Sunday, October 11, 2015


"25 Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbor, for we are all members of one body. 26 “In your anger do not sin”[d]:Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, 27 and do not give the devil a foothold. 28 Anyone who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with their own hands, that they may have something to share with those in need.
29 Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. 30 And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. 31 Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. 32 Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you." - Ephesians 4:25-32.
At the risk of sounding repetitive, there are rarely -- if ever -- times when I attend church and don't come away feeling that I was meant to be there -- to receive the message and once again be reminded that He is almost always speaking to me.  (Maybe I just listen/hear Him better while I'm at church -- after all, being still and quiet is sort of an ingrained part of the churchgoing process. Besides, surfing Facebook during the worship service just seems uber tacky.)  Because of this, I've gotten in the habit of walking in with a particular question on my heart.  Whatever is weighing on me -- I bring it there and hold it out, like Zuzu's petals, for God to "paste it," and make it better; make me whole.  I don't know why it still surprises me -- but He always does. 
Lately, a couple different concerns have been weighing on me, but both have to do with loss -- loss of people who matter to me, to be precise.  There are different ways we lose people -- sometimes to death, sometimes to anger or betrayal, sometimes just to drift.  But loss is loss and the closer the tie to the person, the greater the hurt when we lose them, particularly when it's abrupt and/or unexpected.  I've been carrying a good deal of hurt with me over several people who've chosen to exit stage left in recent months.  It's left me feeling very small and not valued.  And I've been trying to figure out how to get past it.
Just letting go of it and walking away isn't really my way. Usually, my instinct is to attempt to mend fences, but in order to do that, I know I need to get past the point where I feel compelled to plead my case; to explain how I've been "wronged" and how and why I didn't "deserve" it.  Problem is...I've been stuck there for awhile, and haven't been able to move on to that "It doesn't matter who's right or wrong; what matters is the relationship with this person" phase. So when I realized today's theme was "forgiveness," I thought, "Oh, boy - here we go."  
As it turned out, the message was about more than just forgiveness.  If I had to sum it up succinctly, I'd say it's about walking the walk. But forgiveness is a crucial component of that -- God's forgiveness of our sins and, in turn, our forgiveness of one another.  Towards the end of the message, the Pastor encouraged us to seek out those we need to forgive -- to start figuring out how to get to that place.  ("Great," I thought, "That's what I've been trying (rather unsuccessfully) to do.")  But then, he added another dimension to it and encouraged us to seek out those from whom we need to seek forgiveness.  
I was still mulling this over as I drove away, and it suddenly hit me: I've been so focused on forgiving, I've forgotten I need to be forgiven. Maybe I need to shift my focus to that, in order to get to where I need to be.  So I'm putting this out there, and I'm asking any and all - if I've let you down; if I've hurt you, please forgive me. If there's something I can do to make it right, tell me. And if you're still not there yet, know that I'll be right here when you are.  

There are people in your life who've come and gone;
They've let you down, you know they've hurt your pride.
You'd better put it all behind you, baby, cuz life goes on;
You keep carryin' that anger, it'll eat you up inside.

I've been tryin' to get down to the Heart of the Matter
But my will gets weak
And my thoughts seem to scatter.
But I think it's about forgiveness
Even if, even if you don't love me anymore. - Don Henley

Thursday, September 3, 2015

Flip or Flop

It all began for want of a pencil case.  Of course Riley got one along with her other school supplies about a month ago.  But the one we originally got, it seems, wasn't all that sturdy.  Ergo, when stepped on by a classmate last week, it sort of fell apart.  So I was informed that she needed a new one.  It went a little something like this:  I went to Target last Saturday and picked up all sorts of things (as one so often does when one goes to Target.)  Got home and, as I was unpacking my purchases, was greeted with, "Next time you go to Target, can I come with? I need a new pencil case."  I might have rolled my eyes a teeny bit, but laughed and said, "Well, yes, the next time I go to Target, you're welcome to come along, but I can't say for certain when that will be, seeing as how I just now got home from Target!" 

