Gratitude

The Valley of Indecision

/ Sheila / 4 Comments

So I have an offer on the house…lower than I wanted, so I’ve countered. And now I wait to hear. The prospective buyers have until Wednesday at 5:00. I doubt it will take that long to hear the decision, but still, the wait is hard to endure. And will they counter again? I hate these games. I wish we could just sit down and talk to each other. But that’s not the way it’s done.

The hard thing is I’ve loved this house. It’s been a nest I would enjoy anywhere, but unfortunately I can’t barge it down to a new location in the lower 48. So part of the process of resetting life is making the choice to move. It’s the first step of many, and at that, my anxiety may be premature. I may just get a rejection and be back to square one.

What do homes say about us? What do they mean? I’ve been a life-long nester, and my home is my refuge in many ways. But I have to say, the older I get, the more I realize…the physical structure, and the furnishings, while they’re important, only go so far.

When you need a real refuge, you need heart, and soul, love and strength. You need character and integrity, loyalty and grace. And none of these things are dependent on the structure of a home, no matter how beautiful or how comfortable it may be.

I’ve faced some challenging moments in my life, and I’m sure there are more to come…life has a way of doing that, testing you, sending a lot of the same lessons over and over again. And each time I realize I learn something new…insights about what I really value, who I want to be in the good times, but more importantly, in the bad.

I’ve learned to feed myself the messages that I want to live, to project what I want to be until it becomes real. Some of the transformation has been slow, but it is happening. And selling a home is just another filter…another lens to look through, to see what I’m really made of.

There have been plenty of times I’ve been disappointed in myself…haven’t been strong enough, or brave enough, or creative enough. But one thing I do know: I have heart, and I don’t give up. So using the filter, the lens, of the success of selling the house, if it happens, I’m going to be thrilled, and celebrate, and find a way to make it positive.

And if it doesn’t happen this time, I’m still going to find a way to make it positive. That’s my life lesson, to take the experiences that seem like defeats and turn them into victories. And believe me, some of the defeats take a lot of work to reframe. Some of the defeats have nearly killed me. But I think most people have to absorb this teaching if they survive, and thrive, in spite of the darts of life.

Sounds pretty philosophical…maybe I’m taking the whole thing too seriously. But tonight, waiting on a decision that has the power to impact my life in such a big way, it doesn’t feel like I’m blowing it out of proportion.

I’m not in control of life, but I can be in control of myself. So whatever happens, I’ll find my smile, and I’ll put on my heels the next morning and go out and try again. Because anything else is the true defeat, the true loss.

The house will sell when the time is right, and I know that in my heart, even if my head has a hard time believing that.

Wish me luck!

And to my blogging friends out there…I haven’t abandoned you…just a little pre-occupied right now. But soon, I’ll be catching up, and reading about all you’ve been up to this summer.  See you soon!

My house!

~ Sheila

Hole in the soul

/ Sheila / 15 Comments

A few years ago I was struggling. I was going through a difficult time, feeling depressed, sad, empty, not myself at all. For a time I was miserable, but over a period of months I came to terms with some of the issues I’d been struggling with. And eventually life was better again; not perfect, but so much better.

Sometimes I remember those months, and what I learned from the experience.

Depression steals your energy. I remember feeling like I just wanted to sleep, to escape. Simple chores were overwhelming. The only thing that kept me somewhat normal was work. Work helped me put on the façade, gave me a reason to get up and get moving. Because I didn’t want to bring drama to my work place, I tried to minimize what I was going through, tried to hold myself together so I wouldn’t feel embarrassed with my co-workers.

Depression steals your appetite. At least that was what happened to me. I lost interest in cooking. I was alone a lot during those months, and it was easy to ignore meals when I wasn’t hungry, and too disinterested to cook. I lost 20 pounds in a few months. Best and worst diet experience I’ve ever had, the only “diet” that was effortless. In the past I’d put on pants or a favorite skirt and realized it was time to lose a few pounds. I’ve never before had to look through my closet for something to wear that wouldn’t fall off me.

Depression steals your interests. I would try to read to take my mind off the things that were bothering me. I couldn’t read. I would try to watch TV. I couldn’t stay engaged. I couldn’t settle myself long enough to accomplish much. I was restless and yet exhausted.

