Tricia

I went into a store that I frequent 3-4 times/year and saw not one, but two of the proprietors there working, an older lady and her grown son. I hadn't seen the daughter for a long time, and I asked the lady, "How's Tricia?" She bent in a little closer and asked, "I'm sorry, what?" I repeated, "How's Tricia? your daughter...?" and I pointed to her picture on the wall. She stammered a bit, her eyes unsure, and then she said so very quietly, "Oh... I guess you didn't hear............ Tricia died." I couldn't have been more stunned if she had suddenly slapped my face. "When.........?!" I could feel tears forming, and I was helpless to push them back. "About a year and a half ago." She said it with such a sense of compassion for me.

She asked how I knew her, and I told her just from the store and then seeing her in town sometimes during the ski season. I was weeping by now. She asked if I knew she was sick, and I didn't. I told her I loved how approachable she was, how she always asked about my kids, and just how pretty she was. She replied, "Yeah, that was the great thing about Tricia. She always remembered everything about everybody."

Apparently, she contracted a debilitating lung condition when she worked in a dry cleaning business a few years prior. She battled it, but it finally killed her. She was 32. "She has a twin, so if you ever see someone who looks just like her, don't be shocked," her mom told me with a tender smile. Her son stood nearby, a blank look on his face as he kept his eyes on his mom. Unable to control my grief, I apologized several times and left the store in a full-on cry. It came on bigger than life, and I couldn't stop sobbing until I was almost halfway home. My eyes were red and puffy, I'd run out of Kleenex, and my mind went sepia.

There were all these questions! How long did she suffer? Would I have gone to her funeral if I'd known about it? What did she love? What did she hate? Who was her best friend? Whose wedding was it in that picture with her in it on the wall that I just pointed to? What was her favorite color? song? ice cream flavor? Was she saved? When was her birthday? Am I even spelling her name right? Why can't I stop crying? I don't even know her last name, and I'm grieving like I've lost my sister.

I still don't really know why my response was so intense, why I felt such a profound loss for someone I didn't even know. She never talked about herself--she always asked about me. I do know that I can experience a great affection for people rather quickly. My emo scale is off the charts most days, so I operate in impossible highs and lows. All I know is that Tricia is someone I really wished I could've known and been friends with, and I wish I would've let her know how she'd endeared herself to me. She blessed me while she was here, she touched my life and made it a little warmer. So I will miss you, Tricia. You made a difference.

Post Script: I wrote a letter to her and posted it on her headstone in the lower right corner there. I know I did it for me, and it really did help to write it, to go to the cemetery, find her, and spend some time there. She was a beautiful soul whose fragrance I only appreciated after it was too late to tell her.

Jake

My daughter's horse died yesterday. It happened so fast. It must've come on in the night. I whistled so he'd know it was feeding time, and he got up. But he'd been lying down with his leg out in front in an odd position. He didn't finish his Equine Senior, and things went downhill from there. I got him dried off and double blanketed, which stopped the trembling, but he was definitely in pain. While we waited for stool sample results from the vet, I went to town. On my way back, I called home, and my husband told me that Jake was gone. He found him in the orchard, right where we left him. J & I prayed that we'd be able to bury him so he wouldn't have to stay there through the night. Fifteen seconds after we prayed, R called to tell me the neighbor was there with his backhoe! "The LORD is faithful to all his promises and loving toward all he has made." ~Psalm 145:13 (NIV) It hurts a lot, but we know we're grateful for all the grace & mercy He's shown through all this.

Sahib seems anxious and sad. I spent some time with him last night, again first thing this morning, and again now mid-morning. I don't know that it helped when a neighbor's horse whinnied, and he answered it. He stations himself in the nearest corner of the pasture where it's the closest he can get to the field where both Jake & Gadget are buried. I wish I could become a horse so I could help him understand...

I am deeply thankful for the gift of friendship, which blesses me always with the fragrance of Christ. My friend, Joan, was there for me when I needed her. Our neighbors were there for us in our moment of need as well. And my Friend granted a merciful quickness in taking Jake, allowed us to do what we could to ease his leaving, and supplied the All that we need to get through something like this. I cannot imagine the crushing grief of watching a loved one wither and die slowly.

R saved two locks of hair from his mane and tail so J could have a very personal keepsake. We buried him next to Gadget, in the draw right by a lone pine. It's not readily visible and yet just a short walk from the front door.

I'd like to think he's frolicking somewhere up there with Gadget and maybe our other loved pets, full of life and strength and bringing joy to the One who created him.

