Someone blessed me today, offering something my brother's car (my only means of transportation) needed desperately, for 1/4 the price I would've expected to pay. Her generosity came with a smile miles-wide, illuminating her kind spirit. Thank God for people like her, and would that I would make more of an effort to adopt her attitude.
A very different me, roughly some decade ago, emerged during my 8 1/2 years lived in Tampa - a coarse, rude, obnoxious, overbearing, loud person I'd very much like to forget. Sometimes, I see glimpses of her returning and do my best to banish those aspects of me, but I'm sure at times I don't even know it's happening, and I feel sorry for those of you subject to that me when it does. What a monster, she, and good riddance if I manage to banish her forever. What are generosity or kindness or acts of mercy when accompanied by scathing sarcasm, razor-sharp tongue, or pitiful negativity? I think they're like sweet, delicious candy that shocks you with a nasty aftertaste, lingering on your tongue long after the sweetness is gone. If you think I'm too sweet for the sarcasm, sharp tongue or negativity, you don't know me very well.
When in counseling, I described once how it felt to be in that period of my life - I was facing myself truly for the first time and shedding light on all my faults at once, or so it seemed. It was like being in a cluttered room, looking around frantically, frustrated because I didn't know where to even begin at cleaning it all up. Now, some 18+ months later, I wonder how much of it I've simply let slip into the darkness again. But my counselor advised me at the time, just to say to God, "Thank you for pointing that out to me. I'll get to it, but I'm working on this right now." I suppose that was pretty sound advice. Perfection's not within my grasp, and I will probably only do a half-hearted job at self-improvement if I give every fault and flaw, bad habit and weakness just a little attention. Better to attack one or two at a time head-on, show 'em who's boss, and then (if the battle's won) move on to the next. I have been doing that with a few of them, but find too often that, soon as I think I have them well in hand and turn toward the next, they rear up their ugly heads and bite me again. :) Thank God He's not done with me yet, and that I don't have only myself to lean on or only my strength to walk in.
Off to bed with me, as I welcome in another Saturday sat freezing alone in my living room. Blessings on all my dear readers, and goodnight.
-V
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Friday, December 2, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Why
At heart, I'll always be a poet. Here's one I wrote late last night and would like to share. Much love to all those parents out there who'll read this and get it...I hope. :) And much love to all those considering parenthood someday. It's never easy, but so worth it. Blessings, V
My Whys
At my feet, dissolved in fit,
Covered in food, ink or vomit,
Tangled up in sibling fight or
Keeping me up half the night -
Even at their worst, they're why.
When nothing's left for my next step
When shoulders sag and mind's inept,
Those little bellies needing fed and
Young, open minds needing led
Walk me on and keep me strong.
But, elated giggles upon my knee
And joyful cheers of "Mommy, see!"
Lighten the step and stretch the smile,
Making the next, extra mile
Seem like minor stuff and never enough for
My three precious, little why's.
My Whys
At my feet, dissolved in fit,
Covered in food, ink or vomit,
Tangled up in sibling fight or
Keeping me up half the night -
Even at their worst, they're why.
When nothing's left for my next step
When shoulders sag and mind's inept,
Those little bellies needing fed and
Young, open minds needing led
Walk me on and keep me strong.
But, elated giggles upon my knee
And joyful cheers of "Mommy, see!"
Lighten the step and stretch the smile,
Making the next, extra mile
Seem like minor stuff and never enough for
My three precious, little why's.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Marveling
At home tonight, out in the cold beneath darkened, cloudy sky, I creaked open the Buick's front passenger door to pull out groceries, and froze. As the dome light flooded the faces of my three, sleeping children in the backseat, I couldn't help a long, marveling stare at the lovely little lives I've aided in creating and bringing into the world. Not just that, but in getting them to this point, healthy, strong, clean, and lovely as they are. It's a job I'll never feel equal to or good enough for, or wise or smart enough to do justice to, but it's one I'm very privileged to have, anyway.
