Aging

Road Trip

A bus seen in San Diego

It’s gone…..and it was hard, and it was easy. Easy because it was time, hard because I know those times won’t be coming again. There are the memories though, lots of them. Those will be there forever, God willing, hidden and vibrant in the core of my being for a long time to come. I don’t have to work too hard to hear those sounds. Feel the excitement of getting ready, packing, shopping. I don’t know about you, but road trips usually mean getting treats you don’t usually allow yourself. For me, it’s Cherry Poptarts, only Cherry, no others will do. When I was a kid, it was Svenhardts packaged rolls and pancakes over the Coleman stove. Man, those were good. As long as I live, I will hear the noises of Lower Pines Campground waking up in Yosemite. The pounding of tent pegs echoing off those sheer granite cliffs. Stellars jays squawking from branch to branch. The promise of coffee which tasted of liquid gold as the finger of light crept over Sierra Point, warming the edge of the meadow.

Road trips are a special kind of magic because you never know what you might see on the road. We’ve rounded a bend on the Oregon coast to see a car overturned with a man standing outside of it scratching his head. A couch in the middle of the road. An elk the size of a small state just about to cross the road. A windshield wiper blowing off with a storm approaching. And you haven’t lived until you’ve seen a thunderstorm rolling across the desert. And all the anticipation of the arrival of your destination in the forefront of your mind.

Many years after the tent camping days of my childhood, the 2004 Fleetwood Flair was purchased. It was a brand-new era. It was more glamping than camping and it was wonderful. All the joy and freedom of camping out with a soft bed and as many shoes and boots as I wanted. Excuse me for a few minutes while I let my mind wander. How can you explain the freedom of hitting the road and finally reaching your destination? Waiting with bated breath as you find out where the camp host has parked you. And then, the setup, which was minimal in the Motorhome, that was the best part. As the camp chairs are finally dragged to the right spot you feel yourself exhale, knowing you’ll be here for a while. Cut off from the cares of jobs, responsibilities, and life. Freedom.

I guess you could say this life is one long road trip, full of good and bad, trial and error, mishaps, mistakes and then finally the times when you coast. Everything going right. You savor those times, and you enjoy the scenery. Maybe you even think about your destination. Not the immediate one, the final one. I think as we get older, we do more thinking along those lines, or maybe we try not to think about it at all. It’s there in the question that frames itself in conversations with others or thoughts before we drift off to sleep. But it’s there just the same.

Jesus had lots to say about our final destinations. Both of them. If you don’t believe in a final destination, you probably don’t think too much about it. As Christian believers, our faith, our life, is centered on the hope that only Jesus has the ticket for our final destination. But even more than a vain hope, it’s a knowledge based on His life, death and resurrection. He’s the One who paid our admission. The only One who can. So, know this:

Life is Good. But life with Jesus the life is everlasting. The most important Road Trip you will ever take.

“The Bus”

Sometimes…..(and a toast)

Recently my very best friend in the world had a milestone Birthday. She turned 70. I got to truly surprise her with some very special company. We went to dinner, and I had plans to make a toast, but with all the ordering and talking and catching up, I didn’t. Shame on me.

So here is the toast I would have said. (With glasses raised) To Elaine:

“We are here to celebrate someone who has impacted each of our lives in different ways for a long time and not without some risk and sacrifice to herself. The Bible calls that Agape Love (with capital letters) She loved us all at pivotal points in our lives and when we needed it the most, she threw open the door of her home and her heart. There is simply no better friend. I admire her because she is a person who gives without reservation or hesitation. She prays for the duck and chicks at Tractor Supply, that they will have good lives and not end up in the wrong hands. She is a repairer and fixer. I always tell her that there is nothing she can’t fix. That is mostly true. She lives her faith openly and simply and without reservation. She just helps when help is needed like Jesus told us to do. I always tell her that she would’ve been the only character that would have helped the Little Red Hen with everything and then only taken the bread after everyone was served. I can’t imagine this world without her in it, and I know God feels the same way.” Cheers!

Here is the next thing I was thinking today. My Mom passed in 2021 and sometimes I hear her voice saying different things. Today it was “Who have you told about Jesus today?” My answer was no one. But writing this will change that because maybe this will find its way to someone that needs to hear it. I need to hear it. Everything changes but God (and Jesus) stay the same. That is a huge comfort to me. My words have been few lately, but I am not discouraged because Jesus has been with me for so long and brought me through so much that I know He is still there. And He can be there for you too. And His love is not conditional. I tend to think that if I don’t feel warm fuzzies or God’s presence in a certain way that I must have done something wrong. That is not the case. God doesn’t withdraw His love just like a parent doesn’t withdraw their love from their child. At any time of the day, I can talk to Him, and I know He hears me.

