Faith

The energy of hope

/ Sheila / 16 Comments

There’s a famous saying: “Where there’s life, there’s hope.” I think you could almost say that without hope, we cease to live. We may be breathing, but we’re not living.

Hope and energy are intertwined. I remember my grandmother, Theola, often saying that she hoped to get to her quilting, or her flowers, or some chore outside. As she grew older, she was often short of energy. But I never knew her to be short of hope. She was a woman of simple goals and great faith. Her world was small by most standards. But she was a well-spring of hope.

I saw the loss of hope in my dad when he began to lose his life to cancer. It wasn’t fast, and it was hard to watch. I would visit and try to encourage him, to infuse him with energy and strength and expectation…to bring back his hope. But I couldn’t do it. My mom couldn’t do it. He had hope for life after death. But he couldn’t hope for this life anymore.

Hope is the positive face of a to-do list. When my dad was dying, he wasn’t making plans for next week. Plans are for the living, and they require expectation of fulfillment, and energy to accomplish. Hope is fuel and food to the spirit.

“It’s the possibility that keeps me going, not the guarantee.”
― Nicholas Sparks

I hope so many things. I have hope for personal dreams, for family, for health, for good things to come. I hope for those I know and love, and hope for those I know only a little, or not at all. Hope is an active and intentional desire. It isn’t neutral. When you express hope, you feel strongly. You believe in what you hope for. Sometimes we wish with all our hearts. We hope to high heaven. We have high hopes. We dream big. Hope sustains us. It is a force of the universe.

Hope is such a little word, and so casually used. I think we forget how important this small four letter word is to life. Hope is looking forward, not behind. Hope is positive, not blind. Hope acknowledges grace and potential. With hope, possibilities are all around. Hope allows the story to write itself, work itself out in good time. Hope reminds me that sometimes things happen
not at once, but at last.

I remember hearing my dad say that he had a hard time going to bed; he always hated to give up the day. He and my mom were often up late, working on projects, pursuing their hopes. She still works late at her desk. I’m more of a morning person. But whichever end of the day you find inspiring, the thing nudging you out of bed or keeping you up past your bedtime…it may look like work. But I believe it’s really hope, disguised in everyday garb. Hope keeps us going, whispers that it will be worth it…plants a seed-thought of what’s next.

“Everything that is done in this world is done by hope.”
― Martin Luther

OOT Christmas

/ Sheila / 8 Comments

This year, like last year, we will be out-of-town (OOT – love that acronym!) for Christmas. Last year we were in Seattle, and we were with our kids. This year promises to be a little less fun…or maybe it will be more fun, you never know. But I know I’ll miss our family.

Rob is covering call for the small island clinic where he sometimes works. They are short-staffed, so we’re going over on the Sunday ferry, and we’ll set up camp in the little apartment we use when we’re working there. I’ve collected a stash of Christmasy things to cozy us up…some favorite movies, special Christmas foods, a few gifts, all wrapped and ready for the big day. But the best part is: Rob and I will be together. We’ve spent enough time apart, and although we still have to do that sometimes…I think we should never again spend a holiday apart.

Being OOT for Christmas means we’ve minimized some things at the house…simple decorations, no tree, and some of our traditions are getting a rest this year. It’s a busy weekend…we have three social events on Saturday, and then we leave Sunday morning. But somehow this streamlined holiday seems festive even without all the usual trimmings. Maybe it’s because we have a precious new grandson, born this week. Or maybe it’s the joy and hope I hear in our son’s voice…after a difficult year and hard decisions in his life, he’s finding his way, and his spirit, again. Maybe it’s because I’m thankful that our family, by and large, is well. Not perfectly healthy, and not without struggles; there are challenges. But overall, well. My mom misses my dad, but she finds happiness in her mission and her loved ones. My husband is weary, but he continues to find a way to give to the people in his life who need him, as a physician and as a person. I see updates from family on Facebook, and although social media gets its fair share of criticism, I’m thankful to be a little better connected to dear ones who are far away. I’m thankful for faithful friends and uplifting words that I read every day.

It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air.”
~ W. T. Ellis

Maybe I am finding more of the spirit of the holiday this year because there is less of the bustle. I think I’ve written three cards…and that will probably be my final tally. I used to send out lots of cards…boxes and boxes. Lights were everywhere some years…garland…some years we’ve done neighborhood parties, or hosted family. I love all that…every bit of it! But in a season without quite so much to-do, I can admit that sometimes at the end of it, I was exhausted, and just ready for a long winter’s nap.

I’m sure those times will come again. We’ll have years that it’s our turn to have our kids visit, and years that every light I can find is on display. I’ll have a fresh tree and put up all my favorite ornaments, and use my Christmas china, and make all the favorite foods. But not this year. This year it will be the two of us, and a few candles, and simple food. This year we’ll be quiet, and contented to just be.