A pastor I've long respected said something in a sermon once that set me aflame with silent fury, about mothers who leave their kids with strangers to go pursue money. I understand he spoke of materialistic greed in those who don't need the second income but choose the benefits of it over staying home to care for their own. But it boiled my blood, nevertheless, because I wondered if he had any inkling of how it rips out my heart to walk away from my girls every morning, especially when they're ill or sad or clingy, etc. Knowing it'll be some 9+ hours until I see them again. Knowing how much of their little lives I'm missing out on. A couple weeks ago, while headed to my son's playground to fetch him from after-school childcare, I stopped short in the hall outside his classroom and swallowed down some unshed tears. So much of his life I know nothing of; so much of his daily growth and experiences go unnoticed by me...the fresh realization flooded me with feelings of failure and grief. Of course, I ask about his day each evening, but a minuscule percentage of what happens actually gets verbalized then. And when I learn of the torment and teasing, loneliness and exclusion that he endures, I'm overwhelmed with a desire to do whatever it takes to shield him from the feelings that made me suicidal and severely depressed in my late elementary years.
Still, this is only a season and it too shall pass. Still, my children are wonderful little people, adored and enjoyed by many, so something must be going right. And still, I look at many alternatives for what's happening in their lives and see they're very blessed, and so am I. Thanks for reading.
Blessings,
V
A pastor I've long respected said something in a sermon once that set me aflame with silent fury, about mothers who leave their kids with strangers to go pursue money. I understand he spoke of materialistic greed in those who don't need the second income but choose the benefits of it over staying home to care for their own. But it boiled my blood, nevertheless, because I wondered if he had any inkling of how it rips out my heart to walk away from my girls every morning, especially when they're ill or sad or clingy, etc. Knowing it'll be some 9+ hours until I see them again. Knowing how much of their little lives I'm missing out on. A couple weeks ago, while headed to my son's playground to fetch him from after-school childcare, I stopped short in the hall outside his classroom and swallowed down some unshed tears. So much of his life I know nothing of; so much of his daily growth and experiences go unnoticed by me...the fresh realization flooded me with feelings of failure and grief. Of course, I ask about his day each evening, but a minuscule percentage of what happens actually gets verbalized then. And when I learn of the torment and teasing, loneliness and exclusion that he endures, I'm overwhelmed with a desire to do whatever it takes to shield him from the feelings that made me suicidal and severely depressed in my late elementary years.
Still, this is only a season and it too shall pass. Still, my children are wonderful little people, adored and enjoyed by many, so something must be going right. And still, I look at many alternatives for what's happening in their lives and see they're very blessed, and so am I. Thanks for reading.
Blessings,
V
Monday, October 31, 2011
Fully
This blog entry translates from my back of menu scrawl over dinner alone, this past Sunday evening:
Surrounded by idle teenage chatter, dusty fake plants, marked and scratched furniture and the scents of various Chinese dishes being cooked, served and consumed, I melted into the moment and tried to ignore the empty chair across the table. After a few peaceful minutes spent absorbing "China One's' decor and the swaying autumn trees, soaring birds and strolling people outside, I turned my attention to a giant photograph of the Great Wall of China (a section, anyway) hanging on one wall. After a period of silent observation and contemplation, I decided that although the idea of hopping into the photo and standing amongst the tourists, snapping pics of the Great Wall seems exciting and exotic, the experience at this moment in my life, would seriously lack something. That's because my memories of Chinese history are foggy at best. To appreciate fully the significance and grandeur of the place, I'd have to know (again) the who, where, when, what and how of it. Who lived here, died here, fought here, walked here? Who built this, and how, and with what and why?
This line of thinking snapped me back to where I sat and what surrounded me. I considered then that every place shares this truth - to fully appreciate and enjoy it, you have to know its story. This is true of people, too.
That elderly, stooped lady slowing down a shopping trip may have once sung an opera in front of a sold out crowd, or won medals as a track star. That obese man coming by on his cart might have won his college's championship as MVP. That person in the wheelchair who's clearly lost his mind may once have cured a disease or written a popular screenplay. Would you treat them differently if they had? Would I? Would our respect of their humanity soar, upon knowing their stories? Here's my point: I should care to learn the stories behind the people, and to give each person and place a chance to be fully appreciated and enjoyed. Food for thought, anyway.
By the way, the Kung Po Shrimp was spicy and delightful, in my opinion.
One thing to add (from today, Monday): Today an elderly man paid his bill at my counter, as I stared admiringly at his hat, which bore the words "Purple Heart" on it. I mentioned it to him and he simply said, "That was a long time ago, a very long time." I thanked him for his service and wondered as he walked away, what incredible stories he would probably rather forget, and what ones he'd enjoy sharing.
