Oh My God, God!

“Well, I might as well tell you, I’m seeing someone”, Kevin rattled off nervously at the end of our dinner together at Grills in Cape Canaveral. I almost leaped up and hugged Kevin, but held myself back. Instead, I looked at Rich and we gave each other a high-five. “See, God answers prayer. I’ve been praying and fasting!” I had been too. I squealed with motherly delight. Kevin had survived a difficult year getting over the one and only girl he thought he’d ever love, Patrice. Ten months ago, Patrice suddenly broke off their four-year relationship. It shattered and confused Kevin. Nobody prepares you for your first real breakup; he just didn’t have the tools. He knew he blew it big time with Patrice. But it was only after losing her that he realized how much he was capable of loving, and how much regret he had for not being the boyfriend she really needed. Kevin and I talked for hours the first couple of months after the split. It pained me to hear him so devastated. There were many good things that came out of Patrice breaking up with Kevin. We both agreed it was necessary for him to be a better person (maybe someday a better boyfriend or husband). However, that didn’t make it easier. I still shutter when I think of how bad it got.

Last summer I went down to FL to see Kevin. I felt like I was on a mission from God (cue the Blue Brother's Peter Gunn Theme in my head). Something told me that I needed to have some face-to-face time with Kevin. I offered to come down there a few times right after the breakup, but he told me he was okay. He was protecting me and minimizing his own personal pain. Rich got down there a couple of times so I felt a little better. However, after Rich’s last visit in May, I knew something was wrong. So I lied about coming down there in June and told him I was taking yoga classes.

Over dinner at Grills in June, he told me with tears in his eyes that on 3 different occasions he put his 9mm gun to his head. I remember grabbing his arm and steadied myself not to start crying so he would keep talking. He was serious as he told me the details of the position of the gun and it’s tight trigger effect. He made it clear all it took was millisecond. The visual in my mind made my stomach turn and my legs weak. Kevin recounted how much physical and emotional pain he was in. He hadn’t slept in months; his back was in constant spasms. He just wanted to get out of pain. I understood what he meant. I’ve visited that dark place before and had my own dark year of the soul. The mind is a fragile place when it has unprocessed grief. Nobody wants to commit suicide they just want out of their pain. After our dinner, I went back to my hotel and called Rich and cried until I fell asleep.

 I knew Kevin was in trouble and still not over Patrice six months after they broke up. I was beside myself with fear and needed to get that gun from Kevin. All I could do was pray. In the morning I got my answer: Go see Danny (Kevin’s dad, who hates me by the way). I needed his support so I could get the gun away from Kevin. I needed back up. Deep down Kevin has always wanted Danny’s approval, so I knew he would listen to his dad.

When I showed up at Danny’s house, Emily (Kevin’s sister) answered the door. I didn’t know if she recognized me. Although, the shocked look on her face meant she probably did. Nervously I said, “Emily, It’s me, Kevin’s mom, is your dad home?” Danny approached the door. He was not happy to see me and stepped outside on the front porch. Trembling I said, “Danny I need your help, Kevin’s in trouble and has tried to kill himself with his gun 3 times.” With that, he dropped the angry look and became Kevin’s dad. Like me, Kevin had been telling his father he was okay when he really wasn’t. I told Danny I wasn’t leaving Cocoa Beach until I got that gun away from Kevin, but I needed Danny to keep it.

Later that day, I told Kevin he was going to give his gun to his dad or I was not leaving. Kev knew me well enough to know it was true. As much as Kevin pushes back on just about everything I say, he knew this was a “don’t mess with mama moment.” I think on some subconscious level, he knew it was necessary. So we drove over to his dad’s house. We all helped Kevin process the latest news that Patrice was also now dating again. The poor kid went from such intense sobs of grief (that the relationship was finally over) to rising waves of anger when he realized that he just wasted so much time hoping (even praying) she’d come back. With that hurtful news, Kevin offered up his gun to his dad.

I will forever be grateful to Danny (and his wife Barb) for those three healing hours. Kevin’s father outwardly put aside his hatred for me. He was present in Kevin’s pain and listened to his son explain many feelings. There were things Kevin needed to say about his anger and what it was like growing up in a divorced family. I kept asking questions and Kevin kept talking. Not many kids have the chance to tell their parents how painful and frustrating it was to be in the middle of their divorce. I hoped that some of that stubborn anger would begin to dissolve. His dad saved Kev’s life by keeping the gun until he got on the other side of this ‘season of hurt’. I know that I was so close to losing my son to his own tortured soul. 

So let’s fast-forward again to the present at Grills Restaurant. Hearing Kevin say with a smile on his face he was seeing someone was wonderful news. Then, without missing a beat he said, “And she’s a dancer at the strip club!” My son is dating a stripper! “We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks and taking things slow.” He recounted how they met and started hanging out. “Here name is Madison.” He said beaming as if her name was as pretty as she was. I sorta forgot for a moment that she was a stripper. I mean, what do you say? He started to show me photos of her (he had to cover her body and just show Rich her face). A million things went through my mind in these few minutes before we left the restaurant. I went to the bathroom, made sure it was empty then actually looked up and said, “You are funny God. Really? You have a great sense of humor. Oh my God, God!!!” 

Could I be loving towards my son’s new girlfriend even though she’s a stripper? Of course, yes! If ever there were two people this girl would be lucky to have as boyfriend-in-laws it was Rich and I. We’ll do everything in our power to look past it; no judgment. Besides, Madison is young and what she does is not who she is. This dear girl is special in the eyes of God and apparently in the eyes of my son. I have no right to judge Madison. I know if I’m honest, I sorta did at first blush. But Lord knows I have my own past. The storyteller in me knows it’s hilarious on some level. All mothers have preconceived ideas of the kind of girls their sons would bring home. Kevin was raised in a very conservative Christian home. We are not right-wing conservatives anymore. Instead, we’ve mellowed out and have far-reaching love for others outside the church--those that usually have no voice or advocates in fundamental Christian circles. Jesus is our example. He hung out with those who were outcasts; those who did things for a living that were questionable.

I’ve long given up burdening my Christian cultural beliefs on Kevin. He’s free to explore his own faith with God. I have a deep trust that God’s got a plan for Kevin’s life; and it’s between the two of them. My job is just to love and accept. Yes, sometimes I’d like Kevin’s life to be neat and tidy so I didn’t have to be praying all the time—worrying about his choices (some of which have been dangerous) unchecked hypertension, guns, underground racing just to name a few.

I had the pleasure of meeting Kevin’s new girlfriend. It was so cute to see them holding hands and sitting close together. I never get tired of watching young love. Madison has the most gorgeous blue eyes. She likes cats, is a vegetarian, and plays the violin. She loves her baby sister and older brother, and is close to her dad and mom. She has more manners than Kevin. I busted out laughing when she slipped with her Southern charm and said ‘Yesss Ma’am!” Madison has a great sense of humor and laughed with us. She was shy, which was natural. I wondered if she wanted us to ask about her job or not? Part of me wanted to just get it out of the way so we could just move on in case she felt worried how we were really feeling. I chose to keep it light and easy. If Madison wanted to talk about it, I’d let her lead the way. I wanted her to know that I could see past what she does and instantly liked her very much. 

Strangely enough, I already feel protective of this new gal. I think about all that Madison has to endure night after night. What kind of negative energy does she take on? As a woman, I know she only does it for the money. I judge the scummy men (my issues) who reduce these beautiful girls into objects of sexual lust for their own immediate gratification. And for whatever reason, she is comfortable with that. I hope Madison will give me a chance to have real conversations with her as time rolls on and she learns to trust us. I hope Kevin warned her that I don’t do superficial very well. I want to get to know what makes her tick. I won’t try to change her; that’s not my job. I truly want to know Madison as a person. And as much as I love my son, I don’t have much in common with him when it comes to all things cars and video games. It would be great to have some female energy around to help balance things out.