In case you’re still looking for gifts, here is a short list of suggestions:

Christmas gift suggestions: To your enemy, forgiveness. To an opponent, tolerance. To a friend, your heart. To a customer, service. To all, charity. To every child, a good example. To yourself, respect.”
~ Oren Arnold

Merry Christmas to all. Whatever your season has brought…simple, or a year with bells on, may it be rich with the real joys of life, and may you say to those you love: “This is the good stuff!”

Christmas music fills the air

/ Sheila / 7 Comments

It’s that time of year again. Unlike the decorations that deck the malls, I save my Christmas music until December. Well, sometimes I sneak a few favorites after Thanksgiving. But the real celebration begins with December. I trot them all out…carols, the old traditional standbys…Bing Crosby and Mannheim Steamroller, Frank Sinatra and Christmas choirs, Celtic Woman. I love it all, from instrumentals to old folk tunes to soaring choral arrangements. For this month, my Pandora and Spotify stations are set to sentimental.

Sentimental is where my heart is…I have some old Disney Christmas CDs that take me to a time in my life when I had little kids, and the magic of making Christmas cookies and wrapping presents was a family event. Every step in the season was momentous…picking out a tree, choosing the special ornaments for the year, shopping and decorating, and the great light debate..colored or white…the favorite Christmas movies and holiday plays…each event had it’s place on the calendar. And the smells! The smell of the tree, fresh from the cold and filling the house with the fragrance of forest…it was better than baking cookies. To each his own, but if I can’t have a real tree…like this year, when we’re going to be out of town for Christmas…I don’t have anything. I can’t quite make the switch. I decorate with wreaths, and other holiday trimmings, but no fresh tree…no tree.

I listen to the soundtrack from A Charlie Brown Christmas and I’m transported. What is this time warp I’m caught in? My children have moved on, and I’m still here…here in December, loving the little trips back in time; they come in the flash of an instant, sometimes triggered by the strangest things…little, insignificant glimpses that take me, by magic, to another decade…literally to another century. The 90s were golden with the two little kids who filled my life.

Music is a touchstone to memory, and my memories are good.

I remember reading the classics to my children, books like The Polar Express, and A Christmas Carol, and  even now, years later, I’m still caught by the stories, charmed and touched by the faith of childhood. That’s the real spirit of the season that flavors everything else…faith…accented by the sounds of beloved and familiar. And for a few weeks every December, I live and re-live sweet moments from the past, and precious times of the present. This month, more than any other, blends the years and melts my heart. A little sprinkling of snow, frosty temps…all good.

December morning glory

December morning glory

December wisdom

/ Sheila / 8 Comments

There’s a lot of wisdom floating around this time of year…I can find advice on how to create a magical Christmas, or how to experience a calm and serene holiday. There are tips for frugal giving and creative giving. There are recipes everywhere. I read how to make peace with your family, or how to find peace in spite of your family. We can all get along, or agree to disagree and not stress…whatever your point of view, there’s an article, or a blog post, or even a book, to support it.

I confess, there are times when almost all of these opinions fit my mood. I have my moments. Who wouldn’t want to create the perfect Christmas scene? Or the memorable family moment? And yet, I also want the quiet, the calm, the focus, of saying “Enough!” I don’t want to be all about the externals and neglect the important. I want to be generous, and yet not foolish…I want to do for others, but I don’t want to be undone by my efforts to do it all, have it all, be all.

So, in the spirit of seeking balance and vision during this month of magic, which is also a month of stress, consider these pearls:

Stop the glorification of busy.

Think the best of each other, especially of those you say you love. Assume the good, and doubt the bad. ~ Jeffrey R. Holland

words-heal

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Practice the pause. When in doubt, pause. When angry, pause. When tired, pause. When stressed, pause. And whenever you pause, pray!

“Talking about our problems is our greatest addiction. Break the habit. Talk about your joys.” ~ Rita Schiano

 

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“Grace isn’t a little prayer you say before receiving a meal. It’s a way to live.”

“I will hold myself to a standard of grace, not perfection.”

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I am learning

/ Sheila / 11 Comments

I am learning to accept the feeling of unease that frequently settles in the pit of my stomach. I am learning to live with uncertainty, with fears, with doubt. I am learning this because in the last few years I’ve experienced:

~ living far, far from family

~ my son’s deployment to Iraq

~ my daughter’s miscarriage of her first pregnancy

~ my father’s battle, and loss, to cancer

~ the death of my grandmother

~ family torn by divorce

~ stress, stress, more stress

~ distress in my marriage

~ uncertainty about work and income

~ a house for sell that didn’t sell

~ the struggles of my adult children with jobs and life decisions

and life continues. This is my list since 2006. I’ve counted other losses and difficulties before. These are the major markers since we moved to Alaska.

