Overcoming Fear - A Marathon Not a Sprint

2011

There's a reason I'm not Martha Stewart or Ree Drummond. I can't live up to their magazine perfect examples. If I had a behind-the-scenes crew, I'd be done now too. I'd like to blame it on those two divas of design who probably hijacked my missing crew. In reality, I can't.

I could blame it on ADHD too, but I think the doctor would bust that rouse in short order. My dirty little secret is simple. I don't want to start. I just want to be done. I want the pretty magazine picture of a rehabbed life without the grime and inconvenience in between.

Cabinet doors have haunted me for a year now. No matter how many times I go to sleep and wake up, they are still there mocking me. Telling me what a failure I am because I gave up in mid-stream. What about you fraidy cat, does failure mock you very time you look in the mirror?

2012

There are lots of reasons my project came to a screeching halt when I was in the midst of a frenzy of completion. Mostly, I felt defeated. Discouraging words do that to you. They suck the vigor out of your desire and the vision out of your plan. 

 Words took root. Before I knew it, my feet and heart were rooted to the ground. I shoved the doors into a corner and ignored them. Ignorance is bliss if you can ignore what you don't want to see. Ignorant bliss will only last so long. Take it from me.

I've decided to grab the paint stick by the handle and get busy with it during our summer break. My brain is willing again, but my body is in revolt. When my body gets with the program, my heart abandons me because my brain says I can't possibly overcome the obstacles between me and the finish line. I'm at war with myself as usual.

I'm my own worst enemy until I sit up and decide to be my own best friend. What about you, fraidy cat? Holla! I am learning to forge ahead even if failure might be around the corner. I'd rather fail while trying than fail because I sat frozen with fear and let life unwind around me. You have to know me to know what a victory I've won.

 Here's the thing about overcoming fear: it's a project of marathon proportions. You can't defeat it without facing obstacles. For fraidy cats like me, obstacles are often the death knell of desire. I want to kill the cat quickly. I want to sprint to the finish line triumphant not fall across it gasping for water.

This morning, my brain darted from one idea to another like a hummingbird between morning glories. I must overcome the obstacle of space to complete this door project. Space is sorely limited, and we have to live in the space while I'm working. Obstacles everywhere.

The challenge of space is enough to make the sprinter in me give up. I don't want to slow down and figure out a system, I want to get started and run with the job till it's done. Even if I lose sleep and don't eat. I want to run the project like a sprint when the reality resembles a marathon. My brain began to work feverishly as I tried to figure out how to finish in a hurry. In a sprint.

An unexpected thunderclap of insight arrested me. I looked outside to see if it was my brain or an approaching storm. I know it's not rocket science, but when you've run scared all your life, it might as well be. It was as if Jesus wrapped his arms around me and said, “Oh, my little sprinter, slow down and enjoy the journey. You can stop running now, fraidy cat.”

Ain't that crazy? I slowed down to a complete stop for an entire year, so how could I not be in a hurry now that I've started again? But, the message was clear: It's o.k. for this project to be about the restful pursuit of accomplishment vs the fevered rush for perfect completion.

Whatever I would get done today would be more than I finished in a year now. I set up my convoluted assembly line and filled door knob holes in the doors. While the wood glue dried, I went outside and wrestled with the ivy that is trying to engulf my porch. There's more to do on both projects tonight but less than there was this morning.

I spent the day hot, grimy, thirsty, and doing battle with wasps. (If I had to guess, I'd say they were ticked off about the wasp-cousin I killed on that same deck last weekend when he stung me.) I had grit in my eyes, bugs in my hair, and glasses so caked in sweat and filth that I could hardly see. Neither Martha nor Ree would be caught dead looking like that, so I'm not posting my pics either. I can see blackmail coming with my eyes blindfolded.

The path to overcoming fear is fraught with obstacles, grit, and grime. It's a marathon not a sprint. The process is not magazine cover pretty. When it's all said and done, it sure beats letting life unwind around us because we were too afraid to live it. 'Nuff said? 

