The Second Year – Melancholy days

I have been reading a book called “The Greatest Gift” by Ann Voskamp. It is a series of daily readings which coincide with Advent – the anticipation of Jesus’ birth and ultimate celebration of Christmas. I am so glad I came across this book. I look forward to my mornings reading and reflecting on this season of the year. It has enabled me to experience the days leading up to Christmas with a depth of peace and anticipation that I have never experienced before. It is a quiet joy. That sometimes includes tears.

My heart has been heavy lately. I realized that in an effort to gain some sort of “normalcy” in life, I am trying to “remake” myself – who am I? What kind of work do I want to do? Figure it out. Figure it all out. Where do I want to live? Where will I be in six months or six years? Figure it out. Figure it all out. Churning, striving, thinking. Always thinking. Wakefulness, wonder, worry. Yes, there are questions to be answered. So many. Why did the coal fire go out? It was just burning great three hours ago. Why is it 49 degrees upstairs when I had the furnace repaired last week? Why can’t I escape the multitude of things rushing through my head? God, why? God, how? God, help.

I have questions. I have doubts. And this is what I learned about doubts today:

There are “two kinds of doubts – one that fully lives into the questions, and one that uses the questions as weapons against fully living.” (The Greatest Gift)

I do not want my questions to stagnate me. To get me stuck and become a barrier to living. Life here is short. I am painfully aware of that – and seem to be reminded of it frequently. But the unanswered questions grab onto my legs and pull me down into the sea of doubt. And this is the doubt that becomes a weapon against fully living. I cannot be afraid of the doubt that fully engages me into the questions – to talking about it, all of it. Be authentic and real. We all have doubts. Even the most faith-filled have doubts. How we handle those moments of uncertainty determines whether we truly live or not.

Trying to “remake” myself has been exhausting. I am realizing that the process cannot be forced. But what to do? Today I received some insight from the Greatest Gift:

“Come to Him just as you are.  Give up trying to be self-made: this is your gift to Him – and His gift to you. Simply come.” “the miracle of Christmas is that you get more than proof of God’s existence. You get the experience of God’s presence.”

This Christmas I desire to be freed from the striving, the churning, the worry. I know it is a process. But there is this hope – that life can be lived; fully. Even with the doubts. There is a place where I can go. Just as I am.

“You don’t have to work for the coming of the Lord. You don’t have to work for Christmas. The miracle is always that God is gracious. You don’t have to earn Christmas, you don’t have to perform Christmas, you don’t have to make Christmas. You can rest in Christ. You can wait with Christ. You can breathe easy in Christ. Open your heart to the miracle of grace. He will prepare your heart for the coming of the Lord.”

I may not have much to give others in the way of gifts this Christmas. It is humbling. Can be frustrating. But perhaps the gift I can give is one of Hope – that there is life to be fully lived. Joy in sorrow. Beauty from ashes. Hope that came in the form of a helpless infant. Hope that grew and willingly suffered as a man; One who knows my sadness, my quiet sorrow, my doubts. One who understands. And because of His life and death, I can experience life fully here. That is the joy and hope that I have.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him… give my heart. (In the Bleak Midwinter)

The Second Year – Joyful music

A little known fun fact about me. I grew up playing piano. And when I was in middle school I learned to play the pipe organ at our church. Around that same time,  I remember going to Radio City Music Hall and sitting up in one of the many balconies listening to the Christmas music. I saw the organist moving both feet and hands on multiple pedals and keyboards while manipulating various stops as he created such beautiful sounds. Powerful and strong, gentle and tender. I was amazed.

Once a week, I was able to practice on the pipe organ at church in preparation for my lesson. On more than one occasion, I would climb up on to the bench, open up all the stops and do my best to blast the roof off the church building. Oh, what power. And on the occasion I was able to play a piece well (it took a LOT of work for that to happen!) it had an impact on me. Each foot moving in a separate direction, hands on different key boards and eyes taking it all in. Music touches me deeply. All kinds of music.

But one song in particular was Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy”.  I came across this YouTube video on facebook. The part I enjoyed most was the transformation of the faces in the crowd…from uncertainty to understanding to pure joy. And you could see the sense of joy in the musicians as well once the piece was done. A shared experience amongst strangers. A gift of song.