And what do I say? What do I do? What can I do? I pray. I feed myself the sustaining, nurturing words of wisdom that encourage me when I need the spark of hope. I believe in belief. I believe that above all, there is goodness in the world, there is joy in the morning, there is comfort for the downcast. I count the ways I’m fortunate, and the joys that fill my life even when I’m anxious.

I tell myself that life works out. It will be all right, whatever “it” may be. Have faith. But sometimes, I falter a bit. What if it doesn’t work out? I see others whose stories don’t end well, whose lives have not worked out according to plan. What if I, or those I love, have the same experience? What if?

I face the fear, feel the physical sensation in my stomach. We’re old friends now, this sensation and me. I recognize it for what it is. It feels good to be stronger than this feeling. This isn’t a sign of bravery. It is a victory of strength, strength I didn’t know I had, strength I am growing day by day. It comes from recognition. I can only do so much, I can only do what I can do. I, who avoid conflict, am learning to confront.

Back to first principles. Do your best. Do your part. Don’t give up. Appreciate what you have. Share when you can. Believe.

Last weekend I found a site that expresses this eloquently. If you are looking for encouragement and a call to be thankful, grateful, joyful, this may speak to you.

A Holy Experience

I am learning to rest, to have peace, to keep my joy…I didn’t have to acquire it, I came here with joy ingrained in my being. But I’ve struggled to hold it, through some of life’s question marks. And even as I write this, I know that I’ll have to do this again tomorrow, and the next day, and next.

Saturday night, hearing the tsunami warning sirens, racing to throw a few things in the car before evacuating, some of these thoughts were flashing through my mind. I thought of family, plans, dreams, impacted by unseen force of earthquake. How do you plan for earthquake? For tsunami? The answer is, you really don’t. You can do so little. But you do what you can. You evacuate when you’re told to. You follow instructions. You hope, you pray. You thank God for the people, the good things, filling your life. And when the rush of the moment is over and you realize there’s no life threatening emergency after all, you promise yourself you’ll remember that flash of insight. I have so much.

I am blessed. I am grateful. And I am learning.

 

My father’s 80th birthday

/ Sheila / 23 Comments

Today my dad would have turned 80. He died four years ago on February 1, just a few days shy of his birthday.

It is hard to believe it has been four years since that day. My mom has adjusted, as much as possible. She is busy, active, energetic, continuing to pursue their life dream of mission efforts. But she doesn’t forget, of course.

How does it work that life goes on, the current carries us on? There is no choice, that’s how it works.

I think of him often, at odd moments here and there. Little things bring him to mind, and four years down the road, the sadness is mostly gone, and sweetness is in its place. The memories are good, and I smile when I’m reminded of some funny thing he said or did. Sometimes the tears still come, often when I least expect it, surprising me that emotion can bubble up, nearer the surface than I knew.

I’ve been thinking a lot about creating passion in my life. I should say, expanding passion. There are some things I am passionate about, primarily my family. I think about my dad, and how he displayed that quality in his life.

He wasn’t a flashy person, not the cool one in the crowd. But he was a man of faith, an old fashioned faith that wasn’t about fame or fortune. He was a minister, a preacher, a missionary. He had goals for sharing his faith, and he pursued them. He spent most of his life focused on sharing his faith with others, and lived many years in foreign countries to accomplish that goal. He and my mom were partners in life and in faith, and their mission was their passion.

The last couple of years of his life he was not able to travel, except to doctors’ appointments and to hospitals. His world grew smaller, at a time when mine was expanding. It was about that time that Rob and I moved to Alaska, and we traveled a lot. I always called when we traveled, checking in. I would hear his voice, “Where are you now?” A little wistful, it seemed to me. I’m sure he was thinking of past years when he was well and able to be about his life’s work. It pricked my heart to know that he would likely not make those journeys again.

This week I’m traveling again, in Anchorage for a training, and I heard a little voice in my head as I was packing. “Where are you now?” I’m right here, Daddy, thinking of you, and wishing I could sing happy birthday to you in person. But you’re where you belong, too. I know that because I also have a faith. It is a bit different from my dad’s. My faith has not prompted me to live abroad, or to choose a missionary life. But it is there, nonetheless.

Milestone birthdays are always special, celebrated with a little extra excitement. If my dad was here, we would do a big family gathering, make a special event of the day. But without him, of course that isn’t happening. Still, I like to think that he’s having his party. I like to think that he’s off on a journey, traveling like he loved to do. And because I haven’t been on that journey myself, I ask him, “Where are you now?”

Happy Birthday to my dad. Happy birthday, Daddy.

Clarabell, the Christmas Cow

/ Sheila / 4 Comments

For a heartwarming story that has the perfect elements of Christmas…a child, animals, Santa…check out this link to Clarabell, The Christmas Cow.

