are some magical mythical size. If I had done that I would never have accomplished anything. Anything is possible. A 6 foot tall 300 pound 11 year old girl who is called a freak by the mothers of the other children in the neighborhood can dream of going to college, of becoming an actress,and can grow up to have a  career in the theatre and radio. These things, and a thousand other fabulous things were at my fingertips because I knew the difference between good natural fear and fear that is created by untruth.

Fear is the mind killer, so goes the mantra of the strong women in my favorite science fiction series.Do not let the dreams of your mind die because of fear. Get so wrapped up in taking care of you that you forget to be afraid.Get so wrapped up in learning to make the best choice you can in any situation that you forget to be afraid. Get so wrapped up in learning to forgive yourself when you make a less than great choice that your forget to be afraid. Fear that moves you to action is good, fear that keeps you from stepping out, is not good. Letting go of the fear is the best choice you can make today.

Peace and Blessings,
EstherBelle

The Angel in the Marble

Several years ago I started a daily thread on the Weight Watchers message boards. About that time, sitting on my desk was a daily quote calendar. So, I began a habit of using the quote as a springboard for a daily essay relating to life's struggles. My husband, Mr. Bill, began encouraging me to put my thoughts together in a book. When he was killed I had about half a book written. I started this blog, in part, to get back into the habit of writing so that I might be able to finish the book. Along the way,I will write new things, as well as share excerpts from the things I wrote before I lost Mr. Bill. This was his favorite piece...

 

I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.~~Michelangelo~~

 

Sometimes I see a quote and I know it has to do with the journey that we are all on. That journey towards being healthier in body, mind and spirit. I saw this quote this morning and passed it by, then  Spirit told me to go back.So as I looked at these words I saw that this is exactly what our journey is all about. Just as Michelangelo could look at a hunk of marble and see the angel inside, we must learn to look at ourselves and see the incredible, beautiful, capable woman inside and care and chip away at all of the untruths and detritus that keeps her from being free. There is much to chip away. We can't learn to be our authentic selves until we learn that who we are has nothing to do with who we think others expect us to be. We must learn to recognize the 'angel' in our block of marble, and sometimes it takes us a while to recognize her, because she doesn't look like who society, or our parents, or our husbands, or our friends expect. She doesn't look like who we expect because we have gotten our truths all mixed up with the untruths that we need to chip away.  So as we travel this journey, we must learn to chip away at the expectations of others. We must learn to carve our truth out no matter what untruths we have to toss into the trash bin. Sometimes it will seem easier to leave our 'angel' in the block of marble. After all, chipping away the detritus we have learned may cause us pain, it may cause others pain as we move away from their picture of what we should be. But take my word for it, life is not pain free, and the pain of leaving her locked inside the block of marble is worse than any pain you can imagine. So today I ask you to choose to learn to see the 'angel' in your marble. Choose to starting carving and chipping away at the things that imprison her there, the things that imprison your spirit, the things that have held you captive all too long. Choose today to start or continue the process of setting you free.You are worth the effort it will take, you deserve to find the work of art that you truly are.

 

Peace and Blessings,

EstherBelle

 

Juggling

As we move from summer into fall, we are moving into a different rhythm of life. Those with school age children are getting into the juggling of schedules for school and homework and activities. It seems that life revolves around the children's world, and we just don't have enough hours in the day to get everyone where they need to be. Dance, tumbling, sports, parent teacher meetings, open houses take up our evenings. The mornings are a rush of getting everyone up and out the door, decent and fed and ready for the day. Those who work outside the home are off to the job, stay-at-home moms are working too.Now we add the holiday season! Seems as if the to-do list just grew exponentially, and the time, well that shrunk exponentially. It all revolves around the family. That family may be mom and dad and one or more children, or may be just mom and a child or two. No matter what the family looks like it is a family, and it is the sun that our planets revolve around.

So, there we are juggling as fast as we can to keep all of the balls in the air. Oh, wait, there is a ball sitting on the floor, not being tossed in the mix. Which ball is that? Oh, yeah, it's the ball that represents the time to care for ourselves. Well, that's just not as important, we think, all these other balls are higher priority. We're wrong of course. That ball sitting there on the floor should be our highest priority. Taking care of ourselves should be job one. BUT, we start, The kids, the husband, they have all of these needs. I just don't have time.