As for Madison and Kevin, this relationship will unfold how it’s supposed to; it’s all-new. I hugged Kev as we left Grills and told him, “I just want you to be happy.” If he really knew the truth, the whole stripper thing was a perfect move in God’s playbook to deal with me. He was just lovingly smacking me upside my ‘stereotypical Christian worldview head’ that’s why I think it’s funny. I’ve come a long way from my dogmatic days. Nowadays, the only thing that would have challenged me more was if she was working for Glen Beck. “Oh God, please don’t let her be a Tea Partier! I don’t think I could handle that, especially in an election year!” Just kidding. :-D

(Thank you Kevin & Madison for allowing me to share this story.)

Counting Blessings One By One

 A few years back, (2008), I was given a journal from my dear friend Deb Ritthaler. We were throwing her a big 50^th celebration, when she turned it on us and gave us some gifts to show her appreciation. Tucked inside this leather bound journal was a little something she wrote telling us how much we meant to her. They say ‘love is in the details.’ It was so thoughtful of her to include us in her celebration as she celebrated us.

But at the time, I was going through the hardest year of my life. I had stopped writing all together.  I have lots of journals. Deb knows if I die, she has strict orders to get them out of the safe and out of house immediately and fling them into a deep dark lake or burn them. She is also to take my computer, get all the pictures off it, then sweep it clean and toss it into the lake with the journals, just to be on the safe side. I don’t want anyone to see what my most private thoughts are on a bad day. Besides, they are just thoughts; but the person reading them may not think that. It’s not like I’m Emily Dickenson. So you’re not going to find some amazing writing that will be hailed decades later as profound poetry. No, you’ll think, “Man, she was either a firecracker or on crack!” Sure, there is some good stuff there too; I am passionate about those I love and dislike (I really don’t hate anyone). However, I’m not risking rolling over in my grave knowing that anyone would read one paragraph in any of these journals. Besides, there is no spell check with journals!! I’d die again just thinking of someone reading my dyslexic dribble!!  

 I wondered what would I do with this thoughtful journal from my friend? Would I fill it with more pathetic lamentations? I have a safe full of those kinds of journals. I remembered having dinner with a missionary from Africa whose son had a severe head injury. He told this story how his son lay in the hospital and there was nothing that they could do but wait and pray that the swelling would go down and that he wasn’t brain damaged. In his thick African accent, he told us how he and his wife decided to go bless others out of thanksgiving for what God has done in their life. I was like, “What?” I would have never have left my son’s bedside. I would have been only thinking about my loss, my fears, my desperate prayers, my son. This wise man sensed God reminding him that if he wanted blessings he needs to remember to bless others first. Wow, it was so spiritual. So off he and his wife went to spend time praying with others in the hospital that were also hurting. The blessing of others worked, as God granted his prayers and healed his son who recovered fully. Remembering this story made me realize that I needed to remember to count my blessings one by one. Maybe if I started focusing on what I’m grateful for, I’d feel better? I decided that I would write 5 things each day (or most days) what I’m grateful for. Here are a smattering of actual words on miscellaneous days from 08-to the present.

This is what I wrote for the first time in my new Gratitude Journal on May 1^st 2008: I’m grateful for so many blessings. Even when life can be disappointing or difficult (or I can be disappointing or difficult), each day offers something simple to remind me God’s ‘mercy is new everyday’.

1) A sunny day.

2) Fred let me sleep in.

3) Loving friends.

4) A Myspace message from Carrie (remember Myspace?).

5) Losing 6 pounds.

There are a few themes that are threaded throughout the years: sunny days, Fred, yoga, squirrels, and birds, time with Rich, loving friends, and losing weight.

But there are other things that altered the path of my life.

June 1^st 2008

1) Kevin talked to me during a dark period. He was bold, wise, and caring. He told me I needed to live in the present and stop dwelling on the past, meditate, go live life. (That conversation changed my life!)

2) My brother Mike sent me voice mails that were thoughtful, and one funny email.

3) Rich’s text.

4) Talking to Thomas & Ellen.

5) Rich got me a new bike.

I got through 2008 and learned gratitude was the way to heal.

January 7^th 2009

1) Couldn’t sleep-had a great prayer time.

2) Worked out early-not easy but I’m doing it.

3) Wrote a blog on Israel and Gaza conflict.

4) Psalm 103: 1-6.

5) Jessie Barton got on Facebook. It made my day! She lives in TN. She is a dear friend I miss.

September 23^rd 2009

1) Accepting Change –Like fall is here.

2) Squirrels.

3) Mindful Eating.

4) Knee braces & MRI’s (After our car accident 3 weeks earlier).

5) Walk around the block with Fred.

As time went on, I grew to have a deep sense of appreciation for just about everything.

April 22^nd 2010

1) Mornings when I can putz around.

2) Sushi w/Kimmie Reuter-love that girl! Laughter!

3) Yoga + 14 mile bike ride.

4) Awareness.

5) A husband who is so helpful in every area of my life.

If we had breakfast, lunch or dinner, or talked on the phone, or exchanged a great email, it often ended up in my gratitude journal. How I did so much on some days is a wonder, but I’m grateful I did.

June 22^nd 2010

1) Bing Cherries.

2) Hot walk w/Patti at Moraine State Park.

3) Yoga outside.

4) Encouraging email from Steve McNitt on my writing.

5) Sitting at Crystal Lake on a bench watching the sun set. Peaceful!!

Sept 7^th 2010

1) Day at the Races with Ralph & Patti.

2) Wonderful/helpful neighbors.

3) BG Days-laughing with old friends.

4) Get yoga studio ready.

5) Dog walk with Fred on this glorious day!

Dec 22^nd 2010

1) Sarah’s wedding was lovely.

2) Dancing with my hubby.

3) Going to the movies w/Kevin.

4) Nice evening with Adam & Carrie and April & Ben and the boys.

5) Girlfriends like Pam Story who really knows what I really needed for Christmas. So she sent me 2 martini glasses, a lime, and all the alcohol fixings for Cosmos(+ the recipe).

The years roll on. Some days the things that I’m grateful for are light and airy words. Some days are harder, but what happens mattered, and I’m grateful for the good things.

March 13^th 2011

1) Morning yoga by myself.  

2) Song: Let it Be….there will be an answer…let it be!

3) Too fun: Beatles Rock Band w/Mike & Chris (my brother & sister in law) Our band’s name: Wii-suck.

4) Great Mexican Dinner at La Hacienda in Roselle.

5) Talking w/Kevin 2 hours-Hard to hear him in so much pain (so honest, raw, and pure). Grateful he is letting me in. I pray for peace and for sleep to come to him soon.

March 19^th 2011

1) Brain cells to study and remember.

2) 3 mile walk by myself-contemplative.

3) SUN! I can’t get enough of it.

4) Birds-they fill in the space of silence. Perfect!

5) Interfaith prayer service for Japan. It was an honor to pray with others whose hearts are touched by all the devastation Japan is going though. One God created us all. One God can heal us all too!

July 4^th 2011

1) Seeing Kevin process his grief.

2) Danny helping me get gun from Kevin.

3) Walking along the beach in the morning.

4) Home for Parade & Dinner w/ Jones on the patio.

5) Hanging out at Crystal Lake Fest with Mike and Chris listening to Beatles cover band.

There are more random, mundane moments that I’m so grateful for too.

August 13^th 2011

1) Talked to Kevin for 45 mins-love that kid.

2) Passing my MAS 139 test-Thank you brain cells.

3) Connecting w/Chicks to plan another 50^th birthday celebration.

4) Lake Geneva again-never gets old.

5) Hammock in a tree overlooking the lake studying-AWESOME!

August 22^nd 2011

1) The rare hummingbird appearance.

2) Patio Dinners w/neighbors.

3) 14 mile bike ride this morning.

4) Peaches & Cream.

5) My adoring husband.

November 22nd.