Many people select a word for the New Year. Usually these are wonderful words like “Trust” “Hope” “Belief” “Courage.” The only word that came to me was GLOOM. And it came so quick it almost made me laugh. Thats the truth. Maybe you have a small mushroom cloud over your head today and it’s just overwhelming. It won’t last, I promise. Joy will leak through. God has promised this, if you don’t give up. This is something that has been proven time and again in my 65 years.

This is a version of this verse I really like from the Amplified Bible:

For His anger is but for a moment, His favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may endure for a night, but a shout of joy comes in the morning. Psalm 30:5

Walking Dust

“My hope is in what the eye has never seen. Therefore, let me not trust in visible rewards. Let my trust be in Your mercy, not in myself. Let my hope be in Your love, not in health, or strength, or ability, or human resources.” Thomas Merton

Ash Wednesday reminds us of our universal frailty. At lease it should. We are all just walking dust, after all. Our waking lives are filled with equal measure of it. Frailty, that is. Being human means that in every given moment we can simultaneously feel “blessed” or “stressed” beyond measure. Haven’t we all felt that shadow of “dread” that can come upon us even when things are going well? It’s like the feeling of falling mentally. For those of us who feel the very real feelings of social anxiety it’s kind of a normal state of mind. It can be considered a weakness, but for me, it amplifies my dependance on God. I guess that’s kind of what the Apostle Paul felt about his particular “weakness.”

The Bible doesn’t say what that weakness is, but it’s been fodder for speculation in many discussions and Bible studies. Going back to Ash Wednesday, I like the tradition of wearing the ashes outwardly, although I have never actually gone to a church that supplies them for application. Most Protestant Churches don’t offer them, but maybe they should. I tend to wear mine on the inside.

I have recently had my anxieties amplified by going without alcohol for 30 days. It’s a bit like having the band-aid ripped off the rough edges of life. It was something I felt I needed to do for a time, after being prompted by lots of introspection (and prayer) brought about by the Bible study I started earlier this year. It was hard. Day 3, I was wondering if I could actually pull it off. A genetic predisposition of Alcoholism ran from both Grandparents on my dad’s side. My Grandmother died at a young age resulting from a love of the bottle, and my grandpa quit after being given an ultimatum by his second wife. It was a deal breaker, and he quit forever, to his credit.

It skipped a generation and landed on and my brother and me. We both shared a love of drinking. My brother died unexpectedly in 2023 as a result of many health issues, some of them accelerated by excessive drinking. So, this has become a part of my journey at this (late) time in my life. Better late than never, I guess. It was time. One my own personal thorns of the flesh that needed to be put to death. We are all in good company. Even the Apostle Paul wasn’t exempt.

As Paul said of his personal “thorn in the flesh”:

Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Cor. 12: 7-9

So, this can be encouraging, whatever your weaknesses are. No one gets out of this life alive. But as Christians, even in the midst of our “ashes” we can be encouraged. For when we are weak, Christ’s resurrection power rests on us! I don’t know about you, but as I get older, I am more confronted with more and more weakness.

Today, I wear my ashes inside, carrying about the dust of immortality. Always, carrying about in my flesh the knowledge of how close I came to the licking flames of hell, but also knowing I have escaped it only because of the Cross and the terrible road Jesus walked for me.

This my friends, is cause for celebration. Easter is coming. And in the midst of this life, we can have joy unspeakable and full of glory!

Though you have not seen Him, you love Him; and though you do not even see Him now, you believe and trust in Him and you greatly rejoice and delight with inexpressible and glorious joy, 1 Peter 1:8

When you lose a sibling

I have been grappling with the right words to write for weeks. It’s been exactly 60 days since I heard the panic-stricken voice over the phone say, “Lori, Ron is dead.” It was my brother’s friend Margaret who went to check on him after he stopped replying to our texts and calls. 

There are moments that split the timeline in a life and that phone call was yet another one.

Three family members in two years, gone. I still pause several times a day and hear the whisper, like a breeze flowing through my soul that tells me he’s not here. And how can that be?