So, we keep juggling, and we get so tired, and we get kind of frustrated and resentful, and we get burned out. Oh, we sigh, what is the answer? The answer is that we need to pick up that ball from the floor first. We need to find time to take care of our needs, and as my son so eloquently says "Time to refresh your soul". But how? Well, just like every part of our journeys, it starts with one step. The first step is to find time to just breathe.Time to find a few minutes to sit still, and fill our lungs with the gift of the wind. It is time to find a place that is just for us. Doesn't have to be a big space, can be just a chair in the corner of the bedroom, or a place on the deck. Any place that we can claim for our needs. It needs to be quiet and comfortable. Place an item or two that please you next to the chair. I have a knick-knack that represents a mother sitting in a rocker. It was a gift from our son and Mr. Bill about 10 years ago. I have a worry stone that Mr. Bill bought me on our family honeymoon trip to the Black Hills. 

So, once we have claimed our space all we need is a bit of time. If we are claiming a few minutes at the end of the day, we might start by making a cup of tea. Use the time while heating the water and brewing the tea to start claiming the time as your own. Telling yourself that this time is sacred. This time is for you! Now you have your cup of tea, my favorite is chamomile, since it helps me relax and sleep better. I sit down with my cup of tea, and breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. As I breathe in slowly, deeply, I draw in strength. As I breathe out slowly and fully I let go of the stresses and tensions of the day. Breathe in strength, breathe out the toxins of stress. Now I can sip my tea for a moment and pay attention to my breathing again. Breathe in, breathe out. Each inhalation and exhalation can become a prayer. This is why I say for me to breathe is to pray. As I take a long slow deep breath, I breath in the wind, which is the Spirit, and allow Spirit to bless me and refresh my body and soul. As I breathe in I express my gratitude for the day. As I breathe out I pray a blessing for someone I love. All of this in a few minutes at the end of the day. A perfect building block, a brick to build on as you start to take care of you. Taking care of you is the most unselfish act you will perform because as you take care of you, you become more able to take care of the others who depend on you. You become a better wife, mother, daughter, friend, and you have placed a brick on the pathway for your journey.

Feed the Hunger

Today's quote...
There is a terrible hunger for love. We all experience that in our lives--the pain, the loneliness. We must have the courage to recognize it. The poor you may have right in your own family. Find them. Love them.
~~Mother Teresa~~

It is the day before Thanksgiving. Many of my friends are also members of Weight Watchers. In fact the WW message boards is where I met most of my closest friends.As we come up against the dreaded holiday season I want to talk about hunger.

 

Sounds a little crazy to address hunger the day before the biggest eating holiday of the year. In fact for many, food and football are all that count tomorrow. But it is a minefield for those of us with eating/weight issues. We can learn to deal with tomorrow in a healthy sensible way,planning ahead, making the best choices we can- or we can let tomorrow happen and start down a slippery slope that only ends in January with shame and guilt.

 

It is always about choices. I am a strange creature. When my life is stressful and i am dealing with so many crisis situations, it is sometimes easier for me to be in control of my eating. It feels very good to be in control of something.

 

I love the Mother Teresa quote. I find in my life the times I am most hungry, the hunger is very rarely for food. Have you identified what you are hungry for? It may very well not be food. Those of us with weight issues have long confused the hunger we feel, trying day after day to satisfy the hunger gnawing at us with food, and more food, and we are not successful because food is not the hunger we need to learn to deal with. Perhaps we need to learn to discern between the types of hunger that we are prone to feel. Is there a hunger for love? Is it learning to love and value our self that is creating the emptiness?

 

Is the lesson we need to learn about loving our selves, valuing our self, taking care of our body, our minds and our spirits so that the correct hunger is being fed in our lives with the correct nourishment? If we are confusing hunger for love and validation with hunger for food, no amount of overfeeding will assuage the hunger.

Learn to listen to your body, and your spirit. Discern what hunger needs fed. Are you physically hungry? Choose healthy, nutritious food to nourish your body. Make the best choices you can make. Is it emotional hunger? Choose to nourish your emotions by seeking out those who will love you enough to tell you how worthy you are. Is it spiritual hunger? Seek times to spend in prayer, meditation, praise and worship of your Higher Power.

Feed the hunger, but make sure you are feeding the right hunger with the right type of nourishment!!