Depression steals your rest. I slept a lot when I wasn’t working. But often in the middle of the night I would wake up and my mind would race, going over and over the things that were troubling me. I was sleeping all the time, but not resting. My sleep cycle was broken by stress and worry, and somehow, the more I slept, the less I rested.

Once I was in the grocery store, walking around like a ghost, feeling the physical impact of depression. I felt like there was a hole in the middle of my body where my stomach should have been. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself with a gap between chest and hips…a hole that only allowed for the churning engine of stress that took the place of my belly…and even though I knew there was no hole, I remember thinking that the gaping emptiness seemed so real, I was surprised other shoppers weren’t staring at me, stopping to ask if I was alright. Because I had a hole in my middle. It was a surreal experience, and I wasn’t even on any medication. I was just feeling the drowning grip of sadness.

I walked around the store, filling my cart, looking normal on the outside, feeling lost and empty on the inside, and so aware of the gaping hole. As I walked around, I began to wonder who else was walking through the store with their own holes, invisible to me, but so real to them. Holes in souls.

That question took the focus off myself and allowed me to stand back and recognize that I probably pass people all the time who walk around with holes. I just don’t see what’s in front of my eyes. I try always to be kind, to be thoughtful. But even so, there are days that I’m wrapped up in my world. I pass people on automatic pilot: kind but remote, polite but disinterested, because I’m busy, and on the run, and don’t really look close enough to see the hole that’s devouring the person in front of me.

Living for a time with a hole in myself helped me realize, in a way I hadn’t before, that a lot of people walk around like that. Walking wounded. They put on the face, just like I did. They go through the motions of living, just like I did. Some get help, and some get relief from a change in the situation that’s causing the pain. That’s what happened to me. Circumstances changed, the skies cleared, my smile came back.

It wasn’t without some effort on my part. I did a lot of soul-searching, made some changes that were within my power to make.

It was a humbling experience. When you’ve always been hopeful, mostly happy, mostly sunny side up, it’s hard to recognize a self who’s drowning, who can’t snap out of it. You begin to look at people who struggle with depression and other forms of mental illness through a different lens. You find more compassion, more appreciation for the struggles that are invisible to the eye, but so real to the heart.

When I remember that time, now I can feel grateful. It taught me a lot about myself and helped me find strength I didn’t know I had. I learned the value of “wait and see.” I learned that the phrase “trust the process” isn’t just something you hear in corporate settings. I learned that life will often right itself, if you work with it.

I don’t want to tempt fate by thinking I’m invincible. I’m not, and the truth is, no one is. If there is a next time, I think I’ll manage my hole a little better. I think I’ll know to trust, I’ll find my smile a little faster, a little easier. The reward for weathering the hard times is being better prepared to face whatever comes, and knowing, knowing, that you’ll survive, and thrive, and grow above. Eventually, assuredly.

Once you’ve worked through a hole in your life, you’re never quite the same. You’re scarred, but you’re wiser.

I no longer have an engine of stress running in my stomach, or feel like there’s a hole in my body. But I can empathize with those who do. I don’t talk a lot about this experience…just doesn’t come up in normal conversation. But now and then I see an opportunity to speak up, to share, to encourage, to say, “I’ve been there.” It’s a powerful thing to look back at a challenge and know you’ve overcome. And it’s a powerful encouragement to someone else to hear a first-person story, to know someone else really gets it.

I don’t claim to have it all figured out now. I’m not even sure why I’m sharing this, except that I suddenly wanted to.

I’m not sharing to get sympathy. I’m sharing to give hope.

I started my blog during those months, started it to stake a claim to the positive person I knew was somewhere inside. I was determined to find my way to that self again. And I did. I had help from a few significant people who knew what was going on, and some of the conflict in my life subsided.

After the worst of it was behind me, I noticed I was singing again. I noticed I was interested in food again. I noticed I had a renewed sense of grace, of redemption, found a new sweetness to life that stays with me. I sometimes have small setbacks, and I sometimes feel discouraged. But I’ve never gone to the depths again. I’ve learned the signs to watch for, and the steps toward healing.