Death makes me introspective. Will I go quickly? What kind of legacy will I leave? It's said that you live on in the hearts of those who loved you. But after they're gone, then what? No one will remember Jake but us. No one will shed one tear over his death but us. And yet, I believe that there's a place in the eternal plan of the one Creator for all of us, every single creature that ever lived or is yet to be born. Death is not the last word on life. JESUS is the first AND last word on Life. Amen!

Think what this means

"The Spirit himself endorses our inward conviction that we really are the children of God. Think what this means. If we are his children we share his treasures, and all that Christ claims as his will belong to all of us as well! Yes, if we share in his sufferings we shall certainly share in his glory." ~Rom. 8:16-17 (J.B. Phillips)

The ALL of Christ is ours! I stumble and strive and consider myself alive to sin when that is a LIE! I am one with Christ in His death, one in His burial, and one in His resurrection! I don't want to go on believing lies and agreeing with the enemy when he hurls flaming assaults. My poor thought life is so wretchedly undisciplined. It's like Pippi Longstocking--unparented, seeking its own counsel, engaged in odd ideas, and involved in various worthless projects. That is not the Life I want, the Life that is my promise.

This is why I have a Savior. The desperately poor and needy need a Savior. Lift up your eyes to the hills, from where my help comes!

"Now to him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glory without fault and with unspeakable joy, to the only God, our savior, be glory and majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before time was, now, and in all ages to come, amen." ~Jude 24-25 (J.B.)

travel nightmare

This is my nightmare travel story. It was last Labor Day weekend. My husband & I were excited to be able to visit our oldest son for the first time during Parents’ Weekend at the Air Force Academy in Colorado. This is his second year, and we really miss him, so we were really looking forward to the whole event, especially since we'd missed the traditional visit that usually takes place during the cadet's first year there.

This was right after the London scare, so airports were on high alert. We arrived the stated "two hours early" on a Thursday only to find after three hours that our flight would be delayed, and then eventually canceled altogether. We were unable to get another flight, but we finally did after my husband said we would travel all night long if that's what it took. (It didn't.)

With each of us on a cell phone running with our luggage to the next terminal to catch the flight and to update arrangements for the car rental & hotel (since we’d fly into Denver instead of Colorado Springs now), we were relieved to find the right line for our new flight. Just as we were about to put our things on the belt to be scanned, we were waved over to a different line where we were told we’d been randomly selected to be frisk-searched. I guess when you’re selected like that, it’s for the entire trip because we were frisk-searched before EVERY flight after that.

We were nearly the last ones on the plane, but arrived on time in the first city and then at Denver. It was 12:30 a.m. by this time, and we were an hour away from the hotel. I’d gotten directions from the hotel clerk so we thought we were set. We took the right exit and drove so far that we were no longer on the rental car map. I called the hotel again, and the guy repeated the directions. We’d been driving an hour & a half, and my husband was starting to feel nauseous. We drove back the way we came and started over, this time realizing that there was NO sign identifying the street we were to turn onto & had driven MILES too far the first time.

We walked into the hotel at 2 in the morning. My poor sweetheart crawled into bed at 2:15 and immediately got right back up and puked in the bathroom, where he remained for the next 2 1/2 hours, retching every 10 minutes. It was horrible.

The plan was to meet our son at 5 & go to classes with him. Miraculously, he stopped throwing up just in time to get cleaned up & drive over. You can just imagine what he looked like…

By the time 3rd period rolled around, he was a zombie. Because guests weren’t allowed to stay in the cadet’s room without the cadet, he had to find someplace else to lie down & rest, just for a bit. After class I went to look for him and found him leaning against a wall, like someone had propped him up and pressed him there.

He felt “iffy” for the next 48 hours, as he sipped soup while WE ate normally.

Little weird things happened the whole time. For example, on Sunday we went to the Academy Chapel where our son runs the PowerPoint program for the 10:00 service. The computer turned itself off four times before staying shut down altogether. A guard almost kept me from going back to sit upstairs with my husband & son after I came down to go to the bathroom.

We drove up & down this one street and never could find the castle we wanted to visit, even with map in hand. (And we really are not dumb people… =)

On our return trip home, we got bumped from our flight out of Colorado Springs and had to RACE up to Denver. There, the check-in lady wouldn’t accept the tickets we’d been given & we had to figure out for ourselves that we had to check in first with the airline that bumped us in order to get the “right” tickets for the new flight. This made us so late that we had to RUN in order to get to the gate on time, and I’m no runner. I wore flat sandals & got shin splints from all the running we did that weekend. I had a margarita once we were in the air, and I never tasted anything so good in my life. We got frisk-searched both flights home, but eventually we DID get home. Man, I love my own bed!!!

disparate appearances

1 Cor. 15:35-38 (The Message Bible)

"Some skeptic is sure to ask, "Show me how resurrection works. Give me a diagram; draw me a picture. What does this 'resurrection body' look like?" Ifyou look at this question closely, you realize how absurd it is. There are no diagrams for this kind of thing. We do have a parallel experience in gardening. You plant a "dead" seed; soon there is a flourishing plant.