1) Sleeping in

2) Rainy days that keep me inside

3) Cleaning and Organizing

4) Done with 200 hours Yoga RYT

5) Reflecting on the amazing painting of me, God, and Kevin that Jessie created and sent me. 

If I should die, I wouldn’t want anyone to read my old ‘poor me’ journals. I don’t write like that very often anymore. I want this gratitude journal to go to Kevin. Why? It’s the most priceless thing I own. It captures my simple heart and my simple joys and all the amazing people who God has brought into my life who have made a difference to me. No matter what life brings good or bad, I’ve learned there is always something to be thankful for. Thank you Deb for giving me one more journal.

And on this eve of Thanksgiving, I am especially grateful that Kevin who is here and has fought the good fight during his difficult year; for allowing me to write about it (more to come). I’m proud of you. Your mama loves you!      

  

Facebook-Love it or Hate it

Been away, haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been? Have you changed your style? And do you think that we’ve grown up differently? Don’t seem the same since you’ve lost your feel for me.  So let’s leave it alone ‘cause we can’t see eye to eye. There ain’t no good guy, there ain’t no bad buy, there’s only you and me and we just disagree. ~ Dave Mason

Somebody said to me last week in a passing conversation about Facebook, “You live on Facebook!” Wow, perception is everything! I'll confess, I go on Facebook everyday. I’ve been known to leave 10 comments and “Like” 15 different things in five minutes as I scroll down through my news feed. I’ll bop over to Facebook a minute here, a minute there. I’ll be on it longer if I’m privately composing a long message to a friend to catch up. However, according to the almighty twitter thingy in the upper right hand corner, it would seem I live on Facebook. Have other people accused you of living on Facebook? That bugs me! Today I ate lunch by myself and pulled out my iPhone and opened up my Facebook app. It beats smiling awkward at strangers or staring into space by myself at the table.

When it comes to Facebook, I always tell new Facebooker, it's a great place to connect with my old friends, co-works, old and new neighbors, family, and new friends; you get out of it what you put into it. And yet, I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. I’ll tell ya what I love and hate about it.

I HATE that new damn twitter thingy. Did you hear me Mark Zuckerberg and all you young whippersnappers at Facebook’s headquarters who thought it was a cool idea. It is like having tick in my right eye. I don’t like that my privacy is gone forever. And if I do comment on someone’s page, it’s “out there” for everyone to interpret whatever he or she wants. Since the FB twitter has come online a few months ago, I noticed that I’ve started to censor myself. I HATE that too. I’m pretty open, bold, opinionate, but I’m also bawdy, bossy and bitchy. I’m a Bible believing Christian (not to be confused with Bible thumping I hope). I’m more in the Anne Lamott category because I’ve been know to swear and I’m a tree-hugging liberal Democrat (I have my reasons why). I’m sure there are people who think that I shouldn’t be in leadership, or have my mouth washed out with soap, or my salvation is in question. You’re probably right, but I’ll take my chances on God’s grace by continuing to be my imperfect self.  I actually had someone on FB question how I could be a Christian and be a Democrat because Republicans are Pro-Life. News flash, I’m Pro-Life too (I just think that ship has sailed and there are other human-right issues.)

Prior to the public voyeurism of my thoughts on the FB twitter feed, my comments were usually private to only those FB friends who ‘knew me’ and ‘get me’. It was okay to put in your two cents in with the safety of being understood because you’re in relationship (to know me is to love me). Nothing irritates me more then seeing people I don’t even know show up in my Facebook News Feed. I don’t care that you ‘Liked’ your dog groomer’s new clippers; I don’t even know her. But I’m glad for your dog. I’m sure you don’t give a rip that I ‘Liked’ my old neighbor in FL when she got a radical new haircut either. Stuff like that makes me miss the days my friend’s Farm Animal or Mafia Wars games used to inundate my news feed.

But this new FB twitter makes me wonder what will all my conservative Republican friends think if they see that I agree with my wonderful, intelligent, friend Mikey about the Occupy Wall Street protest? Probably, here she goes again! What would they think if I re-post something about something debatable in this country? I’ve been sharing my thoughts on social issues for 4 years; its now just more visible. I've commented on everything from the Mosque a few blocks from the World Trade scar, the standoff with Governor Scott Walker of Wisconsin and the unions, the debt ceiling, to Health Care Reform, Immigration, to the killing of an innocent woman in Iran because she showed up at a public protest. And if I post a Jon Steward clip, my FB wall lights up. I'm such a stinker. :-p

What got me thinking about what I love and hate about FB is I so wanted to ‘Like’ a photo Mikey posted with a twenty-something young man holding up a sign at the OWS that said, “I LOVE HUMANITY. LET’S FIGURE THIS SHIT OUT TOGETHER.” I ‘Liked’ that in my mind. That pictures spoke to me for a few days because that what I really feel deep down. But I paused because heavens to Betsy it would come up on somebody’s stupid twitter feed. I appreciated when Tony Campolo called out a conservative Christian audience in 2003 speech when he said, “First, while you were sleeping last night, 30,000 kids died of starvation or disease related to malnutrition. Second, most of you don’t give a shit. What’s worse is that you’re more upset with the fact that I said shit than the fact that 30,000 kids died last night.” Yeah, I’m in Tony’s camp. 

What will people think if I agree or comment when my friend Lena says f#%k in her status update because she’s pissed off that her license paperwork got screwed up. Sorry friends, I say that word more then you realize. Frickin, F#^k, it’s all the same to me. Hey, I’ve heard many of you say it to.  The way I look at it, its just punctuation. If I offend you, I sincerely apologize. It is not my intention. I’ve often wondered when Jesus called the Pharisees 2000 years ago ‘a Brood of Vipers’ if he was sorta calling them ‘assholes’. There, I said it!!!

There are a lot of hotly debated topics that come on Facebook. I love it and hate it. Based on our upbringing, our social standing, personality, experiences and beliefs, what we read or watch on TV, we each form our own opinions. What concerns me is that sometimes it doesn’t seem like it’s okay to disagree. We take things personally when people disagree with us. We align with a position—and hunker down. I get it, I do that too sometimes. I sometimes do it with a tone like when I state until my dying breath, I will never ever watch Fox News because Christians have sanctified it as the corner on all political and American truth. I laugh when die-hard Fox watchers say CNN is bias. Ha! Really? I watched Fox  ‘spread’ falsehoods with distorted questioning undertones that steered the public conversation that President Obama wasn’t born in this country, is a socialist, Muslim, and is trying to destroy the country, is against Israel, the list goes on. But just because you watch Fox News, Glen Beck, or like Ann Coulter (who I wouldn’t even share a cab ride with because I don’t think she has the capacity to let other people disagree with her), I’ll still read what you posted from her just to see if she’s mellowed out over the years. She occasionally has a good point. I just don’t think she has the capacity to see that there are two sides of a coin. By the way, I wouldn’t share a cab ride with Democrat James Carvel either because he and Ann are way too dogmatic for me. Lighten up people! Let others have an opinion.

In the next year there will be lots of FB political postings, comments, etc. I enjoy politics like some people like watching the NASDAQ or sports statistics. I have followed politics since I was in 3^rd grade when we did a mock election between Nixon and McGovern at Longfellow Elementary. I put up posters, paper buttons, and campaigned for tricky Dick. See, I was a Republican once.  I just want to put it out there now that I will put my two cents in on Facebook. Why? I can’t help myself because there are two sides of a coin. And all the people have a voice. And if they don’t you can be sure that I’ll say something about it. I hate that I’m sorely out numbered by my Republican friends on Facebook. I appreciate when my Democrat friends come out and bravely wade into a conversation on my wall to help me say things I feel but can’t articulate. I’ll comment because I just want you to know that there are people, even Christians (like me) who feel differently. That doesn’t mean I’m a Socialist or un-American. It doesn’t mean that you don’t matter to me. You do! It just means we don’t see eye to eye on an issue. I have no problem stating my point and listening to you talk about the Tea Party or tea bags. All that matters is that at the end of the day we can be civil and not call anyone names.