I think I’m a better person than I was, in part because of what I went through. It changed me, grew me. And though the details are not important now, I can share this much: to anyone reading this who is lost and despairing, don’t give up hope.

Do something to get yourself moving, literally. Get off the couch, do the smallest thing, and let that lead you to the next thing, and the next. Action inspires hope, and hope is the lifeline to healing. Reach out; there are probably more people than you could guess who understand at least some of what you’re experiencing. And give yourself time. Time can be your ally, and in time, you can look back and see that you’ve come a long way from your lowest point.

You’ll find your smile again. You’ll hear yourself singing again. You’ll sleep through the night again. And you’ll know you’re healed.

 

Wounds

 

Thanks to the Dads

/ Sheila / 7 Comments

To all the dads I know: may your day be wonderful and full of the good stuff: laughter, and words that touch the heart, hugs, and the moments that become snapshots in memory. The years fly by, but the good stuff somehow lasts, photos of the mind that take us back, connecting through time and distance.

I have those mental snapshots of my grandfathers, my dad, father-in-law, my husband, brothers, uncles, son-in-law. Watching these men over the years as they fathered…some in more traditional ways, others more hands on and involved…I’ve seen a breadth of styles and relationships. Above all, I appreciate their commitment and integrity.  Just like me as a young mom, I’m quite sure they were making it up on the fly, figuring out how to be a dad in the midst of all the other demands life was throwing. Does anyone have the luxury of learning to parent at leisure?

There are a lot of words of wisdom that fly around on these days, and anyone can learn from the example of others. But words fall away in the face of actions. It is the actions of these men that I reflect on today. Watching them interact, sometimes at the high points of life, others in the valleys, I see men who were able to connect with their kids, be there when it counted, when the going was rough. I see men who have been quiet heroes to their families, not perfect, but trying. I see men who stayed, fathers who lived up to the name.

I see dads, and I see kids…young ones, adults, and everything in between…who have relationships. And they’re good ones. Thank you to these men, the men of my family.

But more broadly, thanks to the men everywhere who are fathers, and who make a difference, not just in the lives of their children, but in the lives of all of us. Fathers doing a good job make all of us stronger, and better, and healthier.

Enjoy your day, and celebrate the good stuff. And feel proud: you’re doing your job, you’re making a difference. And we love you for it.

Image

PB and Riley

 

 

Good things come

/ Sheila / 7 Comments

A couple of years ago I wrote this:

I struggle to patiently await the unfolding of events. I have a lot of ability to be patient with people, but not with circumstances. It is especially difficult to wait through something that seems to be holding up my life…like selling a house…have I mentioned that I have a house on the market? Just a few times?

While I am waiting, I think about one of my favorite phrases. I remind myself that many things happen “not at once, but at last.” Often I see this at work in life circumstances. Other times it defines a personal journey. I am not able to understand something at once, but at last, I get it. I am not able to forgive something at once, but at last, I am able to find that spirit in my heart.

I need soak time, time to mull things over, time to absorb. I don’t know if that makes me a slow thinker, or a deliberate one. Maybe it comes to the same thing. But I do know that when I’m faced with choice, conflict, decisions, I need time to reach a conclusion. And that’s frequently the way life is, at least in matters I would like to be quickly resolved. There is a process, or a chain of events, or a natural unfolding of the story that must be accommodated, must be honored. To try to rush an answer, in my experience, generally leads to a bad outcome. Or a different outcome than I want.

And so I wait. I wait for life to sort itself out, for forces to align. While I’m waiting, I’m doing what I can to make myself ready. And while I’m waiting, I see things happening that give me hope, bolster my faith, help me to know that when the time is right, I’ll have the answers I need. Not at once. But at last.

No, I haven’t sold my house, and it isn’t even listed right now. That story is still in the making.

But there’s another story unfolding, another example of “not at once, but at last.”

My son is going to college. He’s planning to get a degree.

He’s almost 27, spent five years in the army, has worked the last three years. He has a commercial driver’s license, and has supported himself with driving the last couple of years. He’s doing well and advancing in his job. But finally, finally, he wants to pursue education.

It’s been a long time coming. When he was in high school we expected him to go straight to college, and he almost did. But ultimately he chose the army instead. That was an education in itself, and a decision he’s proud of, one we supported. After five years, he finished his army contract, and we talked school again.