 Courtesy B. Creasy 2010

 Love you long and strong, but you knew that already, didn't you?

Ecclesiastes 9: 10 (ERV)Every time you find work to do, do it the best you can. In the grave there is no work. There is no thinking, no knowledge, and there is no wisdom. And we are all going to the place of death.

What Does Love Look Like

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Have you seen the picture on Facebook of the older couple walking hand in hand with their backs to the camera? It had some pithy saying about enduring love. Yesterday, a new one popped up on my screen.

This new picture was of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip. The photographer of the 1^st had no idea the 2^nd would ever meld with his, perhaps. Yet, both images stared up at me together. The twinkling eyes in both captivated me.

I looked back again and again. Respect, playfulness, and tenderness mingled together in those two glances frozen in time. The same twinkle 60 years apart undimmed by time or circumstance. If you looked closely, you'd almost feel you had invaded their privacy so intimate were the images.

If you have been in a lonely, complicated marriage, looking too long could prove painful. You know, the same kind of pain you feel when someone posts a chatty update about date night when you no longer remember if you ever had a date night? You feel the pain and look away before you bleed.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

If you've walked a long way with me now, you know how hard we have fought to survive. Our energy to do battle waxes and wanes, but we keep working toward a common goal: survival as a couple. Not surprisingly, images like those make me do some soul-searching. What does love look like?

There are days I tell myself love looks like his hard day's work despite a a double ear infection, bleeding ears, and diminished hearing. I tell myself love looks like staying up all night with sick kids but making sure he has a decent lunch for work and hot meal in the evening. I tell myself love looks like hard work without much hope of reward.
 

Some days, love looks like one more decision to keep on patching a broken relationship because he has not given up even when I wanted to. Love looks like a lot of hard work when what I yearn for is the picturesque implication of a stress free relationship. Love is work more often that it is feeling.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

As if he doesn't have enough with which to cope, the doctors have determined they may know why he has been increasingly unable to fight off simple infections. Increasingly potent doses of antibiotics for increasingly longer periods of time have been less and less effective. Now we have an answer to the question we've been asking for 14 years. We just don't know if we've found the cure.

I woke up every time I turned over last night. Apprehension is not my friend. Today is 'Iday #2', and we have all four been apprehensive. We fear infusion day followed  by side effect days. If you've ever known someone going thru chemo, you get what we fear. After his reaction last time, they are tweaking things. Yet, we are walking thru the valley of the unknown. Will this work? Is it worth it? Will it have been worth if it doesn't work? What will we do if it doesn't?

I talked with the nurse as she hooked up his IV. As I spoke of his years of declining health and my inability to sleep for fretting over his next few days, her eyes seemed to grow a little misty. “You know, some don't care like you do.” She seemed to refer to other spouses she's seen come and go over the years. Despite our pain, perhaps she sees something different in us. Maybe even something we don't see in ourselves?

Courtesy M. Horrocks

I fretted for fear I am a high maintenance patient's wife with all my fraidy cat drama. I don't want to wear her out the way this enemy has worn us out. I fear I have already. I want to run away to the marriage with a picturesque implication of a stress free environment. Today, it is nowhere in sight.

The camera of my mind sees another image mixing with the 2 Facebook images. My Dad sits by the ICU bed while we wait for the funeral home to carry my mom away for the last time. At 83, he has come to the hospital for 58 days straight. In his eyes, I see the look I saw in Queen Elizabeth's as she carried on with her Diamond Jubilee while the Prince lay, as the Brits say, in hospital. In my heart, I know that's what love looks like.

The IV bag empties slowly into his body. He sleeps for now. He sleeps the sleep of a man whose body is exhausted from trying to live. He is only 47-years-old. I am glad because I know he may not sleep as well for a few days. I sit and type, fussing and fuming over each little word, filling the time thinking about pictures of love.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

A tear slips down my cheek, and I hope the nurse will not need to check his vitals before I collect myself. I see the old couple walking away from the camera, hand in hand. I see the young and old Queen and Prince whose gazes are filled with devotion. I see my Dad spending his last few moments with the vessel that carried my mom on her earthly journey. I hope.