What I do love about Facebook? I love that I could have a 5-minute IM chat conversation with my former boss and dear friend Steve in CA. I love that I can see when my friend Jessie, whose let her creative side come forth, posts her artwork on display in the local gallery in her town in TX. I love how I can read real life travel logs and food reviews from Celeste. I love how John and Lori are tied to be the best smart-asses with their wicked, ironic, sarcastic humor on my news feed. I love how I can say to Ann, ‘It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life, or that I love her more than my luggage’ and she knows exactly what I mean. I love that your pets are almost as human as you and make me smile (especially Stinky the pitbull and Ditch the wondermut).

When life is bigger than me and I need prayer for something serious, I love that my FB friends will let me know they are praying. I love how my dear friend Craig makes me laugh at least once a day…some days we all need a Craig comment. I love how I can be reminded of young love from Anna, Kensie, Emma, or Nelson. I love that Tamara encourages me to ‘Bring it’ as a new businesswoman. I love how Howie asks thought provoking questions. I love when I don’t have time to watch the Hawks or the Bears, I can usually find out how they’re doing in Real-Time from Mark. I love getting health or yoga tips from my friend Sandy’s newsletter. I love that I get the latest Doppler weather reports from my guy-Tom Skilling.  I love to see a happy married couple like Doug and Kelly share their comments about kids, dates, and wine. I love listening to a posted oldie but goody song from Tom. I love how can cheer from the FB balcony and be in awe for over a year following Monica’s fight with breast cancer or Caleb's battle with leukemia.  

And I have five friends who are amazing photographers: Daniel, Jenni, Tonya, Kristi, and Patti; I love looking at and commenting on their photography. I love when the new babies are born, and dad is gushing. I love how I can learn about a new band from Noah or April. I love that I can tell a girlfriend that her profile pic looks gorgeous or ask what was she thinking. I love getting spontaneous comments on my wall. I love how I can get a recipe, directions, or a computer problem figured out within an hour. I love how we say Happy Birthday to each other. I love to see photos of my grandsons and your grandsons and grandaughters. I love to be reminded that the world is complicated and we all better learn to do a better job of caring for our brother and our neighbor. By the way, I love that I can tell my neighbors that they are the best and appreciated without putting my coat on (they’d think it was weird if I showed up on their front door and said that). I love that I can live vicariously through your posted vacation photos.  

Some people collect purses, but I collect quotes (and hats). I love that everyday somebody posts something meaningful and inspirational that I 'Like'. I love viral YouTube Videos. I’d never have the time to go looking for that stuff…it comes to me. I actually cried hot tears streaming down my face LMAO listening to a German shepherd and his owner have a conversation. I love that I’m not the only one who bitches or is thankful about the weather depending on the day. I love that I can have a cyber drink with my friend Pam…I can almost hear the clink of our glasses. I love that I can disagree about everything except the cubs with Chris and he hasn’t defriended me yet. 

In a world where there is so much divisiveness, distortion, and death. I love that I can experience a little nonsense on Facebook. I know that the only one who can sort this world mess out is God. And unless He returns again (and I hope He hasn’t changed His mind), we are left to experience wonder, accept each other, stay connected, juggle schedules, capture moments, right wrongs, forgive and seek peace, pray for and love the unlovable (including the media, politicians, and presidents-past, present, and future).

So if it seems if I live on Facebook you’d have it all wrong. I just get a lot of life out of Facebook.    

                  

The Oldest

                                                                                                                                                 

Keeping my younger brothers in line was part of my job description. I’d watch them and made sure no one picked on them (except me). In return, they’d do whatever I’d tell them to do. Looking back, being the watch-dog of my brothers was a big responsibility, especially during the summer with a pool in the backyard--I could have fallen asleep by accident as I worshiped the god of suntans. I dominated by my very position in the family: “the oldest”. Once in a while it would inevitably get me into trouble. I wasn’t always wrong when I told them what to do or not to do, but I’m sure I was overbearing. I had a standard response to each situation when my parents were not around, “Knock it off or I’ll tell mom, who will tell dad, who will kill you.” My brother Rich was on to me and knew the true balance of power depended on getting to my mom before I got to her first. Rich was a mamma’s boy and he knew it. Michael was too young to know that the power I held was just empty threats.

On a typical summer afternoon you could find me in the pool floating on a raft like Cleopatra. One day, my brother Michael set out to annoy me by doing cannon-balls off the deck into the pool. I gave him the threat, “I’m gonna tell mom who’ll tell dad and you’ll be sent far away for spilling water out of the pool.” It always worked before. In a split second my sweet compliant brother did the unthinkable to his boss-sister. He swiped my brand new Panasonic Toot-u-Loop Radio off the deck, threw it into the pool and smiled. As I watched it sink to the bottom of the pool my only thought was to corner his insubordinate-butt on the deck before he got away. We screamed and yelled at each other. I told him I was going to kill him (not really intentionally murder him; the sister-kind-of-kill him). He escaped my grasp and ran dripping wet off the deck and onto the cement patio towards the house, sticking his tongue out at me. Echoing in my mind, I could hear the words my mother repeated year after year during the summer, “Don’t run on the patio!” Now I know why. Without looking down, Michael tripped over the gas line that ran across the patio to the pool-heater. I watched him fall in what seemed like slow motion. His face hit the pavement with a thud. When he lifted his head up his mouth was bloody. He couldn’t talk because he had nearly bitten his tongue in half. I panicked. It wasn’t the sight of blood that scared me; it was knowing my life was over because my mother was going to kill me for real. How could I do this to my little brother? Would she understand that it was in retaliation for ruining my now chlorinated waterlogged Toot-u-Loop radio? Not a chance. I hurried Michael up the stairs and into the house. Blood was everywhere and he was screaming.

My mom met us in the kitchen. In seconds she determined what happened and if my brother had actually bitten his tongue off. We needed to get Michael to the hospital immediately. She picked my brother up, grabbed a kitchen towel, the keys, and put us in the backseat of the stationwagon. I remember she drove fast while I held a towel over my brother’s mouth. Praying to ‘Hail Mary-who knew Grace’, (after all I assumed they were good friends) I pleaded that his tongue wouldn’t fall out. On our way to the hospital we got pulled over by the police. I learned something that afternoon that I carry with me to this day; never mess with a mother in crisis. She told the policeman (that’s what we called them back then) what happened and why she was speeding. He looked in the backseat and saw my brother's excessive bleeding, and me holding a damp blood soaked towel. I was sure he saw my guilt; knew I did it and let my mother go. In fact, he gave her a police escort to the hospital.

Once we arrived, I waited for my mother to turn me over to the authorities who would take me to jail. Luckily for me she forgot. In the emergency room I waited for my fate.  I knew what I did was wrong, but it didn’t seem fair that I might get ten years in the slammer just for threatening someone’s life for throwing my radio in the pool. Maybe I could get out earlier for good behavior? If you knew me back then, you'd know that would be hard for me to do.  I cried and asked The God of Second Chances, better grades, and ice cream, to let my brother speak and be normal. My parents told me the doctor put in gazillion dissolvable stitches in his tongue so that he would talk again (it was actually only nine stitches). He walked around with a swollen face and silent for a week. I tried to stay out of sight too in case they remembered how I maimed my brother for life. When my little brother finally healed, I had high expectations that he’d join the circus because he could now flip his tongue like a corkscrew. That was the 'first' miracle I ever experienced. I didn’t even get grounded for the remainder of the summer; that was the 'second' miracle. Maybe my parents saw the greatest trepidation and remorse in my eyes that caused them to forgive me and not put me up for adoption? Maybe it was because of Grace!