Thanks for reading, and for humoring my simpleminded discoveries. :) Blessings, V
Surrounded by idle teenage chatter, dusty fake plants, marked and scratched furniture and the scents of various Chinese dishes being cooked, served and consumed, I melted into the moment and tried to ignore the empty chair across the table. After a few peaceful minutes spent absorbing "China One's' decor and the swaying autumn trees, soaring birds and strolling people outside, I turned my attention to a giant photograph of the Great Wall of China (a section, anyway) hanging on one wall. After a period of silent observation and contemplation, I decided that although the idea of hopping into the photo and standing amongst the tourists, snapping pics of the Great Wall seems exciting and exotic, the experience at this moment in my life, would seriously lack something. That's because my memories of Chinese history are foggy at best. To appreciate fully the significance and grandeur of the place, I'd have to know (again) the who, where, when, what and how of it. Who lived here, died here, fought here, walked here? Who built this, and how, and with what and why?
This line of thinking snapped me back to where I sat and what surrounded me. I considered then that every place shares this truth - to fully appreciate and enjoy it, you have to know its story. This is true of people, too.
That elderly, stooped lady slowing down a shopping trip may have once sung an opera in front of a sold out crowd, or won medals as a track star. That obese man coming by on his cart might have won his college's championship as MVP. That person in the wheelchair who's clearly lost his mind may once have cured a disease or written a popular screenplay. Would you treat them differently if they had? Would I? Would our respect of their humanity soar, upon knowing their stories? Here's my point: I should care to learn the stories behind the people, and to give each person and place a chance to be fully appreciated and enjoyed. Food for thought, anyway.
By the way, the Kung Po Shrimp was spicy and delightful, in my opinion.
One thing to add (from today, Monday): Today an elderly man paid his bill at my counter, as I stared admiringly at his hat, which bore the words "Purple Heart" on it. I mentioned it to him and he simply said, "That was a long time ago, a very long time." I thanked him for his service and wondered as he walked away, what incredible stories he would probably rather forget, and what ones he'd enjoy sharing.
Thanks for reading, and for humoring my simpleminded discoveries. :) Blessings, V
Friday, October 7, 2011
Spectacle
This past Wednesday night I at last made it to my church for dinner, fellowship, and parenting class again. Herding 9 year old who was pestering almost 4 year old to the stairs, covered in bags and sweaters and carrying my toddler, I heard my cheery little ring tone croaking from somewhere inside my purse. Not now, I told it silently and continued herding kids down the stairs to dinner.
On my way back up the stairs, some half hour and lots of calories consumed later, I mentioned to a kind friend who voluntarily helped bear some of my burden, that being a single parent feels like a social handicap. You're always seen as different, as making a scene, as a spectacle, or so my perception tells me. People stare and wonder and theorize and some criticize, and some sympathize. The really nice ones offer aid to an overburdened and clearly exhausted parent trying to grow 7 arms and 20 eyes and perhaps an extra brain to control them. Forget saving Metropolis - if I had laser vision, the ability to freeze things with my breath, super strength, invincibility and the power of flight, I'd see to the other side of the house to be sure my kids were ok while I fixed supper, instantly cool hot soup and freeze water bottles, bring all my bags, groceries and toddler to the house in one trip, and save a lot of money on fuel! And then I suppose people would stare even more. :) I'm still trying to learn the lesson of not caring what they think.
Funny thing is, I've bemoaned all my life that I fit nowhere and remain an outsider, but that's the way a messenger of God is supposed to feel. This is just my newest reason for feeling different.
The message on video Wed. night was a parenting class that spoke well to me of helping my kids see themselves in a godly light. Maybe I need to learn that lesson first.
Blessings,
V
On my way back up the stairs, some half hour and lots of calories consumed later, I mentioned to a kind friend who voluntarily helped bear some of my burden, that being a single parent feels like a social handicap. You're always seen as different, as making a scene, as a spectacle, or so my perception tells me. People stare and wonder and theorize and some criticize, and some sympathize. The really nice ones offer aid to an overburdened and clearly exhausted parent trying to grow 7 arms and 20 eyes and perhaps an extra brain to control them. Forget saving Metropolis - if I had laser vision, the ability to freeze things with my breath, super strength, invincibility and the power of flight, I'd see to the other side of the house to be sure my kids were ok while I fixed supper, instantly cool hot soup and freeze water bottles, bring all my bags, groceries and toddler to the house in one trip, and save a lot of money on fuel! And then I suppose people would stare even more. :) I'm still trying to learn the lesson of not caring what they think.
Funny thing is, I've bemoaned all my life that I fit nowhere and remain an outsider, but that's the way a messenger of God is supposed to feel. This is just my newest reason for feeling different.