A bit about the history of this piece:

The text for the hymn was written while (Henry) van Dyke was a guest preacher at Williams College in Williamstown, Massachusetts.  It is said that one morning van Dyke handed the manuscript to the college president, saying, “Here is a hymn for you.  Your mountains (the Berkshires) were my inspiration.  It must be sung to the music of Beethoven’s “Hymn of Joy.”

The tune is from the last movement of Ludwig van Beethoven’s great Ninth Symphony, “The Choral”.  In this great work Beethoven combines the sounds of the orchestra with a full chorus and soloist.  The choral finale uses Schiller’s “Ode to Joy” as its text.  It is hard to believe that at the time of composition Beethoven was totally deaf.  At the premier in 1824 the soloist had to turn the great man around to acknowledge the thunderous standing ovation, which he could not hear.

Joyful, Joyful we adore thee. God of glory. Lord of Love.

The Second Year – Miracle of the Moments

Red and I took a walk during the last snowfall. It was that kind of snow that coated the trees and sparkled on the lawn. I am always amazed at how quiet it is when it snows.  Since Mike has gone, I have these moments once in a while – they are fleeting – but they are deep seated and joyful. Filling me with gratitude for the love and life we shared for 30 years. I miss him deeply and the heart ache hits hard. And yet how blessed I am to have had such a loving companion for so long. These are the little miracles of the moments in life that I am so thankful for.

The Second Year – Coal

“Let it breathe, Trish, let the coal breathe.”

When Mike had a severe case of Lyme disease a few years ago, I became responsible for the coal stove. Each morning I had to shake out the ash and load the stove up with coal. I learned quickly that there is an art to keeping a coal fire going. One time I shook the hot coals too hard and bent the cast iron shaker grates. But Mike had the knack. He was the “Coal King”. And he was determined to teach me how to improve my coal burning skills. Little did I know that I was being prepared for this season of life.

The memory of Mike’s words encouraged me yesterday as I took on this year’s challenge of cleaning and starting the stove. On my very own this time. We have a ton (literally) of coal in the backyard and I don’t want to waste it. So I invited Red to come to the basement with me to give this my best shot.  This was not going to be a quick job. so while I worked, Red got comfortable.

First, I had to prepare the stove for the coal. I didn’t use it last year so I had a lot of cleaning to do. Three ash buckets later, Bertha (who names their stove??) was ready.

That was the easy part. Starting the fire and building the base takes time. A lot of time. And so I began. Fire Starters. Then, kindling. Then logs. More logs. Then a little bit of coal. Another log to keep the fire hot. A bit more coal. Check the air flow. If you put too much coal in at once, it will suffocate the flame and you have to start all over, with a cleaned out stove.

Less wood, more coal. A little more coal. And then a little bit more.

“Not too much at one time, Trish. Let it breathe.”

Go slowly. It needs to breathe.

I made some phone calls. I wrote in my journal. Red lay beside me, dozing. Breathing deeply. Restful.

As I fed the fire slowly, it gradually burned brighter. And warmer. I saw the blue flame spread. Finally, after midnight I thought it might be OK to go to bed. It was risky. I wasn’t sure if the coals were hot enough to burn through the now shortened night. I wondered if I needed to wake up during the night to check on the fire. And then I realized that I needed to let it go and allow the coal to burn; to do it’s job. Coal does not like to be fussed with. Any variation in air flow, no matter how slight, impacts how the coal burns. Too much air, it burns too fast. Too little air, and it suffocates. Either way, the result is the same – it burns out. So I checked it one more time and felt satisfied that the bed of coals was deep enough for the night. It was burning steadily.

Just before I dozed off, I thought about that fire and the fine balance that it needs in order to burn efficiently. Too much of one thing…not enough of another…and the flames either burn out too quickly or they are smothered. And so it is with JOY. It needs to be cultivated; with great intention.  Do I cultivate joy in my life? Even in the hard times? I think back to the late nights of Mike’s last weeks at home; when all was quiet. Mike was sleeping in his recliner. I was tucked into the blankets on the couch next to him. It was so dark. I listened to the rhythm of Mike’s breathing. I saw the moon and the stars through the door. Life was surreal. I thought about all Mike was going through. And all I was going through. I took the time, in the night, to process the previous day. And I looked at the stars.  Every night on that couch this song came to my mind. A song that reminded me to seek joy.