 It is a fearful thing to know that one stupid act could alter a person’s life forever. That day goes down in my memory as ‘Whew Kim, that was a close one’. As penance, I will occasionally do community service if visiting a pool. It's easy to spot 'the oldest'. They are usually self-absorbed, bossy, and central to whatever is going on around them. Whenever I see brothers and sisters running on wet cement after their siblings I'll yell, “Stop running on the patio, you’ll bite your tongue in half! And be nice to your younger brother or you’ll go to jail.”

Fight On Ye Bison

I have a confession. I’ve been keeping a secret for 30 years. It’s not like I haven’t talked about it from time to time, it’s just I don’t bring it up. I hesitate to spill the beans especially with my 30^th reunion coming up. But here goes, my deep dark secret: 

I didn’t actually graduate with the class of 81 from Buffalo Grove High School. I dropped out my senior year with 3 months left to go. I KNOW, I KNOW, it was crazy. What seemed like a wrong choice at the time, turned out to be the Grace of God. He was way ahead of me.

30 years ago, behind the outward smile, was someone who was holding it together by a thread. My life at home was more than difficult, it was impossible and nobody knew.  There were things going on that were just too hard for this average 17 year old to manage relationally on her own. I’ll spare you the gory details. On top of that, there were pressures at school that I wasn’t dealing with well. And then throw in a few ‘bitchy’  girlfriend moments that put me over the edge. I was done and depleted. One day in Doc’s graphic’s art class, I just got up, and walked out. I couldn’t believe the nerve it took to do it, but it was my first outright act of independence. My father didn’t speak to me for a month.

Within a few weeks, I had job and was working full-time for a kind dentist in Northbrook.  Not too long after I dropped out, I got a post card addressed to me in the mail for night school. The kicker was night school was held at Hersey High School. My first thought was, “I’m a Bison, I can’t go to Hersey! I’ve been to every football game and basketball game; even dressed up as Bernie, the B.G. mascot, for a few football games.” But there were a few rational reasons I had to put my Blue and Orange loyalty aside (along with my pride).

For starters, the post card for night school said that I could get my own high school diploma (not Hersey’s). Okay, they had my attention. Then they said I could work full time and go to school at night (I must have been naive enough to think I could pull that off). Lastly, they said that there was NO homework. I’m in. Where do I sign up? (By the way, they lied. There was lots of homework). But the honest reason I went back to school was this small voice in my head that imagined one day my future kid saying, “Well, you dropped out of high school, why can’t I?” That was the real reason I walked into Hersey High School. It was weird, but it was one of the best things I ever did. It began my life-long love of learning.

At night school, I was surrounded by a bunch of wonderful burnouts. I didn’t smoke or drink (then) but had such a fun time getting to know these rabble-rousers (I was more of a rebel then I let on myself). The first week of school the director of the program walked up to me in the hallway and said the first words that would change the course of my life. ‘Kimberly, when you’re not too busy, I’d like to sit down to find out what makes you tick.” I thought he said, ‘ticked’ (like what makes me ticked off). His name was Jim and he was the first adult in 18 years who wanted to get to know me; and asked what was personally going on behind the Pollyanna smile.  When we finally sat down to talk, he had my life story in 10 minutes.

Soon Jim and his wife Marlene (and their two sweet daughters) were inviting me to come live with them. Good thing, because at the time I was homeless. I turned 18 and walked out the door of my house without a plan or a place to live. Jim and Marlene showed me what it was like to be a respected member in a loving family. They took me on vacation, laughed and cried with me, even bought me a car and then let me pay them back $25 dollars a month. I wasn’t the only lost student who came from a difficult family to live with this family. Jim and Marlene took in many others before me. Jim saw the value and good in teenagers. He also told us when we were full of shit. I was accountable for my actions but I was loved. Some of the most spirited conversations I’ve ever had sorting through life’s issues were with Jim. I am forever grateful that they choose me to be a part of their family for that season of my life. God knew what I needed.

On my birthday the following year, Jim handed me a present. It was my Buffalo Grove High School Diploma. They were proud of me for graduating given the circumstances that I overcame. It took me 1 year to finish up 3 months of school. I was proud of myself too. However, when I looked at the year I graduated stamped on the diploma, my heart sank. It said, 1982. I tried to look happy but deep down I felt like a failure. I’d never wear a cap n’ gown. 

Fast-forward a decade. I still had not resolved the issues I had with some former girlfriends. We had not spoken in 10 years. And of course because my diploma said 1982, I didn’t show up to my 10-year reunion because I didn’t think I belonged. I felt too much shame by then for dropping out. Shame can make us slaves to regret. It took another 10 years for me to decide to look up my former classmates and friends on classmates.com. All the old hurt and feelings of rejection melted away once we started talking again. We were different people and had grown up. We were mothers with kids.  We were more accepting of each other now. Gone was the insecurity and occasional outburst of ‘mean’ girl gossip behavior. I had no bad feelings and just enjoyed getting to know them as adults. I highly recommend letting go of anything that dates back before Farrah Fawcett-hair. Really, let it go people! Let go of the failure or shame, the disappointments, especially the ancient history misfired war of words between old friends. It’s just a waste of energy.

Reuniting with my childhood friends was so much fun. It surprised me when we reconnected that none of them had changed in 20 years (except the hair). Seriously, it was like time had stopped. And they thought the same thing about me too; I hadn’t changed one bit. That was weird because I thought I had changed a lot. What I realized is we had all changed, but our basic core personality was still the same. That was kind of freaky. Time has a way of warping things, including our own perception. We are who we are; personal quirks never change. They had the same laughter and smile I remembered. I enjoyed and appreciated them so much more as an adult. 

These reconnections via classmates.com happened six months before the 20^th reunion. I wondered if I should go to the reunion. I really wanted to be there with everyone. But according to my diploma, I’m apart of the class of 82. Working hard not to care about this technicality, I signed up to go to the class of 81 reunion; and hoped they had forgotten I had dropped out. I secretly felt like I was crashing a party. My heart was pounding when I stepped up to get my nametag. It was there on the table with that goofy senior picture of me on it (How did I pull that off?). I kept thinking someone was going to double check the class list and say, “Um, Kim Wayne, we don’t see your name on the register for graduating class of 1981. Sorry but you’ll have to leave.” I wondered if someone would say, “Hey didn’t you drop out?”  Nobody did. Maybe they did forget or were just too polite to embarrass me? I had a great time at the reunion. And for the last decade have had a blast building new memories with my old high school friends.

So why does the 30^th reunion still cause me to feel those same shadow feelings of not ‘actually’ belonging with my class--even though I spent 3.75 critical years of life with them? It’s so foolish. Deep down, I realize that I do belong (always have). My heart has always been with the class of 81. I just want to come clean and be honest, with no skeletons in the closet. Trying to live life authentically has been something that I’ve been doing in many areas of my life. There is no shame or sign that I carry around my neck because I finished my last three months of high school at Hersey. I am a Bison. I taught my son and our step-kids the Bison fight song as soon as they were old enough to know what a Bison was. I’m blue and orange to the core. And, unless Mark Lyons says I can’t go to the 30^th reunion, I’m going! (We all know Mark’s heart connecting the class of 81 together throughout the years). And since Dr. Miller isn’t around anymore to grant me Dist. 214 absolution, I’ll take Mark’s. Besides, he loves me. So unless he says, otherwise, I’ll see you in October; I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Whew, glad to finally get that off my chest!

PS. Before I posted this I sent it to Mark. I got a sweet personal phone call from Mark saying, “Of course I may go to the reunion!” And that I’m forever a part of the class of 81! :-D “We will cheer for you, knowing you’ll come through……for glory for Orange and Blue!!”

Peace On Earth

 I just saw the Dalai Lama recently. He’s so adorable. He laughs at himself and often rambles like an old man who has stories to tell you. His heart for interfaith peace touches a cord within me (not interfaith in the sense of merging all religions into one, but mutual respect and understanding among different religious traditions). The world seems to be at war with itself. Religions are sparring and making matters worse. When I think of a world figure who is out there globally promoting peace and non-violence, only the Dalai Lama comes to mind. He is our Gandhi, our Martin Luther King, and our Nelson Mandela of the 21^st century. There are no Christians that come to mind (you think there would be). There are no Hindu’s, Jews, or Muslims who’s peaceful voices rises above the hateful din of today. 