There is no visual likeness between seed and plant. You could never guess what a tomato would look like by looking at a tomato seed. What we plant in the soil and what grows out of it don't look anything alike. The dead body that we bury in the ground and the resurrection body that comes from it will be dramatically different."

We think in terms of "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," or "chip off the old block," or "the spittin' image." We assume and anticipate that the fruit will look much like the fruit it came from. Personally, I've never considered that the fruit I see at the end is the very same exact fruit all along the way. The DNA abides in it and blueprints its entire maturation and lifespan. Its essence is always there.

What I haven't considered is the seed that comes from the fruit being in essence the future fruit itself. It is though! Just like this verse says though, we couldn't guess what the fruit would look like based on the seed. Likewise, I can't guess what the fruit of my words or actions would look like based on what they are because I can't factor in the variables of the soil, the lives, into which they are cast. Some of us are sowers, some are nourishers, some are reapers. We have no idea what our fruits will look like based on what's happening right here in this moment.

editing job

I'm off to a meeting with a man who has invited me to consider taking on the copy editing job for the addendum to his book about a woman involved in a murder who escaped from prison. If she's still alive, she'd be 103. His grandfather was her defense attorney. The book's already written, and now he's got more material from the woman's grandson, including original articles and family lore.

I checked out some copy editing pages, and even though I already knew I was just a practicing critic, I really know now that I'm a complete amateur. I wasn't even sure if "copy editing" was what it's called that I've been doing for the senior research papers, that is, until last night when I found the definition online.

Lord, if this is something You would have me do, please, please, I need to sense Your very real involvement in the decision. You know I want to bless Your name, and I would only want this if You say it's what You want. High school papers are one thing; copy editing a book seems quite another. I come to You needy and wanting and seeking. Please wrap Your arms around me and speak the words that would drive away any fear. I rest surely in Your safe and loving care, certain that You will have happen what is Your good and perfect will. I love You, Daddy. XO

Fisher House

The national news is not a place where I usually hear any good news. But tonight NBC did a story on a place called Fisher House. Built by a real estate tycoon who was never able to serve in the military himself, he built 24 homes for families of victims recovering from wounds suffered in the war. Since the onset of the Iraqi war, eleven more have been built. This is a fantastic idea, equivalent to the Ronald McDonald houses for parents with hospitalized children.

For more info: Fisher House

someone else's dreams

When I heard of the plans a young man I know was making, I immediately poo-pooed them and considered them hot air, big talk, and absolutely unaccomplishable. I kept shaking my head and thinking, "He's just like his dad. That's never gonna happen."

I was still headshaking when I shared my new info with my oldest son, who listened politely. When I asked what his impressions were, he gently said something like, "I hesitate to rain on anyone's dreams. They might sound unreachable, but they're still someone's dreams."

I was speechless.With a gentleness and a wisdom beyond his 17 years, his words instantly placed me back in that higher place of compassion, encouragement, and believing. It is a wide open space of grace, and I was profoundly--and humbly--thankful.


My 12th commandment: I shall not pee in your cornflakes.

to receive

Friends took us out to lunch today, but didn't come right out and say they'd be paying for us. We have a lot in common, but financial status isn't one of them. It's such a humbling thing to be taken care of... And I don't know if it's a curse or a blessing, but I feel very much able to be given to, to receive with thankfulness and genuine gratitude, vs. able to give. We just have never seemed in the position to be able to give with the abandon we would LOVE. So if to receive is something that blesses the willing eager giver, then I'm your man! And I don't believe I'm a leech lying in wait for the next vulnerable... I just think I have this particular lesson down.

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the smell of my horse

I love the smell of my horse. I can tell the difference between the smell of my horse and another horse's smell. It's like when my kids were babies. Their smell was different from another baby's smell. Even when they were poopy, they never smelled as bad as another poopy baby. I know, it's that "mine is better than yours" thing, but that was still my reality. Such is how it is with my horse. He's my baby. He smells good. Only another horsey person could possibly come close to understanding what I'm saying. That's just the way it is.