I hope that when the nurse returns and looks at me, she will see what I saw in all those pictures I remember now. I hope she will look at me and know what love looked like.

Love you long and strong fraidy cat. Love you most in the hard places when you wonder what love looks like. If you know someone whose life is full of hurt, fear, or pain, tell them you know a place where they are safe. Invite them in from the cold? 

Courtesy B. Creasy - 2010

Colossians 3:12 - 14 (The Message)

So, chosen by God for this new life of love, dress in the wardrobe God picked out for you: compassion, kindness, humility, quiet strength, discipline. Be even-tempered, content with second place, quick to forgive an offense. Forgive as quickly and completely as the Master forgave you. And regardless of what else you put on, wear love. It's your basic, all-purpose garment. Never be without it.

An A+ in Failure

Picture courtesy A. Squires and family

I thought I was alone in my misery. I could hide behind the computer screen and disguise my pain. Ignorance is bliss when others are in the dark. If you know what I mean. 

Any hope I had of maintaining a status quo evaporated when I read her status update: “In desperate need of prayer.” She spoke volumes without saying much at all. 

I collapsed like a Lego tower while reading my pain between her lines. By focusing on her pain and praying for her unknown crisis, I distracted myself. 

I imagined her pain wasn't as bad as my own. In a moment of selfishness, I hoped it was worse. Anything to make me feel better.

Hours ticked away while I waited for an update. When it came, I was not relieved. Her confession sailed out of the screen and into my heart as surely as a marksman's arrow meeting its aim. She could not keep up with all life is throwing at her. She felt like a failure.

Courtesy D. Scott

I dropped my cyber-mask. “Oh, you? Me too!” One brave confession led to others. Stronger hearts reached out to comfort weary ones. Bandaids for the soul appeared via the magic of cyberspace. If only the comfort would last forever.

Night turned to day before I was through sleeping. Truth is: I'm never through sleeping anymore. Maybe I'm reverting to a 2^nd childhood with days and nights confused? 

Sleep is the easier choice because I am always running from the to do list I never make. I never make it because it will be written proof of how often and how big I fail.

I never make the list, but I always keep a tally in my head. I feel my shortcomings before my eyes are open each morning. I will never be who I want to be or accomplish what I want to accomplish. Why even begin to try again given how far behind I am?

I turned the shower on and let the water run over me wishing the old me would wash away. I don't have the energy to cry out much anymore, so a whimper had to do. 

“Hello, God? Fix me? Make today better than yesterday?” If I signed up, I doubt the Army could help me be all that I want to be. If God can't fix me, the Army sure can't.

Courtesy A. Hughes

The yard needs to be mowed. The back forty looks like a tropical rainforest again this summer. Let's don't talk about shrubs that need trimming. I don’t qualify for an episode of hoarders, but clutter has the upper hand right now. 

Who am I kidding? It most always has the upper hand. 

The kitchen. Is still. In process. The bathroom wallpaper I started stripping the night before I broke my leg 2 yrs ago? You get the picture. 

The taunting voice echoed in my soul, “Psst! Failure. Failure. Failure. You can only manage the minimum it takes to get by. F-a-i-l-u-r-e.”

As despair taunted me, an echo filled my soul:

No, my child, you are not the airbrushed model on the magazine cover. You are not the thin, beautiful blogging homeschool mom with a dozen kids and home business on the side. You are not the famously published author with legions of fans. 

Every day you hold up the measuring stick the world offers and find yourself wanting. Your eyes are filled with the taunting implications of perfection around you.

What you can't see is the reality behind those airbrushed images. You've bought the lie of Facebook success stories, Pinterest wonderlands, Twitter feeds, and magazine covers. The lies that say, “This is what success looks like.”