Death, the Bible says, is a mystery. How can people in your life be here, breathing, walking, talking, making decisions (or not); then simply disappear with a wake of a life left behind. I find comfort in knowing he is in Heaven. I was there the day he made his declaration of faith, Easter Sunday 81 or 82 if my memory is correct. 

I remember thinking he looked gallant and humble that day. Handsome and tan in a white shirt walking down the aisle like a lone male bride. My Aunt and I were in the choir that day singing selections from “The Messiah.” 

Flash forward 40 or so years. And time, and time and time, like the Steve Miller band song says, “slips into the future” and my brother’s soul flew like an eagle to his Heavenly home. 

In childhood, I idolized him. He looked after me when we were small. On family trips we slept together in the back of the Volkswagen with the seats folded down. I remember that. Other things stand out. The time we made a pact not to bicker and fight anymore. (Didn’t last) and the Birthday party where he and a friend attached prizes behind the sheet draped clothesline so my friends and I could “fish for prizes.” 

In high school, he was the star athlete, the popular one. I was the quiet book nerd. In the ebb and flow of life, we drifted apart over the years but came together at different times, usually when crisis hit. 

I had utmost respect for him as a caregiver when his first wife got cancer. He never left her side, caring for her until she passed away. And at the worst time of my life when my husband died on our honeymoon he flew to Mexico and stayed until we could bring his body back. 

He has left behind a special needs daughter who will be 21 this December. My brother could always make her laugh with his silliness. She also shares his love and compassion for animals. I’m so thankful she has such a great Mom.

There are mountains of stuff and mountains of decisions to sort through and I am still in somewhat of a state of disbelief. I see a gray Ford truck coming down the street and I still think it might be him. 

I was the first to hug him, all our lives. He never made a move to hug me first. That just wasn’t his way. I wish I would have grabbed him and hugged him the last time I saw him. But I didn’t know. We never know. I also didn’t know how depressed and lonely he was ever since our parents died in 2021. I wish he would have let me in. I wish I would have been more sensitive. 

It sounds like a Hallmark cliche to say that we never know when it will be our last moments but it’s also true. If there is any value, any lesson I can learn (or relearn) from loss going forward it’s this: 

“Do what you can live with after they are gone.” That is the best advice and it’s what my bestie Elaine always did and said while she was caregiving for her parents. 

I miss my brother. I know he is at peace and I am getting there. I will close with a letter he wrote his first wife shortly before she died, and these are his words: 

Your grace and courage in passing from this life cause me to fear death no longer. And, as you said to me one time before you departed, “Ron, I won’t just be waiting for you to arrive in Heaven, I’ll be waving you in.” 

Welcome February!

……..the way is cleared, and we can go on……(a snatch from my journal)

And it’s February!!!! That means my daffodils will make an appearance soon. The ones I take a picture of every year are popping up and I can see little bits of yellow poking through the magnificent green. Also, a dear friend has passed, and I still can’t believe she is gone. None of us can. She was ninety-three and she was done with life, but we were not done with her. I know this life is just a vapor of time, a slice of eternity, but Annie, you were just so darn alive. Today would be the day you would have driven here in your Prius to visit my aunt. Your absence is felt keenly.

We miss you so……

Here is a picture of her (on the right) along with my aunt and another friend, all of them 90 or older.

I’ve been reading the book of Job in the Message version. I have always loved that particular book, but the Message expresses it in such a clear and simple way.

God answering Job:

“Why do you confuse the issue? Why do you talk without knowing what you’re talking about? Pull yourself together Job! Up on your feet, stand tall! I have some questions for you, and I want some straight answers. Where were you when I created the earth? Tell me, since you know so much! Who decided on its size? Certainly, you’ll know that. Who came up with the blueprints and measurements? How was its foundation poured, and who set the cornerstone, while the morning stars sang in chorus and all the angels shouted praise?

At first it seems like God is very hard on Job but in the end, God sides with Job and not his friends. So much so that God addresses Eliphaz (bad friend) in exasperation. He turns to him and says:

“I’ve had it with you and your two friends. I’m fed up! You haven’t been honest either with me or about me–not the way my friend Job has. So, here’s what you must do. Take seven bulls and seven rams and go to my friend Job. Sacrifice a burnt offering on your own behalf. My friend Job will pray for you, and I will accept his prayer.”

Thank you, Jesus, that we are done with THAT messy business.