Later, I was informed that there was a particular case the kiddo had found on line which she needed wanted. So she described it to me, and I promised to pick one up the next time I was at Target.  Went last night to "our" store only to discover that they didn't have the item in stock.  So she asked if we could order it on line.  Sure. We can do that.  Hopped on line last evening and's out of stock on line!  And in "low stock" in only two stores in the St. Louis area -- O'Fallon and Jennings. Okay fine, the O'Fallon store isn't too far away, so I decided to run by there on my way to work this morning.  

Got there shortly after the store opened at 8:00 a.m., and, as I was walking in...something went terribly awry with my left shoe.  I was wearing my prized Colin Stuart black wedge flip-flops -- which, anyone who sees me regularly can attest, is basically the entirety of my summer shoe wardrobe.  Actually, I like this particular shoe so much, I have it in 5 or 6 colors, but since I wear a lot of black, the black ones get the most wear.  And it seems, I've worn them so much that I wore the flip right of the flop.  Busted.  So, what was I to do?  I was already at Target. Wasn't going to hop back to the car and go home.  I figured Target might actually have a reasonable substitute, so I trudged forward. 

Trust me, you haven't lived until you've attempted to traverse a large box store in a busted high-heeled flip flop.  Let's just say, I moved verrrrrrry slooowwwwwlllyyy.  I'm sure anyone who saw me thought I had a terrible leg injury.  

But I made my way over to the shoe section and low and behold - they not only had a decent selection of flip flops -- they actually had some black wedges!  Not identical to my beloved Colin Stuarts, but close enough!  

Now the trick was to figure out how to swap the fully functional flop out for the busted one without appearing to be some kind of shoe shoplifter, as simply donning the tethered-together Target pair seemed likely to cause further mobility issues.  I was able to carefully untether the left flop from its mate (and thankfully, the price tag was affixed to the right flop.)  So I donned the left flop and proceeded with my shopping sporting a pair of mismatched, yet close-enough, black wedge flip flops.

I flopped over to the school supply section...only to discover that the desired pencil case apparently wasn't in stock at this store either.   I asked the kind gentleman who was restocking the team-wear nearby to check.  He did, and after several moments and some hunting around, ultimately determined that there'd been an accounting error, and they really didn't have any in stock.  

I grabbed two alternatives and headed towards the checkout, where the cashier graciously placed my old shoes in a bag and snipped the price tag off the right flop so that I could wear my new pair out of the store.  Hope one of the cases I snagged will do, because I'm not driving to the Jennings Target for a $4 pencil case!  

Monday, August 31, 2015

Be Still

I went to church yesterday for the first time in several weeks. Summer's been busy and weekends fly by, and it's all too easy to place church down low on the priority list.  But I felt it tugging at me a bit. Truth be told, I've been feeling a little bit low of late. No one thing, no enormous thing, just the paper cuts of life leaving their sting. 

So I went with the hope that an hour in church would renew my spirit a bit, as it so often does.  I went with a prayer on my heart that God would speak to me there as He's done before.  It's the reason I've come to love my church so -- rare is the time I attend and don't take something meaningful away.  

And as the service went on, I felt...well, not really what I'd been hoping for.  The music was good, the message was fine, but it wasn't really connecting with me in the way I'd thought it might. Even when the pastor mentioned "those times when God speaks to us and we know it's Him."  Yes - I've experienced those times, and they're a large part of what informs my faith. But He wasn't really speaking to me yesterday.  

Then, at the end of the service, the lights dimmed, and the pastor engaged in a sort of "question and answer" prayer session with God.  He voiced a concern or doubt, speaking directly to God, and then, in turn, a verse would appear on the screen -- one which spoke to the question. I don't recall the pastor's first query, but the responsive verse was:  "Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine."