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

No one pins a picture of wakeful nights spent with a hurting child. How do you pin hours of tears shed after sleep overcame his pain. No one videos the reality of hard fought battles in the trenches of long division for YOU TUBE. Who tweets an Instagram of homelessness? Images captured in the gritty reality of ICU don't tell the tale of death's knock at your door. Yet, these have been the 'pins' of your life. These and more.

Don't you see? I see you. I see you in the trenches. I see you fighting to survive one more day: one more fever, one more broken heart, one more setback, one more disappointment, one more assault to who I say you are in me. I see your perfection even if you don't.

I didn't say I was looking for the fastest, snazziest runner. I am looking for the one who will finish the race. You got up today. You ministered to family and friends around you. You are doing what I have called you to do. Only I have a 'pin' for days spent surviving in the trenches of your life.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Oh, fraidy cat, I don't know the fear that chases you today. I do know most everyone is running to keep up with images of perfection permeating our world. 

He sees you. He sees the hard fought victories in sleepless nights. He sees the loneliness a 'pin' cannot describe. He sees the guilt when an A+ in Failure mocks you from the pinboard of your life.

He looks at us and sees the sacrifice of his son. In that sacrifice, he redeemed and redeems the failures that haunt us. On the Pinterest boards of eternity, he sees you on the one labeled 'Perfection'. 

Underneath the board is an A+ whose url links back to all the things he saw when no one else was looking. Love you long and strong. So does he.

2 Timothy 4:7 (Amplified Bible)

I have fought the good (worthy, honorable, and noble) fight, I have finished the race, I have kept (firmly held) the faith. 

 

I'm an Old Dog, but I've Got New Tricks!

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Despite my fears, which induce kicking and screaming while gnashing and gnawing, I am in the process of conquering lots of them. If I can do it, you can too. A fear can be as simple as feeling overwhelmed by technology or as complex as agoraphobia and panic attacks.

When I began this blog, I had a standard joke: I married a geek and birthed two so that I don't have to be one. If my husband so much as changed one icon on my desktop, I couldn't tell you which one. None the less as my computer booted up, I was unhinged to the point of tears because my 6^th sense told me he'd gone to meddling again!

The sum total of the many crises we have endured since 1999 resulted in my experiencing minor panic attacks. I had no clue they were slipping up on me and ramping up in intensity until my counselor identified the problem. By the time she did, I was on the verge of developing agoraphobia. I found I could only venture out of the house for basic, unavoidable necessities and then only if I could complete the chore within fifteen minutes start to finish.

2011

This last year has been one of self-discovery. I've combated that agoraphobia thing pretty well as demonstrated by plane trips to New Mexico and DC for writing/blogging coferences. The panic attacks are still minor. I recognize them now as the begin to besiege me. I see the light at the end of the tunnel, and it's not a train. Well . . . if it is, do not send me the memo. Ignorance is bliss, and I'll keep it that way for now!

These last two months have been pivotal in my campaign against techno-phobia. I've even amazed my three geeks a time or two! My husband recently gasped, “You...you are doing HTML!” I think he resisted the urge to run look out the window to see if pigs had started to fly. When Son #1 realized I knew what a hashtag was and how to use it, let's just say you are rich now if you invested in smelling salts a few weeks ago.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I recently began an online Bible study re the Proverbs Woman hoping to address my weakness in life-planning. The truth is, I felt as if I might feel more of a failure by the time the study is over. I was a-skeert to try it. I overcame that fraidy cat and jumped on board. I'll let you know how it works out.

One of the harder things about the impact of living in limbo and crisis for over a decade has been the effect on my ability to plan and implement what I plan. Son #1 and I were discussing my frustration with me this morning. I have been praying about it a lot. In fact, my frustration in that area is one reason I signed on for the online Bible study!