“You’re rich in love and  you’re slow to anger, Your name is great and your heart is kind. For all your goodness I will keep on singing, 10,000 reasons for my heart to find.”

And each morning I set about cultivating those seeds of Joy that God placed in my heart the night before. This does not mean I was happy. It was different. Much different. It was the joy of a heart at rest; knowing that even in the midst of intense difficulties, I knew I was not alone and I knew that ultimately, I was going to be OK. And that has not changed.

So like the stove, I remember to take it slow, that I can’t rush the process, and that healing takes time.

“Let it breathe, Trish, let your soul breathe.”

“Then Jesus said, ‘Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.'” Mt 11:28

The Second Year – Finding JOY on the Journey

I have been dreading this “holiday season”. Before Thanksgiving, I honestly felt like I just wanted it all to blow over. To go away. To leave me alone. I was overwhelmed even with the anticipation of the busyness and cultural urgency of the season. I didn’t want to listen to Christmas music, I stayed out of stores, and even the thought of decorating the house was overwhelming. But in spite of my seeming “scroogy-ness”  there was one word that entered my mind and took up residence there.

It didn’t scream for attention. It gently nudged me at times. Quietly. I decided I better start giving it some of my attention. One night I was working on a project and decided to “watch” the Charlie Brown Christmas special to give me some “white noise” (the house gets very quiet) . And there it was. That word again.

“Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people…”  Luke 2:10

Good news. Great joy. That is quite a promise. I realized how accustomed I have become to receiving bad news. I think on some level, I even expect it now. Linus got my attention.

“for to you…”

Get ready for it – here is the news – and it is good….

“….is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”

According to Webster’s Dictionary, a Savior is “someone who saves something or someone from danger, harm, failure.” And Lord is defined as “one having power and authority over others”. This is the good news that would bring great joy to all the people. Even to the woman who is swimming in grief. The one who is sometimes afraid of moving forward, making new memories, discovering a new life. Don’t be afraid….there is good news for you…. there is One who has the power and authority to save you from danger, harm, and failure. There is hope for you. You are not alone.

This is reason for great joy.

I put my project aside and I was inspired to make it a goal of mine to find JOY in the next 20 days. This season, for me, is to be one of anticipation – an advent –  as I anticipate receiving, yet again, the good news that brings great JOY to all the people on Christmas day.

Here’s to the first day of finding JOY on this journey.

The Second Year – From “WE” to “me”

This morning I woke up with this thought:

I am single.

It was shocking. I am no longer married. I am not part of a couple. I am a middle aged woman who lives alone. I don’t like it. The big Red stinky dog may take offense to that, but it is a fact. This is not an ad for Christian Mingle in any way, shape, or form. But it is a new realization. One that makes my skin crawl to be honest.

When I talk about Rebecca and Molly I am not sure whether to refer to them as “our” daughters or “my” daughters. Is Red “my” dog or “our” dog? Is this “my” house or “our” house; the house “we” built together? “We” wanted to travel to Italy, “we” wanted to build a patio, renovate the basement, host dinners for friends and spend time with family. These were all “our” desires. How do I feel about them now? Plain and simple: I don’t know.

When you spend 30 years with someone, you cannot make decisions unilaterally. Mike and I were sensitive to how our choices would impact the other, regardless of how big or small it was. It was a foundation of respect for one another. We learned over time not to assume what the other wanted, needed, or thought. We learned how to communicate better but we had not perfected it. Who does? We did our best encouraging one another’s strengths and tried not to take shortcomings personally. Again, in our humanness, we did not achieve perfection. We spoke truth to one another and we checked one another when needed. When I said something that was not necessary (and Rebecca, Keith, and Molly, you know full well what I am talking about! Think Grand Canyon…), Mike would shake his head and smile (most of the time) and say, “Trishhhhh….”.  And sure enough, I would replay the tape in my head and most of the time, be embarrassed by what came out of my mouth. And I did the same for him. Now Red just stares at me with those deep brown eyes and gives me a lick. Comforting, but not all that helpful. To go from that kind of largeness of thinking; considering others, to living alone is an adjustment.

Going from “WE” to “me” is a struggle. “WE” is in caps because to me, it feels stronger, more stable. Mike and I made a good team and I believed, with God’s help, we could conquer anything. We had several opportunities to prove that.  “me” is in lower case because I feel small. That’s it. I know that is not true, that it is only a feeling. I know that because I have done things the last year, with God’s strength, that I never thought I could.