No, that’s not correct.

I badgered him to go to school, and he dug in his heels. He just wasn’t interested, and nothing I said made a difference.

Last week, out of the blue, he told me he’s going to enroll this fall. He wants to get a degree in engineering. He got bored, and he’s ready for a change.

Let’s just say I was…surprised. And then I remembered my line.

Not at once. But at last.

Tonight he called to tell me he’s rearranging his work to accommodate a new schedule. He’s going to use the GI Bill. He’s working out the details, with no prompting from me, no coaching. I know he’s just in the early stage, and there’s a long road between the first semester of a degree program and the last. And I know he might not get there. He might get derailed. I know all that. But it’s a beginning, and he’s taking the initiative.

I also know that a degree is no guarantee of success. Life can be rewarding and wonderful without higher education; a degree is only worth something if it leads somewhere. I know people who went to college, but didn’t really benefit from the experience. Somehow though, I don’t think that will be the story here. I want this for him so he can discover his potential, and that’s really what education is about.

So again I absorb the lesson life has to teach. Be patient. Let the story unfold, let it write itself. Don’t assume you know how it will end because you’ve seen the beginning.

This time the lesson is sweet. It’s very sweet. Not at once. But at last.

Write makes might!

/ Sheila / 10 Comments

Aahh…Blogging 201 is finished, and I learned a lot. It wasn’t evident from my postings, because I haven’t been posting. But the daily tasks have been been thought provoking, made me think about why I blog, tools I use, how I connect.

Out of all the advice and how-tos, the most challenging assignment is to define my brand. (In today’s world, anything and everything is a “brand.”) When I launched Grace and Space, my goal was to share hope, encouragement, and positive thoughts. Sometimes I veer into journal mode, share a recipe, or post family photos. I’ve occasionally tried to add some humor (and though I can be funny enough in person, writing humor is hard to do; kudos to those who do it well!) I’ve shared music, and links to posts that inspire. I post quotes that speak to me, and the occasional personal tribute.

So…out of the mix, what do I offer that is consistent, gives readers a reason to return, and rises above the private ramblings that could be read in a personal diary?

Hmmm….

The truth is, with an ocean of bloggers out there, there are a lot of  similar voices. And while some blogs have a narrowly defined niche…think DIY sites or frugal living blogs, parenting advice authors, religious writers or photography blogs…there are a lot of writers who focus on the topic of the day, whatever that may mean to them.

I’m still thinking about this…do I want to narrow my focus, or have a broader goal of sharing the good stuff, however I define it at the moment?

I’ve been playing with titles and tag lines, domain names and business names as I think about using content from my blog on a professional writing site. Some posts wouldn’t be appropriate…I don’t want to post family photos on a business site, and that wouldn’t be the place for sharing recipes either. The phrase “write makes might” floated through and lodged.

Without taking on delusions of grandeur, or seeing myself or Grace and Space as wielding influence, I’ll just leave my brand aspirations at this: I want anything that appears on my blog to point the way. Often I’m writing out of my own need for hope and joy, and that’s where I want to lead anyone who’s reading. I want my brand to be hope, and my deliverable to be joy. And if that’s a little vague…well, you know it when you see it.

Some days joy is quiet, and others it is exuberant. But always, there’s a deep current of direction and intention, and that’s what I want to convey to readers.

So come along with me if you’d like. I’m searching for a little grace, a little joy, and a community that is grounded in hope, amidst all the nitty-gritty of life. I’m not denying the hard and the sad. But I’m determined to rise above.

The far horizon

The far horizon…

 

Primary Care

/ Sheila / 7 Comments

Two weeks. For two weeks this month I worked in the local primary care clinic, seeing the daily parade of patients and problems: the good, the bad, the ugly.

The clinic was short-handed with some staff out for spring break, and I was able to help out at the front desk. I went through training last year to be a super-user for the clinic’s electronic record, and it helps me to stay current to go in and work in the live setting when I have opportunity. And it’s good to catch up with staff I used to see on a daily basis when I worked full-time in the admin department. Plus, the clinic is in Ketchikan, so I got to be in my own home while I fulfilled this commitment. So all good.