Everywhere I look, there is a project waiting for my attention. It seems I will never catch up from the set back of falling and breaking my leg over two years ago now. I mean, goodness, I was only off my feet for 5 months. How could it take this long to catch up? I think the short answer is: every time we had a life setback, I began slipping farther and farther behind. So, between my fall, Jeff's near death from sepsis, and my mom's eight weeks of death and dying while in an ICU unit, I was done for.

2007

It didn't help that I came from a family in which goals involved only what it took to get from one day to the next. My dad was a bi-vocational pastor. In the 60's that meant you worked for free as a pastor and then worked a 40 hour a week job on top of that for pay. Life didn't leave a lot of time for grand projects, goals, or to-do lists. So, we lived from one day to the next without much thought of the distant future.

The sum total of my life has me feeling as though I spend most of my time wrestling an alligator. If I'm not so engaged, its as if I'm slogging through neck deep wet cement as it sets up while carrying a 50# load of rocks on my back. I am a party animal. What can I say?

Today, I decided to embrace technology in hopes of helping me manage life with more productivity. My blogging friends introduced me to a nifty little thing called Evernote. I ran in fear. Today, I quit running, turned around, and faced my fear.

Courtesy A. Huges

I opened the program, began to explore it, and created 2 'notebooks' using the applications. One is to track my ongoing kitchen renovation. The other is to track a 30 day challenge I am doing to refine and improve my capabilities as a blogger. I am feeling pretty smug here in the wee hours let me tell you.

Here's the thing about fear. It is a harsh task master. If we give an inch, it will take a mile. Myself? I'm tired of being bossed around by that greedy tyrant. How 'bout you? I'm so glad you have come along on this journey with me. I hope, in doing so, you are taking the 1^st steps to taking your territory back from the fears that haunt you. If I can learn a few new tricks, you can too. Even if you are an old do like me. I promise.

Courtesy B. Creasy 2010

Love you long and strong, fraidy cat. Don't you stay gone now, you hear? 
  

Isaiah 41:13 (The Message)

That's right. Because I, your God, have a firm grip on you and I'm not letting go. I'm telling you, 'Don't panic. I'm right here to help you.'

The Gift of Prayer - Reclaimed

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Do you pray? Are your prayers limited to formulaic “Now I lay me down to sleep,” sorts of offerings? Is prayer intensely personal or only something you do in very desperate, pivotal life moments? Has prayer ever abandoned you?

My boys will tell you that in the worst of homeless times, we devoted any time we were alone to prayer. If the wheels on our car were rolling, I was praying with them. When Son #1 begged me not to pray because life only got worse when I prayed, I prayed on. I could not foresee a day when prayer would abandon me and I prayer.

I once ended grace before a meal with the words, “Okay! See you later!” After which, I began chatting with a friend and eating. Till I saw the stunned look on her face. As we both burst out laughing, I asked, “Did I just say . . . ?”

She replied, “Yes. I thought, 'My! She really is on good terms with him, isn't she?' ” Even today, the memory makes me laugh right out loud.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Given those realities, you might think I have always been able to abandon myself to the discipline of prayer. You'd be dead wrong. In the dark, dark days I did pray. Not for myself or my family but for others. I had no words left when it came to my life. I was spent. I hoped others were praying for me while I prayed for them.

In that time of devotion to others, I would waken in the wee hours and call out names of friends and family. If I knew of situations causing pain, confusion, or despair, I'd lift those up too. When sleep refused to come, I'd flip on the computer and begin to jot notes to those for whom I prayed. I might not know if anyone was praying for me, but at least friends knew when and how I prayed for them.

I often wondered, “Does anyone see me? Is there anyone left who cares? Does God ever call me to someone's mind and spur them to pray for me?” If I wondered those things, others might too. So, I'd jot my notes of reassurance, “You are not forgotten. I see you in your pain.” Sleep would finally come even tho' rest did not.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I began to think of myself as an intercessory prayer warrior. I was not proud nor preening in that role. It was the desperate act of a desperate soul. Into those long days of desperation came a note that silenced me. After it came, the only time I prayed was with my boys and then minus the warrior's heart which formerly typified my prayers.