And for some reason, that prompted me to think of the times I've called out to God in sadness or doubt, and "heard" (in my head - not in a big out loud GOD voice): "Be still, and know that I am God."  So I thought, "Okay, maybe that's what I'm supposed to take away from today."  I thought on it a bit as the question-and-answer-prayer continued for a few minutes.  

And then the pastor was quiet and the lights dimmed completely. And then, a blue spotlight illuminated a lone pianist on stage.  And this is what he played:

I heard you, God.  Thank you.  

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

The NICE Bucket Challenge

I dropped the ball several months ago. The "Ice Bucket Challenge" was making the rounds, and my beau and one of my best friends both challenged me.  Unfortunately, between work and trying to complete the move and get my house ready to rent out, I managed to not complete the Challenge in timely fashion.  (And felt like a real schmuck for it, because excuses are just that.)  So, I resolved to make a donation to ALS.

But that didn't really feel like enough. An idea began to percolate in my brain...what if there were a way to take the viral concept of the Challenge and combine it with the "Pay it Forward" or "Random Acts of Kindness" concept?  Of course, if you know anything about me, you won't be surprised to learn that's about as far as it got.  Life has a funny way of elbowing grand ideas out of the way.

The idea didn't fade completely, though.  Some weeks later, a Facebook friend mentioned how much it had brightened her day when the person in front of her at the drive-thru had paid for her order. Inspired, I did the same for the gentleman behind me at McDonald's later that day.  Only to learn that he, bless his soul, had only ordered a soda.  I know it's the thought that counts, but "paying it forward" for only 99 cents or so seemed sort of like I'd done my good deed on the cheap.

Flash forward to this past weekend, as I contemplated topics for this week's episode of "Q With A View":  Seems like a lot of our focus lately has been on the negative. The past few months have felt particularly so, in light of the events in Ferguson and the fallout from same. So I decided it might be nice to do a show that featured nothing but good news.  I pitched it to my co-host, Jason, and solicited good news stories from friends on Facebook and Twitter.

Several friends were kind enough to share some links, including one comprised of several vignettes of "simple acts of kindness." And the idea again took form and nudged me -- perhaps now is the time.

So, here is my idea:  I would like to challenge everyone who reads this to find a way to perform three random acts of kindness within three days of reading it.  They don't have to be big, grandiose gestures -- it can be something as simple as holding a door for someone whose arms are full, or smiling and saying "Have a nice day!" to a stranger.  They can be as big or small a gesture as you'd like, but just a conscious gesture of good will toward your fellow man.

If you accept the challenge, I would ask that you, in turn, pass this blog along and ask others who read it to meet the challenge, as well.  This isn't a challenge that particularly lends itself to viral video clips, and I'll leave it to each of you as to whether you choose to share specifics regarding your good deeds, but in this day of pervasive social media, surely there is a way, via Facebook or Twitter, or even e-mail, to propel the "NICE Bucket Challenge" forward.  Are you game?

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

All My Love to You, Poppet

Jon Nolte wrote a very sweet and fitting tribute to Robin Williams yesterday. It tugged at me because of the opening paragraph: 

"When Robin Williams smiled his whole face smiled … except for his eyes. Williams' eyes twinkled, moistened, saw right through you, but never smiled. His eyes informed us something else was going on, something deeper; that the character was holding something back, a touch of madness, a secret, and the secret wasn't a very happy one."

For all the many laughs and smiles Robin Williams brought to my life over the years, that description of his twinkling, knowingly sad eyes is how I always see him in my mind's eye. It's the look you see in Euphegenia Doubtfire's eyes and hear in her voice in my favorite scene from "Mrs. Doubtfire": 

That scene touched me when I initially saw it back in 1993, but it truly caught and captured my heart a couple years ago when I watched it again through the eyes of a divorced parent. 