I’ve blogged about this before. Most of my work in the world of healthcare has been on the administrative side. I came into healthcare through the back door of grant writing and office work. I’ve expanded to policy writing, recruiting, project coordination…all tasks that are familiar and comfortable. But patients…now that’s different.

Patients are the reality check to all the work I do.

I usually work in quiet offices, with much of my day consumed with writing, or researching, or interacting with other staff: problem solving, planning, coordinating efforts, meetings, interviews. All valuable, and part of the mechanism that keeps staff in house and programs operating.

But in that world I’m shielded from the nitty, and the gritty. Two weeks of primary care changes that focus.

The other staff I worked with are great: patient, helpful, appreciative of the support I offer, even when it’s imperfectly delivered. In a busy clinic, you need all hands to juggle clinic hours (the clinic offers extended hours; some days the schedule begins at 7:00 AM, and others it ends at 7:00 PM), patient demands, and keep up with the minute-to-minute of busy days. Navigating the electronic system for patient registration,  scheduling appointments, fielding a million questions a day…ok, maybe a thousand, but it seems like more…well, I’m reminded again: I’m grateful to be healthy; humbled to recognize that my complaints of life are “first world” in nature; and I alternate between admiration of people who are cheerful and upbeat in the face of difficulty, and amazement at patients who abuse the very staff who are trying to help them.

Patients are thoughtful, kind, appreciative, attentive. Some are dainty little old ladies, or stately elderly men, in for blood pressure checks and routine appointments that make them regulars. The staff know them by heart. They’re the ones that give you a sense of purpose and satisfaction.

Others are also known, but not for their good traits. They’re rude, demanding, careless, dysfunctional. They’re the ones with an attitude and a knack for saying the wrong thing. They no-show for appointments, then complain when they can’t be worked in; they “lose” prescriptions; they’re quick to criticize and expect more. You see one of those names on the schedule for the day and you hope you don’t have to encounter them. They make you glad with their absence. And yet, even as you put on the smile and ignore the attitude that’s so inappropriate, you wonder: what happened to this person to turn them into a (take your pick) bitter/manipulative/ungrateful/difficult human being?

Work in a clinic setting, and it’s inevitable: you begin to have better understanding of the issues. The headlines about healthcare and insurance and regulations have a real-life meaning that you see through forms, and requirements, and layers of bureaucracy created to manage patients, and the business of paying for care.

The patients make it real too. Some of them can barely walk. Some of them smell. Some of them are dying, slowly but surely. Some of them are living, but miserably. I see the way the staff work with the needs, the challenges, the drama. I’m impressed that these people make a life of touching, healing, processing, listening, advocating, arranging, soothing. The list could go on, and does: the work is never-ending, and the reward is more of the same.

Sometimes it’s funny. When people become patients, you can expect the unexpected, and just when you think you’ve seen it all, it’s another day, and you’ve haven’t seen anything yet.

Sometimes it’s heartbreaking. Patients die, and every week there are two or three sympathy cards laid out on a back shelf, ready to mail “to the family of…”

I say it often: working in healthcare is not a job for the faint of heart.

The job of professionals is to make hard work look easy, and the team I just worked with does that on a regular basis. They find the grace to rise to the challenge every day.

I never had any aspiration to become a nurse, or a physician, or a hands-on healer of any sort. And I’ll admit I’m more than a little relieved that now I’ll go back to my role as a sometimes-recruiter, sometimes-project coordinator, juggling many balls and enjoying the variety of my world. But I have to acknowledge, a little time in the hot seat, interacting with patients is a good thing. It reminds me that there are people at the heart of the work I do from my safe and sanitized desk.

PQOTD

/ Sheila / Leave a comment

A few years ago I signed up for a free email service that sends me a daily quote. Some are from famous people who’re well known. Other quotes are from more obscure sources, people I never heard of. But whatever the source, the wisdom is often the perfect nugget I need to hear. Not sure how that happens…that what I need for inspiration or encouragement falls so neatly and regularly in my email inbox. But so it does.