The day came when I received a reply filled with flip nonchalance. My prayers for this family were appreciated but not necessary at all. Thank you very much. I sat stupefied knowing the gentleman's immediate family had endured public disgrace and enduring crises on an ongoing  basis. His rebuff came as a crippling slap to my soul.

The middle of the night prayers and notes were no more. Instead I sat in silence. I was not God's head cheerleader. I had adjusted to that reality. I had decided that if I couldn't fulfill that role, I could be a prayer warrior. After all, even the Bible encouraged everyone to that role! Now it was plain. I couldn't even be a prayer warrior.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Maybe I gave up too easily? By the day I received the, “Thanks but no thanks,” note re my prayers, it didn't take a lot to silence me. In the years since, I have prayed only when asked. My soul felt hollow. I felt lost.

When I least expected it, I found my prayer 'mojo' again. While I was at the Blue Ridge Christian Writers Conference, I took a non-fiction class. The students included a number of ladies young enough to be my daughters.

Yesterday, as I was reflecting over the week away, I thought of those 'girls'. Before I knew it, I found myself praying those middle-of-the-night kinds of prayers in broad daylight. I call them my “Monday Girls” because I decided to hover over them in prayer on Mondays. I had made the decision before I knew there was a decision to be made.

In one of the bravest acts of courage this fraidy cat has ever exhibited, I went out on a limb. I sent them a note telling them of my prayers. I told them they are my “Monday Girls”. I did not tell them how fearful I was to contact them and make such a bold and uninvited proclamation. I did not tell them I cried after I hit the send button because I was so scared of rejection. Truth be known, I did.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Just as I began to kick myself for falling down the same old rabbit hole believing God had a role for me no matter what life experience tells me, notes began trickling back. Kind and gracious notes thanking me for my gift of prayer and promising prayers for me as well.

It was as if someone spoke up and said, “Welcome home, fraidy cat. Sure are glad you're back.”

Love you long and strong. If you are a fraidy cat, my prayers have hovered over you for a year now. It's a scary place out there. We fraidy cats have to stick together! Come back soon and bring a friend?

Courtesy B. Creasy

1 Timothy 2: 1-2 (The  Message)

The first thing I want you to do is pray. Pray every way you know how, for everyone you know. Pray especially for rulers and their governments to rule well so we can be quietly about our business of living simply, in humble contemplation. This is the way our Savior God wants us to live. 

 

Richer Than Harry Potter's 'Mamma' (aka J.K. Rowling)

2010

The prodding started several months ago, took me totally by surprise, and happened over and over again. The Lord tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “Study to show yourself approved.” I knew the application was not precise with regard to the scriptural context. But, I also knew what he meant.

He was telling me to slow down, be still, and listen. I've always been in too big a hurry in my life. I want to get on with things and learn as I go. Why slow down to study when on-the-job-training will get you there? I've wasted too much time in my life which is, by anyone's standards, at least half over now. Got to git to crackin', and can't slow down no more!

I was preparing for the Blue Ridge Mountain Christian Writers Conference. While considering projects to pitch to an editor or publisher, I reviewed my work for possible contest entries as well. After all, I've been pretty prolific with posting to this blog the last year. Surely, there was something I had worth pitching or entering. Only a slacker wouldn't pitch and/or enter, and I'm no slacker!

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

I'd sit here night after night going back and forth with myself like a tennis ball at Wimbledon. Just as I'd decide on an answer, the voice would echo in my head and heart like a warning beacon telling me to alter my course of action. “Study to show yourself approved.”

What was God trying to tell me, and why would he slow me down in my progress toward fame, fortune, and an internationally known presence in the publishing world? Yes, in my wildest dreams, I am 'all that'. You'd think God would be on board with my plan by now too! Apparently, he is a memo or two short regarding my grand empty nester plan!