No matter how amicable (or appropriate) a divorce may be, there is heartache at its center.  And there are obstacles and hurts a child of divorce encounters that a parent doesn't always have the ability to fix or words to make right. What I love about this scene is that Mrs. Doubtfire doesn't simply gloss over that, but instead acknowledges it, then gently assures 'dear Katie' -- and all of us -- "But if there's love, dear... those are the ties that bind, and you'll have a family in your heart, forever."  That scene reminds us that those we hold dear are never truly lost.  

The movie, as a whole, reminds us how easy it is to get caught up in petty slights and resentments and forget to let love be our guide. And I don't mean that solely in the context of divorce or parenting. We forget it in the way we treat our extended family, our friends, our co-workers, our fellow man. Even in the wake of Williams' sad death, people who share in their grief over his loss can't quite find it in their hearts to allow others to grieve and/or find meaning in it in their own way. 

Then again, I've seen a number of people in the past few days, whether in response to this, or other world events, exhorting others to set down their knives for a bit, and show a little kindness instead. We could all benefit from such an effort. 

In all the commentary I've seen on Robin Williams from those who actually knew or met him, a common thread has run: That he was a truly kind man. Whatever demons may have haunted him, whatever sadness lurked within his twinkling eyes, Williams managed to treat most people he encountered with genuine warmth and kindness. (On top of making them laugh. Or cry, when the moment called for it.) 

What a blessing. And a dearly needed reminder. I don't imagine I'm alone in saying I take some comfort in Euphegenia Doubtfire's parting words:  "All my love to you, poppet, you're going to be all right... bye-bye."  

Monday, April 14, 2014

The Small Things

I've been itching to write lately -- so much so that my fingers are doing that air-keyboard thing.  (Someone tell me you know what I'm talking about and I'm not the only person in the world who does this.)  But every time I think about sitting down to write, I hesitate. Because there are all of these big things I feel as though I should be writing about, when sometimes, all I really want to do is write about small things - like spring flowers 

and nail polish 

and adorable puppies...

Which is exactly what I said in response to my friend Tami when she mentioned tonight on Facebook that she felt like she'd let politics swallow her whole and pull her focus away from other things in life.  That, and I encouraged her to never stop sharing from the heart. 

Advice I realized I should probably heed, as well. There's a lot going on in the world. Serious, significant, big things. And I could try to write about them all -- or worse, let my hesitancy in tackling them stand in the way of simply sharing from my heart things both big and small.  

I think...what I'd like to try and do instead is simply write -- write what I feel like writing when the spirit moves me, and not worry so much about whether it's substantive, political fare, or fluffy bunny fare. Right now, I'm enjoying immensely the fact that there are flowers blooming and trees greening, and despite today's momentary wintry backslide, evidence everywhere of Spring and all the beauty it has to offer. I've been having fun painting my nails all sorts of pastel colors (they're the "Lily" color above now), even though I normally go polish-free.  And darn if I didn't see the cutest puppy on the face of the planet today on Twitter -- he's supposedly a retriever/husky mix, and he has Pringle's sweet face with a husky's cool markings, and even though I already have a dog and do not need another, I want nothing more than to hug him and pet him and squeeze him and call him George.  Or...maybe Beauregard.  

And so I will write -- maybe only of small things.  But I will write. 

Monday, March 3, 2014

Back to "Normal"

I know the world didn't stop when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. But for a little while, it seemed as though everything slowed down drastically. And a lot of it receded into the background, leaving me with the sense that I was inside a bubble of sorts -- where colors were sharper, feelings were duller and all that really mattered was attacking each step in the process with a smile and my mental pen at the ready to check it off the list. 

It helped me quite a bit to write about it all. Recounting the detail demystified the experience, and finding humor in it when I could defanged it. I had every intention of continuing with that through my radiation, but as I entered that phase of treatment, I suddenly found myself avoiding my writing. Not because the experience was so awful -- more was so mundane. Or I was.

From the week of Thanksgiving through the middle of January, every weekday morning (except the holidays), I got up early and headed over to the hospital for my 7:30 appointment. Sometimes already ready for work, more often, still in sweats and with my hair wet. I got to know the technicians there pretty well, and certainly wasn't worried about looking my best for them. 