The message on video Wed. night was a parenting class that spoke well to me of helping my kids see themselves in a godly light. Maybe I need to learn that lesson first.
Blessings,
V
Monday, July 11, 2011
Looking
So, today I gazed up while trudging under blazing sun across the parking lot at work, into a blue sky much like the one that just a few months ago framed giant snow drifts, and smiled. Strange how those smiles take more effort for me in such bright light and oppressive heat. No longer am I picking my way slowly in heavy boots, gingerly choosing one patch of icy ground after another, and yet, somehow still there's non-stop complaining all around me. All anyone can talk about (substitute snow or cold here just months ago) is the heat or humidity!
Together, shall we search high and low for a silver lining? Wonder how much time humanity has wasted on complaining about unchangeable conditions. How about...
"What a perfect day for a nice long swim."
"How convenient, driving on well-lit, dry streets!"
"This will really make me appreciate the fall and the rain."
Still, preachy as this may sound (apologies!), I'm always preaching at myself. Maybe I'm not saying it, but there's plenty I'm internally griping about or allowing to pull me down and it's all so selfish and indulgent. Dr. Valetta prescribes (to herself) a healthy dose of other people's problems, leading me to a fave quote from the late Vernon Roth: "There's a difference between sticking your nose in other people's business and your heart in their problems."
My dear friends James and Anna will be today's medicine. They with their large batch of offspring scrape by on very little this month under the Ugandan sun after rebuilding the roof on their church and purchasing a much-needed vehicle large enough for their family. Here I sit with a full, satisfied belly before my fan, hanging out on the net...yep, that does it for me. Outlook uplifted. Smile restored. :)
But...one more dose, for good measure. My dear, new friend, Julie, just lost her husband in a sudden heart attack. I was there the night she lost him and witnessed that look on his face when he realized something was terribly wrong. Still she handed out Kleenexes and offered comfort days later, holding her composure, peace and obvious strength like a queen. What are my problems compared to such devastation and what excuse have I to frown when Julie smiles?
I've taken my medicine; now I'm sure you have some of your own. Lord willing, you're sunny already, but if you need a dose, look around.
Happy Dreams and lots of Love to all my Readers. Many apologies for these long silences.
-V
Together, shall we search high and low for a silver lining? Wonder how much time humanity has wasted on complaining about unchangeable conditions. How about...
"What a perfect day for a nice long swim."
"How convenient, driving on well-lit, dry streets!"
"This will really make me appreciate the fall and the rain."
Still, preachy as this may sound (apologies!), I'm always preaching at myself. Maybe I'm not saying it, but there's plenty I'm internally griping about or allowing to pull me down and it's all so selfish and indulgent. Dr. Valetta prescribes (to herself) a healthy dose of other people's problems, leading me to a fave quote from the late Vernon Roth: "There's a difference between sticking your nose in other people's business and your heart in their problems."
My dear friends James and Anna will be today's medicine. They with their large batch of offspring scrape by on very little this month under the Ugandan sun after rebuilding the roof on their church and purchasing a much-needed vehicle large enough for their family. Here I sit with a full, satisfied belly before my fan, hanging out on the net...yep, that does it for me. Outlook uplifted. Smile restored. :)
But...one more dose, for good measure. My dear, new friend, Julie, just lost her husband in a sudden heart attack. I was there the night she lost him and witnessed that look on his face when he realized something was terribly wrong. Still she handed out Kleenexes and offered comfort days later, holding her composure, peace and obvious strength like a queen. What are my problems compared to such devastation and what excuse have I to frown when Julie smiles?
I've taken my medicine; now I'm sure you have some of your own. Lord willing, you're sunny already, but if you need a dose, look around.
Happy Dreams and lots of Love to all my Readers. Many apologies for these long silences.
-V
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Storm
In the wake of waves of tragic storms, the level of compassion and generosity displayed by surrounding communities inspires me to say something here. Sorry I've been silent for so long - busy life and blog blocker at work so no lunch blogging allowed anymore - but here's a quick little hi to my past readers and a Praise God! for all the love poured out on the Joplin tornado survivors by my friends, family, co-workers, etc. After 9/11, stories of courage and heroism inspired in many a spirit of togetherness and sense of joy in our country and its unity in the face of unspeakable horrors. Now I see this again, and hear stories like that, and joy again. My heart goes out to all those suffering loss. Please remind us, down the road as life pulls our attention away, that you still need our help rebuilding your city. Thank you for new hope in humanity. Blessings on you all,
V
V
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