Here are a few recent favorites:

The work an unknown good man has done is like a vein of water flowing hidden underground, secretly making the ground green. ~ Thomas Carlyle

Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting. ~ Elizabeth Asquith Bibesco

As one’s fortunes are reduced, one’s spirit must expand to fill the void. ~ Winston Churchill

Money is a “way of keeping score in life,” says T. Boone Pickens. But that is just for those who like playing the game. The real goal is to live with grace and dignity. You can do that with a small amount of  money…or not do it with a fortune. ~ Bill Bonner

We are drowning in information, but starved for knowledge ~ John Naisbitt

And finally, on this rainy, chilly day, longing for spring to come, I love this:

“Spring is God’s way of saying, ‘One more time.'” ~ Robert Orben

If you’d like to join this free list (you can unsubscribe at any time), visit Positive Quote of the Day

Bringing out the best

/ Sheila / 4 Comments

One of my tasks for the clinic in Metlakatla is recruiting for providers, and once a position is offered and accepted, I follow up with logistics support. That means I answer a million questions about moving, ferries, barges, lodging, transportation, pets, support, etc., etc., etc. By the time the new provider arrives, I feel like we’re old friends.

I haven’t helped with the hiring process for other staff until recently when I was asked to follow up with a new nurse joining the clinic this month. She’s moving up from the mid-west, sight unseen. That alone is enough to get my attention. Moving to Alaska is advanced logistics, a lot more complex than cross country moves in the “lower 48.” Moving to a small remote island in Alaska requires even more attention to detail. Stepping off the edge without a preview…well, that takes a braver spirit than I’ve got.

So, after a few conversations and emails, I was feeling well acquainted with the new nurse. She was scheduled to arrive on Sunday, March 9, and I wasn’t surprised to see her number come up on my phone last Thursday. I figured she was checking in one last time before getting on the ferry on Friday.

The voice on the phone was a little shaky and I could tell something was wrong. I asked her if she was ok, and the immediate response was “No, I’m not doing very well, I need some help!” She was on the edge of tears and obviously distressed. I listened to her story, mind racing about what to do.

http://www.heraldnet.com/article/20140306/NEWS01/140309386/1052/Thief-steals-U-Haul-car-of-nurse-moving-to-Alaska-for-job

She had driven a U-Haul across the country to Washington and was planning to come up to Alaska on the ferry. Furniture, household goods, clothes, mementoes from her mother and grandmother…everything was in the U-Haul. Sometime during the previous night, her vehicle and the U-Haul were stolen from the hotel parking lot. The hotel had a surveillance video of the theft and had filed a report with the police. But she was unsure of her next steps.

We quickly put a plan together. I told her she could certainly delay her start date if she needed to stay in Washington to deal with the theft. She said she preferred to keep her original plans as there was nothing she could do there but wait. At least in Metlakatla she could be working. The clinic had arranged for her to stay in a furnished house, and I knew we could work out a loaner vehicle for her. Still, I was impressed that she wasn’t curled into a fetal position. We made a plan to meet when she arrived in Ketchikan Sunday morning on the Washington ferry. She was bringing her two labs with her, and I offered to pick her up and get her to the Met ferry later that morning.

Sunday…I called this morning to be sure she was off the ferry and pinpoint a meeting place. The voice on the phone sounded positive, upbeat, even excited. I thought the two day trip up from Washington had probably helped…you lose cell service, so you’re unplugged from the world. Probably a good thing in this case.

We met for the first time, got the dogs and baggage in the car, and over coffee and breakfast, I got the next chapter of the story.

Her vehicle and U-Haul had been found, but the vehicle wasn’t drivable. The police still had it when she left on Friday, and she had to sort out the next steps with the insurance company. In the meantime, her story was picked up by the local newspaper. She had a steady stream of visitors at the hotel before she left, with people stopping by to bring her clothes and miscellaneous things to help fill her needs. She had one suitcase after the theft and when I picked her up this morning she had seven bags…six more filled by people trying to help.

The most poignant story she shared was about a gift of money she received. From a reformed thief.

About midnight the day after the theft, she got a call from the hotel front desk staff saying someone was there to see her. She went down and met a woman who told her that her boyfriend was a former thief. When he sees a situation like hers, he tries to help as much as he can. The woman gave her $500 and left. No address, no name for follow up. Just gave the money and left.

There’s something powerful about a story like that.