For many years, my father-in-law read this story at Christmas family gatherings. We are not always with extended family at this stage in our lives. Some years the most we can do is attempt to get together with our kids. So now Rob reads this story for our little group.

If you’ve never heard of Clarabell, take a few minutes and get to know her. She’s quite a character, and more importantly, she has character. This is a story that teaches the meaning of selfless giving, and the reward of doing the right thing.

Happy reading, and Merry Christmas!

December Saturday

/ Sheila / 14 Comments

Saturday afternoon in Craig is a bit quiet. In a small apartment that is not my own, there isn’t much inspiration or much of a to-do list. I’ve got some writing projects I’m working on, but I can only focus for so long at one stretch.

One of my favorite things to do when I’m ready for a break is to catch up on reading. I read blogs, read email, pull up a book in progress on my Kindle. I sometimes look for new quotes and inspiration for blog posts. Inspiration comes from everywhere…and inspiration is whatever catches my interest, makes me smile, the thing that touches my heart or rouses my curiosity.

This week I saw this (thanks to my friend Doug):

Religion is a guy at church thinking about fishing. Worship is a guy out fishing thinking about God. ~ John Fischer

And I found this:

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I always wonder if the quotes I post resonate with others or if they seem trite or simplistic. But whatever…they speak to me, and if these words don’t speak to you…well, that’s just the difference in people. Not right, not wrong, just different.

Words are powerful; they have the ability to heal and encourage. Words can also be negative. I’m careful about what I allow to lodge in my thoughts. I would rather have a store of sayings and quotes in my head that can add to my support when I need it, whether they sound corny or not. The truth is that just as we are what we eat, we also are (or become) what we think.

I don’t always feel positive. Who does? No one I know. But I’m learning, I’m growing, one phrase at a time, one encouraging story at a time.

Quiet Saturdays…well, with a good book in hand, or with an Internet connection…you can find inspiration. It isn’t geographic, you know. Inspiration is everywhere. Hope you find some in your world, wherever you are.

Theola Jane Kite Burton, 1921 ~ 2011

/ Sheila / 14 Comments

My grandmother died tonight. She was my last remaining grandparent, and at 90, was still going strong until just a few days ago. She was a product of a time that lives in grainy black and white photos, history books, and memory. She was a child of the depression, married at 14, raised five children with few resources, loved my grandfather, Grady Clyde.

She was “Mama” to her grandchildren, and spent countless days of her life gardening for the family, or sewing, or cooking. She was a gardener of vegetables from necessity, for most of her life, making ends meet with lady peas, butter beans, tomatoes, and whatever else she decided to plant. Her thumb was green. She grew flowers out of love, and knew how to graft, root, transplant, and do amazing things with bulbs. She collected daylilies, and roses. She loved browsing the latest catalogs of flowers. A visit to her house was never complete in the growing season without a tour of her plants, mostly moved outdoors to grow in the hot Mississippi summer.

She was a woman of faith. She believed, and she believed strongly. She was a pretty good preacher too, when the occasion and the grandchild required. Mama was no story book grandmother. Although she loved us all, she could scold when she saw the need. She was always ready to make some point, and I remember that she encouraged us as children to memorize the fruits of the Spirit and the Beatitudes.

She was a seamstress and a quilter, and her winter project was often a new quilt or two for someone in the family. Now her quilts will have a special meaning, because there will be no more from her. But the ones she left behind will be treasured.

She was a cook of country foods, southern foods, traditional foods. She made biscuits and cornbread, perfect every time, knew how to cook anything in a pressure cooker, was legendary for her fried peach pies. She made a creamed chicken dish that was pure comfort food, and knew how to make lady peas that were perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked, served up with steam rising from the bowl.

She laughed at herself or whatever was funny till she couldn’t talk, a trait that I think I’ve inherited. She loved a joke, although she couldn’t really tell one. She wasn’t a successful tv watcher, except for the news. She couldn’t stay awake through most programs. I think she was too accustomed to getting up early to watch tv in the evenings.

She lived in same small town for most of her life. She knew pretty much everyone, and could tell you the history of families, events, all sorts of things from past doings in Winona, Mississippi.

She was salt and light in my life: salt as a good seasoning, light as a lamppost to guide the way.

As an adult, I’ve recognized that many things that are part of my life she would have no understanding of. She didn’t work outside her home. She didn’t move about, although she did travel a bit visiting her children in different parts of the world. But in many ways, her world was centered in her community, her family, her faith. I like to think that although our lives are very different externally, there is some of her goodness in me; that her influence and her faith are in my heart.

She believed she was going to a better place at the end of her life. She believed she would see my grandfather again. She believed.

And so do I. Thank you, Mama, for sharing your life with me, and with so many. Thank you for the conversations through the years. Thank you for your love. Thank you.