Maybe this is what the second year will teach me. How to think differently and identify what is important to me. It will take some time for me to figure all of this out. After all, it took 30 years of working at it for us in the opposite direction! I hold onto this promise from Jeremiah 29:11:

For I know the plans I have for you (Patty),” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you (Patty) a future and a hope.

I cling to that promise as I enter this new season of life. It is still “do the next thing” and “be patient” but I know a lot will happen this year and with this kind of promise, I can rest knowing I do have a future and hope.

The Second Year – Shadows

Even when I walk
    through the darkest valley,
I will not be afraid,
    for you are close beside me.

 This is a picture of Yosemite Valley. It is where Mike and I spent our honeymoon. It was October 1984 and I will never forget the clear crisp air, the golden aspens and the peace in the valley. This is one of my favorite places and I am so thankful I was able to share it with Mike on two different occasions.

This picture just does not do it justice.  The peaks are so high and in the middle of the day, you can find yourself in their great shadows. I can feel so small in this valley.

The last couple of days I have been feeling small again; like I am living in the shadows of life. Yes, I “survived” the official one year mark of Mike’s passing. And I have to say there was a sense of relief come November 1 and 2. And then it hit. The shadow. I find myself stumbling again. I wish I could identify what triggered this wave because then it would give me some sense that I might be able to control this thing called grief. But grief is not linear.  It is circular, spiral, twist and turn-y and you never know what is going to trigger the sadness, depression, or anger.

I took a long look at the picture above and thought about my time in Yosemite valley. And I thought about the shadows. They move. They shift and change with the sun. Sometimes they shift quickly and sometimes they don’t. But the thing I hold onto is that they don’t last forever.  And in the meantime, I will learn to be still. This is a song by the Fray that reminds me to do just that.

Be Still.

31(+ 1) Days of Thanks – a True Team

TEAM

“A group of people with different skills and

different tasks, who work together on a

common project, service, or goal, with a

meshing of functions and mutual support.”

http://courses.washington.edu/ie337/team.pdf

A group of different people, who “work together” and offer “mutual support”. This is one of the most comprehensive definitions of the word “team” that I have ever come across.  Having worked as a coach for many years and as an employee of one of the nation’s military academies, I have always been on the lookout for how to be better at developing the team concept. One thing that is particularly important to me is to teach athletes how to care for their teammates. It seems like it should be a simple thing to teach, but that is not always the case. And I wish I could say that all of my teams were known to be caring and selfless towards one another,  but that is not the case either. But I have a recent example of what can happen when coaches and teammates invest in one another and care for one of their own. It is life changing.

This is a picture of our daughter’s college volleyball team taken August 2012. This was the day that the athletes and coaches went through their team building process to set the tone for the season. This was also shortly after Mike’s surgery in Boston and diagnosis of liposarcoma. Our daughter was a sophomore on the team at the time. She is second from the right in the back row. You can see a smile on her face but as her Mom, I can see the pain in her heart.

Mike’s cancer battle coincided with the volleyball season. Due to Mike’s physical limitations, he was no longer able to attend the matches. And so we watched many on line from home. When possible, I went to as many matches as I could. It was hard to take those first trips alone and to walk into the gym by myself. But it was always made easier by the bright smiles and hugs from players, coaches, parents, and the college staff. I felt welcome. Mike received cards in the mail from the coach weekly. Her daughter became Mike’s pen pal of sorts, sending him all kinds of pictures and notes to brighten his day:

These pictures were hung where they were easily seen and the inspirational messages were enough to make us smile and carry Mike through another day. In the meantime, our daughter was suffering much anguish in being away from her Dad during this challenging time. She came home on Sundays to visit and returned to campus with a heavy heart for another week. In the gaps, her teammates and coaches reached out to her and reassured her that they were there for her. In time, she learned to allow them to care for her with the kind of support that only true teammates can offer.