For such a time as this, this 76 year-old Buddhist monk, whose humbly draped in burgundy and orange robes, has a message worth listening to. He’s not here to force his Buddhist message. In fact, he said, “Stay with your faith tradition, it’s too confusing when you switch.” He’s not threatened by other people’s faith. Because he has enough life experience, and knows that major religions have love at their core; he says we can only have peace if we allow our sense of compassion to rise above our differences. With urgency in his voice, head forward and finger pointed he states, “Non-violence means using dialogue, using our language, the human language. Dialogue means compromise; respecting each other’s rights’ in the spirit of reconciliation there is a real solution to conflict and disagreement. This is the practical way, the only way. Wars arise from a failure to understand one another’s humanness. Instead of summit meetings, why not have families meet for a picnic and get to know each other while the children play together.” Isn’t that brilliant? Leave it to a monk to come up with a solution that has nothing to do with politics.  That is why I dig the Dalai Lama.

He shared how to go about having dialogue with those whom we disagree: First, find out what you have in common. Second, understand each other’s differences. Third, go to each other’s places of worship or homes and experience it together.

There are so many reasons to promote peace: famine, political wars, genocide, human trafficking and child prostitution, black market nuclear weapons, world economic instability—to name a few. Sheesh, how do we sleep at night? Is peace of any kind possible on a large scale? I worry because of the attachment to family, tribal, and national biases get passed on from generation to generation and become difficult to undo. When you pile on tit-for-tat behavior, the cycle never ends. 

Even Jesus warned his people of big picture changes that needed to take place and the inevitable consequences that would unfold if they did not. Jesus promoted peace. He said in Matt 26:52, “Put your sword back into its place; for those who live by the sword, die by the sword.” So what do we do about our enemies (or ‘frenemies’)? Again he said, "Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same.” Easier said then done, right? Ah, but it’s a worthy pursuit to figure out how to go about being at peace with one another. However, peace is not easy. In order for there to be external peace there has to be some internal work in our hearts. Peace will cost you something.

Humility isn’t my strong suit. It has taken a herculean effort over the years by God’s Spirit to finally get my attention so I can let go of my pit-bull grip on ‘being right’. I like ‘being right’ like I like chocolate. Don’t get me wrong, even though I want peace, sometimes I just want to smack hateful people upside the head for being mean-spirited. I doubt the Dalai Lama (or Jesus) would do any smacking? True, but they’ve been meditating in gardens longer than I have. 

Peace matters to me because I didn’t grow up in a peaceful home. You knew when you were on someone’s ‘shit-list’, and you better do whatever necessary to get off it or else. I was the oldest and the most outspoken. Guess who was the lightening rod in the family? Even though those years where agonizing relationally living in our home, I have fond memories of my childhood. I think part of me was able to compartmentalize. I’d found joy and peace in simple things. Which is kind of hard to believe when I look back on those years. The music of WLS and The Loop radio saved me, along with dance, swimming or lying out by our pool, taking naps, and going over to friend’s houses. Those were sanctuary moments where I was able to live in peaceful moment without a care in the world.

Nowadays, I listen to Pandora instead of the Loop. And I’m more aware then ever the importance of working on my own internal and external peace. I’ve noticed a few things this summer while riding my bike, taking walks, or doing yoga on the patio: nature is so peaceful and orderly. The trees are not freaking out that the birds land on them. The morning doves are not yelling at the blue jays because they crossed their path. The bees are not taking something that doesn’t belong to them as they hover from flower to flower. The ants are minding their own business instead of holding grudges with the worms. No wonder we all feel a sense of calm when we spend any amount of time in nature.

Peace within, peace without—I want it for myself, and the rest of the world. Because, seriously, what's the alternative? 

John F. Kennedy in a commencement address to the American University five months before he was assassinated said this about peace, in relation to the Russian threat. “Let us examine our attitude toward peace itself. Too many of us think it’s impossible. Too many of us think it unreal. But that is a dangerous, defeatist belief. It leads to the conclusion that war is inevitable—that mankind is doomed—that we are gripped by forces we cannot control. We need to not accept that view. Our problems are manmade—therefore, they can be solved by man. And man can be as big as he wants. No problem of human destiny is beyond human beings. Man’s reason and spirit have often solved the seemingly unsolvable—and we believe they can do it again. I am not referring to the absolute, infinite concept of peace and good will which some fantasies and fanatics dream. I do not deny the value of hopes and dreams but we merely invite discouragement and incredulity by making that our only and immediate goal. Let us focus instead on a more practical, more attainable peace.”

Jesus said, “My peace I give you, my peace I leave you.” Jesus was called ‘The Prince of Peace’. Peace defines His mission, His message, His kingdom. If we are all called to be His ambassadors than shouldn’t we too be ambassadors of peace? The Apostle Peter told the church 2,000 years ago: “Seek peace, and pursue it.” So thank God for the Dalai Lama, who reminds us of a role that all of us (including Christians) should be actively engaged in—promoting peace in a world of hatred, division, and violence. A world that needs us to be engaged in pursuing peace not just waiting for it to happen once we get to heaven. 

Bucket List

Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? ~Shakespeare, As You Like It

Michael Buble’, check! 

Long before there was a movie called Bucket List, I had a list of things I’ve wanted to do before I die. I have no plans on dying anytime soon. Yet, nobody knows what the future holds, right? I’ve worked hard on letting go of the past (it only makes me hurt or angry dwelling on things); and I try not to project the future (because that only causes me to have fear or anxiety when I worry).  However, if I do think about the future at all now, it’s fanciful and pleasant.

I’d like to make the best of this ‘one and only’ life God gave me. And if I have my grandmother’s genes, I may still be around when cars fly or transporters are finally invented. I’d love to be transported to Paris in the blink of an eye. Paris is on my Bucket List. Rich and I hope to go there for our 25^th Anniversary and walk hand in hand through the Louvre. The closest we’ve gotten is Epcot Center in FL and the Eiffel Tower in Vegas. 

We did get to England for the best 10-day vacation ever. I’m an Anglophile.  It felt like we were in a romantic movie. The line in Shakespear’s play As You Like It said it best. “I like this place and willingly could waste my time in it.” It was a thrill to check off seeing Stratford-upon-Avon and the Bard’s home. The next time I’m in England, my #1 Bucket List event is to go see Elton John. I know this is bloody cheeky, but I’d rather see Elton than the Queen. 

There are some things that seem unattainable in the future. I can’t go to the Oprah Show now (even though I promised her that I’d stop texting while driving). I didn’t win a ticket to her Farewell Show (the modern equivalent of a Willy Wonka Golden Ticket). I said back in high school that I’d run a marathon. That is a hilarious, hairy audacious goal to think about now. Only Scott Price may remember my lame claim and mock me. I’ve decided that a marathon is the last thing to check off on my Bucket List—because I’m sure it will kill me!!  I didn’t get to meet Billy Graham. Because of ailing health, he doesn’t go out in public much. But back in 2002, we were in the same building, probably on the same floor at the same time, at a writer’s conference in Asheville NC. It was the Christian version of Elvis is in the building.

I am planning on going to see the Dalai Lama July 17^th at the UIC Pavilion for his talk on ‘Bridging the Faith Divide, Compassion in Action’. This subject is dear to my heart. I don’t know what it is about the Dalai Lama, but he makes me smile to my very core whenever I hear him talk about peace and understanding.  I wish I could have a personal audience with the Dalai Lama for my Bucket List, but I’ll settle for being ‘in’ the audience.

If you know me at all, you’d know I love parades. I love setting up my chairs the night before for a good seat along the parade route here in town. I will fight the kids for candy. And I will stand with pride and a tear in my eye when the soldiers pass by. So the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and the Rose Bowl Parade are on my Bucket List. 