I’m still absorbing the thought of payback, or is that paying forward? Righting wrongs? Not sure how to label that act of kindness. But something about it seems profound, like being witness to a path to redemption. I wish I could follow that story, but that’s probably the most important part…that no one can follow, the gift was anonymous, an honest attempt to make up in some way for former dishonesty.

The Best Western gave her free lodging.

The ferry service upgraded her.

She had people who realized who she was giving her notes, offers of help in multiple ways. A link to her story went out to the clinic staff in Metlakatla on Friday. I think the whole community of 1500 people is ready to embrace her.

When I drove up to the Met ferry to offload her things, the crew already knew she was coming and were ready to assist.

One of the nurses at the clinic offered a vehicle for her use.

It’s not even my story, and I’m overwhelmed.

Once again, I see that for all the sad and terrible things in the world, there are people to help, to care, to comfort. And while no one can replace the things that were lost, maybe the lasting impact will be the generosity and the kindness from strangers, finding compassion when someone is down, offering help when it’s needed. I know I could pick up the paper, or go online, and find stories that would show the ugly side of life. Those are out there too, sadly every day. But for today, I got to see the other side, up close and personal. And I think I’ll sit with this for a while, and savor the good stuff.

The everyday kindness of the back roads more than makes up for the acts of greed in the headlines. ~ Charles Kuralt

Love is

/ Sheila / 9 Comments

Love is many things and comes in many forms. On this day, Valentine’s, there’s no escaping the commercial message. While I don’t get excited about the day myself, (my personal take) there are so many ways to express love, and thankfully, none revolve around a date on the calendar. These are a few of the joys I celebrate.

Love is:

~ 32 years of marriage: ups, downs, roller-coasters, tears, smiles, joys, kindness. All that, and we still laugh together. We still connect.

~ Love and support for family, and from family: the ties that bind.

~ Watching our son and daughter thrive.

~ Discovering childhood again through the littles, Riley and Jack.

Snow bunnies

Snow bunnies

~ Watching our daughter play with her babies, build her family.

~ Seeing the relationships of generations ahead of me…enduring, stabilizing, nurturing.

~ Friendships that have stood the test of time.

~ Faith that grounds and secures. I’m not secure in myself, I’m secure in my relationship. Thank God, and grace.

In honor of the day, here are a few new favorite words:

I have seen the best of you, and the worst of you and I choose both. ~ (Pinterest)

I believe in love at first sight…because I am a mom. ~ (Pinterest)

The problem with love these days is that society has taught the human race to stare at people with their eyes rather than their souls. ~ Christopher Poindexter

True love isn’t Romeo and Juliet. It’s Grandma and Grandpa, who grew old together.  ~ (Pinterest)

Eventually, soulmates meet, for they have the same hiding place. ~ Robert Brault

I get to…

/ Sheila / 4 Comments

Some days I need a re-set. Most of the time I’m on the up side of life, and I feel it. I have a smile, and a spring in my step. I see the positive, I hear the music.

But sometimes…just sometimes…I can’t remember. I can’t remember why I live this crazy life, bouncing around for work, and traveling, living a few days here and a few days there. How did I come to choose this way of living? Sometimes I lose sight of the water, so blue beneath the wings of the float plane. I don’t see the sunshine, making the waves sparkle. I don’t feel the romance of going to a small island and working in a beautiful little clinic, knowing that we, Rob and I, are living an amazing adventure. Sometimes my world is about have to.

When I have to, nothing feels right. I’m lost in frustration. Whatever I have, I don’t want. And I only want what I used to have, or hope to have, or should have. You know that game, don’t you? Of course; what human doesn’t? It’s part of the human condition, to feel all the negatives piling up, even when I can take those very same circumstances on a different day, a better day, and see everything that’s perfect.

I can’t always change it at will…I wish it was that easy! But here’s a little trick I’ve learned to use. Instead of saying “I have to…” I say “I get to…” I get to travel. I get to have a job. I get to make dinner. I get to, I get to, I get to….

When I find myself in the hole of wishing, and wondering why, I start listening to my words. I re-frame, and look for ways to say, “I get to.”

Unbelievable, how changing one little word can change my mood, change my outlook. It doesn’t change the circumstances I’m in, it changes me. Get to; have to.

Which will it be tomorrow?