Death swallowed up by triumphant Life! (Jesus) Who got the last word, oh Death? Oh, Death, who’s afraid of you now? 1 Corinthians 15:55

365 Plus 1

“I just heard “She’s gone” in my sleep” 

“Mom passed on October 2nd, 2021, at 3:40 AM”

As I opened my iPad to write this post, these were the two statements I had recorded here 365 days ago yesterday. A whole year and millions of breaths since her soul passed into Heaven, taking a part of mine with it. I hadn’t remembered the day, but my sister-in-law did. For some odd reason I thought it was the 6th. 

Maybe somewhere inside I knew. I had chosen the morning to finally box up her photo albums and clothes she had saved of mine that I had in my car partly because I didn’t know where else to put them or maybe I just wasn’t quite ready to turn them loose. 

I’m still making a weekly pilgrimage to the cemetery to do the flowers and it’s weird because I never wanted or felt a need to do this with either Grandparents or even my husband. Then again, there are no rules in grieving and that’s okay. Even as I thoughtfully arrange my Hobby Lobby bouquet, I have to smile, because I can almost hear both of them say, “Give it a rest already……”

Life stops for some and keeps going for others. Inexplicably. This morning I came across a blog post someone else wrote that I had to share in the aftermath of hurricane Ivan, you can read it here. As I very well know, there are no guarantees we will get another day. That makes today the most important day. Inhale deeply, everyone! 

Don’t just walk, see things when you walk. If you are in good health, thank God. If you aren’t, thank Him even more that He is with you in it. He once walked this earth and felt all the things you are feeling right now. If you are feeling despised and rejected, remember He was too. 

I’ve been reading Ezekiel, talk about a crappy job assignment. None of us has the right to complain! Year after year, they didn’t listen to any of his warnings. I venture to say that none of our employers has ever had to lay on our left side for 390 days, and an additional 40 on our right (for the sin of Judah). And even when they finally did concede that he had been right all along in his prophecy, they still didn’t act on it. 

There is a message there for all of us. Basically, we Christians are all little Ezekiels. We know there is Something and Someone better after we leave this place we call home, but too often we remain silent and distracted by the world. Ezekiel warned and obeyed until it hurt. 

Sometimes I don’t know why or how I can keep a lid on my wonder at God and how good He is. But if these words can be a little leaking of hope and joy out into the world then there is redemption in that. 

I leave you with these words from Paul.

“Finally, brethren (sistren too), whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything is worthy of praise, dwell on these things.” Philippians 4:8

Miscellaneous

Lassoing thoughts, figuring out what to keep

What to release

The writing process, even the phrase 

Taunts. “As if,” my own voice echoes 

Mocks. 

If no one is there to read, is it still a story? 

Because some things are too beautiful 

Not to share. 

Summer will always be 

The cool of the garden hose held over our heads

And “Let’s make skeletons!” 

Plopping down to feel the warmth of the driveway

Getting up to compare imprints

Purple Koolaid when it was still innocent

Remnants of powder on the cold metal rim.

Summer deliciousness. 

The hope of a warped chime from two blocks away

Rushing inside to get a thin dime

Missiles and Dreamsicles

Stubbed toes and hard-baked plastic flipflops

(Called thongs in those days)

All innocence must be kept like a treasure. 

And not forgotten. 

Writers are the guardians of recorded time.

It’s morning, and it’s God’s day.

I sip coffee and it tastes like gratitude.

I recognize for the umpteenth time

this is a sacred moment.

I stoop over the keyboard, the cat having stolen my chair.

I grant her a moment too.

Just like God has granted me so many over the years.

And this is present day and I summon the past in the form of a real

book. I know there are plenty of people like me,

who shun electronic readers.

Who know that reading is a feast for the senses.

The feel….smell….sound…..of a page.

The look of a particular font

even the thickness of the paper, all conjured up to make it

an experience.

Even before the first word is read.

Just Breathe…..

Let there be a place somewhere in which you can breathe naturally, quietly, and not have to take your breath in continuous short gasps. A place where your mind can be idle, and forget it’s concerns, descend into silence, and worship the Father in secret. There can be no contemplation where there is no secret. Thomas Merton, Book of Hours

This book has been a comfort for many years. Though months might pass between the times I open it, the power and beauty in its pages has never dimmed or failed to renew. Merton’s words crack open a place deep in my soul where the Holy Spirit dwells. There is wisdom here that I need to return to again and again. It reminds me of who I am in Christ and the assurance that despite everything we see around us, God is holding it all together. It speaks to me of the dawn of Creation, and how we are all longing for our true home. Everything we reach for in this life hearkens back to our longing for Eden.