I’d like to travel some places with some people I love. Top of my Bucket List, is to take my Irish son, Kevin Callahan to Ireland. I’d even drink a pint or two with him. I’d like to go to Vegas with my brother Mike. He won over $3000, at quarter slots in a casino in AZ. I’d like to see what kind of luck he’d have in Vegas. One day I hope I can take all the grandkids on a trip to Disney World when they are old enough to remember it. I’d like to take another trip with my brother and sister in law, Ralph and Patti. We went to St. Johns some years ago and they are fun to travel with. So on my Bucket List, I’d like going to New Zealand, Scotland, Italy, Greece, or Hawaii with them. Actually, we could go to Mackinac Island and I’d be good with that too. I’d like to take a spa trip with the Sisterchicks. Also on my BL is to go to Mardi Gras with my Homies because they are free entertainment even when it’s not Fat Tuesday. They will need someone to take sober pictures and bring bail money.  I’d love to do a mission trip with Steve and Susie McNitt. I love their compassion for the under-resourced and those loved dearly by God. I’d like to march on Washington again for a good cause. And I’d like to dance like a crazy fool at my single girlfriends weddings when Mr. Deserving makes her Mrs. Deserving.

I know, my Bucket List is out there: I’d like to ride the Orient Express to meet exotic people. I’m a hat girl, so I was meant to go to the Kentucky Derby Horse Race. I think going to the Texas Fair where they have ‘fried everything’ is something that my arteries should also experience just once. I’d like to attend the Superbowl (preferably for the Bears). I’d like to meet a sitting President someday. And also like to visit the White House. It doesn’t have to be on the same day. I’m hoping to go to New York City this fall. I’d love to go see a Broadway Show, see Ground Zero to pay my respects, and get tickets for Jon Stewart, Saturday Night Live, Jimmy Fallon, or Greg Ferguson (but only if Sid the Cussing Rabbit is on that night). The energy of New York City would be amazing, not to mention the food. I’d like to have a Wikipedia page of my own, but not for being notorious, criminal or immoral. Hopefully it will be for the book I wrote about people who are criminal, immoral, or just epically flawed like me.

Going to see Michael Buble’ in concert was so much fun. I’m glad I got to check that off my list. He’s a true entertainer (the Frank Sinatra of this generation.) He even came into the crowd and walked right past me. What possessed me to put my hand on his shoulder, I have no idea? He doesn’t make me swoon, but his music reminds me why I love my husband and life. I know a Bucket List may be impractical and even childish. There are lots of other things and people I want to see on my Bucket List. The BL isn’t about dying as much as it’s about living. It’s the dreamer in me that believes in impossible possibilities. Ultimately, I humbly know, Proverbs 16:9 “We can make our plans, but the LORD determines our steps.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream.

"To sleep, perchance to dream-
ay, there's the rub."~Hamlet

I once was a deep sleeper and a napper for most of my adult life. Oh the days when I used to wake up ‘naturally’ without the alarm. I miss those days. Sleep became erratic a few years ago. It was the perfect storm: perimenopause started, change of job, change of relationships, change of identity. I started waking up in the middle of the night. Then it turned to waking up long before dawn in a cold sweat with chest pains. Suddenly I realized I was now a light sleeper: The dog would move and I’d feel him. Rich would snore and I’d hear him. I’ve actually kicked both (lightly). Don’t they know I NEED to sleep? I resented them both for being able to be able to fall asleep in 30 seconds.

Sleep is a commodity that I don’t take for granted now. It is both healing and essential. Without it, over time, your body may start to talk back to you with unexplained symptoms. Your body does speak your mind. For me, I didn’t recognize that a seismic shift (spiritual, emotional, hormonal) was taking place that would alter my life forever. My body and spirit wanted my attention and she was going to get it. 

In 2008, I started taking Ambien (after a few months of having murderous thoughts towards my dog and husband for waking me up night after night). I figured it was the lesser of two evils. Have you ever taken Ambien? That stuff is like crack. When you’re desperate, you’ll do anything to sleep. A few of my friends received my ‘Ambien drunk’ emails. Just before I’d fade off to sleep, I’d write senseless random thoughts to friends. I’d wake up in the morning to emails saying, “What the heck is up with you?” Rich would tell me that I was hilarious about 15 minutes before falling asleep. Ambien was like truth serum for me. I’d babble on and on about whatever was on my mind. I had no recollection of what I said or did—complete amnesia. Taking Ambien may seem harmless at first. I’d take one pill before bedtime and would be out like a light 20 minutes later. Soon that didn’t work. So I’d take two Ambien pills and be out like a light in 1 hour. Eventually, going to sleep was taking longer and longer. (I’ve always needed more drugs then a normal person. If Rich licks an Ambien, he goes into a coma.) Soon I was taking 2 ½-3 Ambien but was not falling asleep for 2 hours. You know where this is going, right? Yep, addiction to prescription drugs and self medicating with other drugs. Nobody knew. I JUST WANTED TO SLEEP!

There were other factors that year too (that I’m not ready to write about yet, maybe some other time in the future). Let’s just say that I was under A LOT of stress. What does your body produce when you’re under stress? Cortisol. We all know that Melatonin is the cozy hormone that helps you go to sleep. Cortisol is the fight, flight hormone, but it’s also the hormone that helps you wake up each morning. Who knew? So when your body is flooded with Cortisol, your sleep cycle is going to be affected—big time! Cortisol is a functioning hormone secreted by the Adrenal Cortex (that sits on top of the Kidneys). It is used for ‘in the moment’ times of survival or stress to prepare you for alertness such as: a lion is chasing you, a confrontation with someone or if you need to take a school exam, etc. The upside of Cortisol is it’s a powerful anti-inflammatory; many of us have used a form of it topically for the skin or needed a shot for pain. But the downside is, if our body produces too much Cortisol (due to stress) for too long because we can’t shut off the flight or flight switch there are risks: weight gain, connective tissue breakdown. We’re even put at risk for musculoskeletal injury, osteoporosis, and it suppresses the immune system’s response to disease and infection. And (in my case) it also messes with your sleep/wake cycle. Long term stress = pain in some form or another. 

So I had to get the stress levels down immediately. That took an epic restructuring of my life. Many things were altered permanently. Including, letting go of some toxic relationships and codependency. I needed to learn how to nurture myself, hold strong boundaries, and factor in down time, and rest when I could not sleep. I had to make sure that every day I did ‘nothing’ for 20 minutes: to just BE. Try it; it’s not that easy. I also had to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up because the ‘mom position’ that I had held for decades had recently been downsized.

As God would have it, He brought a few new tools into my life that were incredibly healing and ‘out of the box’ for me. I started doing yoga and meditation. I learned how to breathe properly. And I took a doctor recommended two-week cross-country trip by myself for to learn how to just ‘BE’. I highly recommend all of those tools.

When life gets too full for me, I stop sleeping. I only get about 4-5 hours of sleep a night. That is not good. Nobody looks good on 4-5 hours of sleep night after night. I don’t even need to be stressed out; just good ole busyness will cause me to wake up with Jesus and the birds. I’m in that busy season of life again. It’s difficult because I went two years of recovering normal circadian rhythm night after night. It’s a bummer when I ‘can’t’ sleep-in on my days off. For me, I have to be intentional about making sure I exercise, and stay off the ‘other’ crack (sugar). But the most important thing: make sure to BREATHE before I go to sleep. Deep breathing like the ocean. (Inhale……breath comes in…..like the water to the shore. Exhale…..breath goes out…..like water going back out to sea.) And I listen to the sound of the breath as it rises and falls. Our breath kinda sounds like the ocean we used to hear while holding up a seashell as kids.