Most days, I wore my ladybug bracelet and brought my pink unicorn "Chernobyl" -- both gifts from my friend, Ann -- with me. (Chernobyl usually sat quietly in my purse, but I appreciated his presence nonetheless.)  I'd park in one of the "Cancer Patient" spots (I quickly got over my aversion to that), hurry in past the valet (who always greeted me with a smile and a hello.)  Past the reception desk, with a quick, "I'm here!" to the receptionist, into the dressing room, where I'd select a robe and gown.  I'd change into them quickly, then stuff my top and coat into a cabinet, and wait for one of the techs to come fetch me. They had blankets in a warmer and I took them up on the offer on the coldest of days. Back to "the vault," as I came to think of it, where I'd doff the robe, lower the gown and recline on the table while they lined up my various markings with the machine to make sure I got zapped in the right places. Then the techs would leave the room, and the heavy vault door would close and seal. The machine would whir and do its zapping. And then the techs would return, help me up, help me re-robe (almost always with a static-electric shock -- it became a game for Kevin and me to see if we could avoid shocking one another), and send me on my way.  

My boob developed a noticeable tan line -- a solid dark square which framed it. Eventually, the skin on my chest became sensitive and itchy -- like a heat rash or sunburn. Lotion helped, but I was glad once I knew I was in the home-stretch.  I had tired days, though not too bad. In the evenings, I fell asleep on the couch in front of the TV frequently -- often with my head resting on David's shoulder. He didn't seem to mind, and I'm grateful he was there to hold my hand through it all. I don't think I'd have handled it nearly so calmly, or maintained a positive attitude nearly so well, had he not been there with me. 

During the first few weeks, the days ticked by slowly. From Day 1 to Day 10 seemed like a month. Day 10 to Day 20, more of the same. Then suddenly, I realized I only had ten days left. And I felt the world speed back up. The light at the end of the tunnel began rushing toward me, and I had a brief feeling of anxiety -- what would I do once the routine was gone, and "cancer patient" was no longer part of my identity? 

I'd start getting back to normal, is what. On my last day of treatment, I rang the bell at the nurses' desk. I hugged Kevin and Pam and Kara goodbye and thanked them for their good care of me. I waved goodbye to the receptionist and the valet, and walked out of my cancer cocoon into the sunshine.  

The next day, I marveled at the joy of watching my daughter board the bus -- something I hadn't done in almost two months. I didn't realize until that moment how much worry I'd carried with me each day, leaving the house before her and hoping she'd manage to get herself out the door and on the bus without my prodding. (She did!) 

I resumed getting ready just for work, and not the hospital, too. I gave Chernobyl a place of honor on my dresser and stopped carrying him around with me. I changed my Twitter bio to include "#BreastCancerSurvivor".  My tan line receded -- it's barely visible now -- and my energy picked up. I suddenly found myself tackling chores I'd been avoiding, and getting organized. 

I've now been done with treatment almost as long as it lasted. And life is pretty well back to normal,, though it's a new "normal."  I look at things differently. People, too. I feel like my experience, as relatively not-horrible as it was, afforded me a brief glimpse or two behind life's curtain, and helped me refocus on what's important. It shaped me and became an unexpected part of who I am and, as strange as it may seem, I'm grateful for it. 

Today happens to be Triple Negative Breast Cancer Awareness Day. Triple Negative is an aggressive form of breast cancer -- one which doesn't respond as readily to conventional treatments, and tends to strike younger women. I posted a link about it earlier today and a friend relayed to me an acquaintance of hers has had it spread to her brain. She's a young mother of four, and the prognosis is bleak. So, please, say a prayer for her tonight, if you would. And for all those affected by this disease. My encounter with it wasn't so bad, but I know the love and prayers sent my way did wonders.  So, thank you -- you helped me never lose sight of just how very blessed I've been.