Being trapped is a terrible feeling. Can one find happiness in a few measured moments of peace between days that threaten to squeeze the life out of us? Care-taking affects everyone involved, not just the ones doing the caring. That’s the hardest part. Is it enough to say it won’t last forever? And what happens after? What sorrow lies on the other side? Yet I know that the sorrow is part of it all, and the sweetness of the good memories that will replace it. And the going on part will come, that embracing life once again. Finding that path of redemption and freedom we once knew. Plans will once again be made and followed through on. That’s the hope that keeps us going. 

I took Mom to see Dad yesterday. He was facing away from us and I was a little shocked at how he looked. He requested a buzz cut and he got it. He had no hair! It was a good visit for he and Mom. Mom joked about having a boyfriend and Dad laughed. They held hands as we sat by the aviary. 

I thought maybe I would feel sorry for the birds, but it was hard to watch them and not smile. They had a nice home and could fly to and fro. There was a big perch in the middle where they would simultaneously all land on, then promptly vacate as they rocked it back and forth. They were like little grey, brown and yellow comedians as they flitted around. Mom and Dad loved watching them and so did I. They had a good clean home and food and they were safe from predators. And they didn’t seem to know or care that they didn’t have their freedom. 

Maybe I can learn something from them.  They have no clue about time, just one day flowing into the next. But I am never not aware of time, right now what it looks like is a huge clock with legs. And it’s coming for me.

The other day I gave myself a day of freedom and I didn’t call anyone, didn’t go see anyone. I….just….came…..home. I felt like my old self again. Elaine and I went for a ride and laughed at everything and nothing.

Oh how I miss that.

Taking a breath

This season in my life is especially difficult for us all, and COVID has made everything worse. Dad has landed in a Convalescent Home. It all started the night Mom called me in a panic at 2:30 AM shouting into the phone, “Are you there, Lori, Lori, I need to call her…..” We had had several panic calls from Dad over the past year and I just figured this was another one. Something about this one seemed different.

When I rounded the corner and saw the ambulance and firetruck my heart dropped. It dropped even further when I came in and saw Dad lying on the bedroom floor with blood behind his head. Some things you cannot un-see, and that one will be there forever. They left so fast, there was no time to find his ID. Elaine thought to look in his pants pocket and we then rushed them to the hospital.

After several days he came home and collapsed again. 

So we are a small village of caretakers now. My brother, myself, Elaine and I. Mom can’t stay alone. I go from one place to another and back again. Mom doesn’t remember why Dad is there and asks continually when he’s coming home. It’s been mostly bad, but there a few moments here and there that we laugh together, and she expresses the joy of a child when I warm a blanket and throw it over her. 

I made her table look like Christmas and she exclaims surprise and joy all over again when she sees it. 

I feel like my soul is scoured out most of the time. Empty. I don’t do what I used to do. I no longer sit by the river, it gives me no comfort. I see it and it moves by soundlessly but it doesn’t touch me. I am continually distracted by the next phone call, the next text. My life right now is a treadmill and a schedule. Driven by the clock.

And yet, I have a best friend who is my emotional rock. She’s a pillar of strength. I’m not going it alone. There will be an end to this all. And God will be ready to embrace them both when it’s their time. Until then we do what we have to do to make things better for them. 

Books remain a joy, God has left me that. I snatch moments now and then. I can’t read at Moms because the questions are nonstop. She is trying so hard to map her world out right now. I feel so sad for her.

Churches remain closed and it amazes me how our whole world has changed since we stood on the beach at Moss Landing on the cusp of 2020. I wonder what has happened to us? I can’t help feeling in some ways this pandemic has revealed the apathy of the American church. How we have changed from the Pilgrims who risked everything to be able to worship freely. How much we have changed from our parents and grandparents generation. 

Have we caved into fear, or is it the right thing for society as a whole to keep everyone “safe?” Was being safe even a consideration of the early church? Have we missed the opportunity to show the world what God can do? It’s hard to know what’s right anymore. I don’t pretend to have the answers. Thankfully, God remains the same. Yesterday today and forever.  On that we can be assured. His mercy remains the same as well, thankfully.

Until then we soldier on and do the best we can. Help each other the best we can. We will get through this. It’s almost a new year and I need to remember who Jesus is. I have felt lost this whole year, but maybe writing can help me find my way back home. 

Whoever is still sticking with my inconsistent blogging, here’s to a hopeful 2021. My prayers and best wishes go with you all.