Mike’s health continued to decline throughout the volleyball season. Sadly, he passed away in the hospital the end of October, the last week of the regular season. It was a chaotic time. The day that Mike died, the state was facing the after effects of super storm Sandy. There were power outages, trees down, flooding, and destruction. But we had been  kept safe within the hospital walls. We literally had peace within the storm.  After our final good byes, it came time for us to leave the hospital, but we didn’t know where to go. Molly, and I did not have the energy to go home to a house without power or heat; and to the oxygen tank, walker, and hospital bed. So we ended up at our place of quiet – the lake. There was power there. And peace. We were so tired. I went to the bedroom and fell asleep immediately. I woke up to the sound of voices and dishes, and smelled food. Molly’s teammates and coaches had arrived. They made dinner. And since it was Halloween, they handed out whatever candy they could find in the house, eventually giving out granola bars. I laugh when I think of the whole scene. A couple of teammates stayed over. And stayed close to Molly. I don’t remember those days very well. But I do remember waking up at various times, always to the sound of the team. They returned again and again, to feed us and to show us that they cared. Sometimes I didn’t even get up to greet them. And that was OK. They came in, cooked and visited with Molly, and then left quietly. Always leaving a plate of food for me. I honestly don’t know if we would have eaten anything that week had they not been there. I have never experienced fatigue like that before. And this all took place at the busiest time of the volleyball season. A time when coach’s minds are on preparing their team for post season play and doing a whole lot of paperwork. It certainly was not convenient for the coaches or the team to make the time to care for us.

We waited a couple of weeks before having Mike’s memorial services.  Rebecca needed time to heal after giving birth to Caleb and our family in NJ was hit hard by the storm. We settled on the week of Thanksgiving; a busy week for everyone but we had few options. We were deeply touched by the commitment of the volleyball coaches and team to drive down for Mike’s wake. They came. And they stayed. THEY SHOWED UP. They ate with us. And then they drove back to school.  The next morning, they came again; to the church this time. They gave hugs and they stayed. THEY SHOWED UP. All this during a time when they were finishing up projects, taking exams, and making plans to travel home for Thanksgiving. Once again, they offered us the gift of their time, their love, and support when it certainly was not convenient for them.

I have not yet found the words that adequately express my gratitude for all this team has done for us. Their support carried Molly through the first year without her Dad. And they continue to care for Molly on a daily basis, walking with her through the many ups and downs of grief. They are patient, compassionate, and forbearing. And as they care for Molly, they care for me.

This is how I choose to end my 31 (+1) days of Thanks. To the coaches and staff of SCVB, past and present, and to the athletes; may you experience the mutual love and support that you have shown to us over this past year and may you know deep in your hearts how grateful I am to you for standing in the gap. #RollPride

“A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.” Ecclesiastes 4:12

31 Days of Thanks – the Fog

I’ve been struggling with what to write today. One minute I am happily thinking of Caleb’s first birthday and then wham-o, I picture Mike in his last hours. What a contrast. I feel pretty numb.

For me, the days before a significant anniversary are much harder than the actual day. If you asked, I could give you the details of the last week of Mike’s life. They have been playing over and over in my mind.  It is not the day he took his last breath that is most difficult for me.  It is remembering the days leading up to that moment that cause sleepless nights. The day Mike passed to Heaven brought with it some relief – relief because he was no longer suffering, relief because he knew where he was going, and relief because we are confident that we will be together again one day. Mike said several times that he was not afraid for himself, but knew that this was going to be hard on us. He even went so far as to say that it was harder on us than him.  I am not so sure about that. We are running a marathon; he ran a sprint. Each is challenging in its own way, and can take you to your breaking point. But he was right in the fact that yes, this is hard. So very hard. And this week the fog has settled in thickly, making it hard to see clearly and to know where I am heading. Sometimes I want to move faster, but we all know that going faster in the fog does not make things clear up. In fact, it puts you at greater risk.

So I do my best to slow down. To take care, be intentional in my actions, be aware, and know that this fog is temporary even though I may have to sit in it for a short while. And that is OK. Clearer moments are coming. I never know when, but I will keep looking and I can be thankful that they exist even when I can’t see them.

 So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever. 2 Corinthians 4:18.

31 Days of Thanks – Broken Hearts

This morning the sun was shining bright and I noticed shadows dancing on the curtains in my bedroom. These are the leaves from the redbud outside of the window that were casting the shadows:

I noticed that some of the leaves had holes in them while others were whole:

My heart feels like this one:

But as I work through these hard days, it will one day be like this one:

And this is the promise that I am thankful for today:

 This is day 28 of:

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