Some days, when I don’t get enough sleep (which happens more then I like), I’ll make sure to do Yoga Nidra. Yoga Nidra is similar to that wonderful time at the end of yoga class when you’re in Final Relaxation—but much longer. It’s that hammock floaty time. I will do 10 to 40 minutes depending on the need. Yoga Nidra simply put is conscious deep RELAXING sleep: Actually, it is a meditative state where you remain in the Wake State, go past the Dreaming State, and go to Deep Sleep, yet remain awake. I don’t know why they don’t call it Yoga Wake instead of Yoga Sleep? The intention isn’t to go to sleep. However, it can help you prepare for sleep or alertness. I know, it sounds far out.  Rich tried it a couple of times and feel asleep in 30 seconds (I guess his body needed it). I usually drift in an out of a semi conscious state but am able to be intentional about staying awake.  The Yoga Nidra I’ve done is usually [involves listening to] a CD of a woman talking through a body scan—very calming.  You gently focus the mind while allowing thought patterns, emotions, sensations, and images to come and go without attachment or judgment. It’s easy to do and very safe and relaxing. Some people have ‘aha’ moments or feel spiritually more connected to God because they’ve finally turned off the noise in their head. I haven’t had any real ‘aha’ moments yet. But I am thankful to God that Yoga Nidra is a relaxing option that’s so beneficial for my body/mind. Some people catch up on their sleep over the weekend. I don't. So I do Yoga Nidra when I don’t get the normal 8 hours of sleep a night I need.

The good news is for three years I’ve been off all drugs. It took 6 days to detox from Ambien (and other drugs). Rich has great stories of me acting like I was on an acid trip while trying to get off the stuff. Three days of no sleep will do that; followed by three more days of only 2-3 hours of sleep per day. Note to Self: NEVER try to go cold-turkey when getting off of any kind of drugs. I was told I was lucky I didn’t go into shock. Finally one morning I woke up naturally again 8 hours later.

Nowadays, I fall asleep in 2 minutes. Did you get that insomniacs? I’ll say that again. I fall asleep in 2 minutes. All because of knowing now how to properly breathe. If you don’t know how to breathe correctly, check out a little sleeping baby. Their belly rises when they inhale, and the belly falls when they exhale. Most of us are shallow chest breathers. One of the greatest benefits to deep belly breathing (besides all the extra oxygen your brain gets), belly breathing helps you stop obsessive thinking if you follow your breath.

A girl needs her beauty sleep! Not to mention that a full sleep cycle will burn more calories when we experience REM sleep. I’m all about loosing calories without having to do sit-ups. :-D

As for the dog and the husband still keeping me awake with snoring? They go in the other room three nights a week when I have school the next day. Nobody gets hurts and everyone sleeps like a baby. Oh and earplugs and sound machines help too.

Age: A High Price To Pay For Maturity

Some days I just feel like I’m going to hell. Not because of what I did in the 80’s, but because I’m wrapping my mind around something that everyone faces sooner or later: aging. My body feels like it’s mad at me most of the time. I always have to bend over backwards to get it to like me again. I get up twice as early so I can do some yoga before starting my day. If I don’t, I feel like the lumbar discs of my spine are collapsing. Yoga has helped. I know I’ll never do a backbend again in my life. I’m okay with that. And jumping jacks are out of the question or I will pee in my pants. However, there are a few things that I’m not okay with. I’m not okay with not being cool anymore. In my head I still think I’m 25. And I’m not okay that the wear-and-tear on this banged up model doesn’t have a warrantee. In a couple of years here, I’m going to need my 50,000-mile tune up.

I got a new iPhone recently. I have no idea how to use it. I’ve had the same little Samsung phone for four years. It served me well and I hated to see it go. This iPhone has lots of bells and whistles. But when “I” use it, I don’t look hip. I look like I’m lost in a labyrinth of technology. One of the cute youngin’ from school (as I affectionately call them), busted out laughing at me while I was pecking cautiously the smooth surface pad of the iPhone. She said, “I love it when ‘old’ people text. It's so hilarious!” Old people? Really? Am I now in the Old People category? I must look like my grandmother who could never use a VCR. Smart-ass kids! One day they will be trying to figure out how to use the chip in their head to turn on the coffee maker. I smile and laugh along with them. But if you really knew me, I’m thinking, “Oh my god, this is happening. I’ve gotten labeled old.”

Last week I was caught. For the first time in 23 years, Rich walked in on me with a facial mask on. I thought he was downstairs absorbed in some hockey game. He called up to me and I answered him, thinking that would keep him downstairs. Then he came up to tell me how excited he was that the Hawks were in the playoffs. There was no time to run into the bathroom. And I didn’t want to throw the covers over my drying, caking face. So I just sat on the bed like it was no big deal. It WAS a big deal. I wasn’t just exfoliating my skin; I was dealing with the ever-present reality that things are sagging all over my body without my permission. I’m just holding back the decline. My face was red underneath the green clay. He laughed like he just saw a clown in the circus. “I’ve never seen you like that before!” he exclaimed. Does a man really want to see his wife in a clay mask? No! That is why I’ve always slapped on my wrinkle-be-gone creams and clays when he’s out of town. Nora Ephron in 'I Feel Bad About My Neck' wasn’t kidding when she wrote, “Our faces are lies, and our necks are the truth.” Don’t get me started on my neck. 

My feet are in on the rebellion. I got Plantar Fascitiis a couple of years ago. It is so painful and inconvenient. I now have a permenate water bottle that is in the freezer at all times. If I feel the slightest twinge of ache or discomfort in my feet when I wake up, I’m rolling the frozen water bottle under my foot until it’s numb, and stretching the arches (another reason I do yoga). But here’s the kicker, I can’t buy those sexy 4-inch heels anymore. I’m pushing it if I wear 3-inch heels. I put them on and my feet look up at me and say, “Seriously, you think I’m going to let you cram those size 8s in those bad-girl-heels just so your calf’s can look sculpted?” So what do I do to appease my ‘snarky’ feet? I caved in and did the unthinkable. I bought a pair of Birkenstocks. I don’t care how comfortable they are! Let me say it again, I don’t care how comfortable they are or how much support they have for your feet. They’re the ugliest shoes on the planet. There I said it! I don’t even feel like a cool hippy in them. I feel old. Soon I’m going to be one of those people wearing tan New Balance shoes. When I used to go to the health club I’d work out and watch all the walkers go round and round the track. All the old people wore New Balance shoes. I don’t want to wear polyester or New Balance shoes. But I do want to be comfortable and THAT is where the body eventually gets 'its' way every time!

And then there is the reading glasses issue. Like I didn’t have enough to deal with already. I’ve got the super highway wrinkles going horizontal along my forehead, the creases around my eyes, and the thinning gray (colored over) hair. Because of my reading glasses, I have a permanent line across my nose. My grandmother had one too. It became a divot. I have glasses all over the house. And yet, I often don’t have them nearby. I try to fake it and hold the menu out a little further while out to lunch. I’m visually confronted with the fact that I am getting old. Most days I don’t even see that I spilled yogurt on my shirt again. Yep, just like my grandmother. If I don’t use the glasses, I’ll cut off my finger while cutting up an apple. I'm now up to 250+ readers. What's next? I can’t put my make up on without a magnifying mirror x10. I don't know if magnifying mirrors are a mercy or and insult to the vain modern woman?

Mark Twain says, “Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” Shut up Mark!! It does matter! I went to the Body World Exhibit down at the Chicago Science museum. When you first walk in there is this huge screen progression of aging through the year’s in pictures. It spans time from 7 months to 70. I stood in mild shock as this lovely woman aged right before my eyes. I kept thinking, “Holy Oil of Olay, that is gonna me!!” Someone said that old age comes at a bad time. I couldn’t agree more! I try to spiritualize this aging process and work on my attitude. I've been internally challenged lately by the proverb, “Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain. But a woman who fears the LORD shall be praised!” I agree with that too, but I don’t think I’m pulling that off convincingly enough. Maybe aging will get easier over time as I let go of my attachment to all things tight and perky and trade if for contentment and gratitude?