Time evaporated, and it was too late to craft a pitch or enter a contest. I fretted and worried over whether I was wasting my sponsor's investment in me. Shouldn't I be more goal-oriented given what my big brother/sponsor has done to foster my writing career? “Study to show yourself approved,” echoed the voice in my soul.

Courtesy A. Hughes

In the end, I bit off more than I could chew. I've done that since I was in junior high school and learning how to sew! I decided to devote my mornings to a fiction practicum and my afternoons to one on non-fiction writing. Good thing I like pie, 'cause I sure ate a lot of one filled with humble-berries! Bless Ramona Richards and Eva Marie Everson for the gift of their time and attention to a fraidy cat like me!

Just as I feared, my classmates were much farther along on their own projects. I felt like I had a big, fat 'L' (for 'loser') tattooed on my forehead before the week was over. Glad I listened when God kept whispering that I needed to apply myself to the pursuit of wisdom. I was even more thankful I had reigned in my inclination to pitch and enter when what I needed to do was be quiet and ponder.

God had a different, far more satisfying, agenda for me this year. Because I was not tied up in knots of anticipation vying for faculty appointments or waiting for the awards ceremony, I felt peaceful and free. I was free to sit and soak up the information I gained in the classes without underlying anxiety to distract me. Beyond that, I was free to focus on the people with whom God so graciously surrounded me.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

How could I have known the sweet, sweet gifts he would supply in the midst of my obedience? Even tonight I am in awe of what he planned. Divine appointments with special people paved my daily path. He had prepared me for those moments by freeing me of an urgent agenda to prove myself a writer worthy of either attention or acclamation.

I am thankful for the faculty that devoted themselves to my enrichment as a budding writer. I am thankful for peers who challenged me to raise my game. Most of all, I am thankful for the relationships fostered that have strengthened and encouraged me in ways I never could have imagined before last week. I am a rich, rich girl indeed. In fact, I can't imagine that Harry Potter's 'mamma' (J. K. Rowling) is any richer than am I tonight!

Courtesy B. Creasy 2010

2 Timothy 2:15 (International Standard Version)

Do your best to present yourself to God as an approved worker who has nothing to be ashamed of, handling the word of truth with precision.

 

Echoes in Heaven

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Had it been a year since I last saw her? Funny how we can live a thousand lifetimes in a year. A smile capped a shy nod of acknowledgment. We both felt the impact of time. How to pick up where we left off? Should we even try?

She was so young. I was the one to whom she'd say, “You and my mom would be good friends.” I wondered if I should do more to connect. No. Leave it alone. After all, in just a few days, we'd retreat to opposite parts of the country. Facebook would again allow a wink and a nod here and there. I could leave her to her younger friends and life. She didn't need me. Facebook friends we'd be.

The echo in my heart prodded again. Do not let this opportunity fade. Call her name. I looked up. Another had stepped in the gap. She didn't need me. It would be a busy week with so many calling her name. I would be lost in the noise. Me. The one old enough to be her mother.

Again the echo. Don't give up so easily. I turned to see her back retreating at a clip. Time was running out. Doors would open and close. Would the chance come again? I called out expecting my voice to fade beneath the din of old and new friends gathering to bond. She stopped and turned.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Another shy smile signaled me on. My pace hastened as did my heart. What to say to this lovely young lady whose life had touched mine so briefly?

We did the dance new old friends do when the cement of friendship has not had time to harden. “Hello? Have a good year? What have you been up to?”

I took a deep breath and began to lower my mask. “You have no idea how pivotal this year has been nor the role you have played.”

The tension in her jaw loosened as perplexity dawned. “ME?”

As the details of my story spilled out, tears began to spill down her cheeks. “You have no idea. I can't believe you would say you felt those things last year. I had no idea. I can't believe you used those exact words to describe how you felt then. That's exactly how I feel now.”

We managed a hasty retreat to a quieter area. Our lives entwined in ways I never imagined. Life had broken me. She entered my life just as I began to climb out of my pit of brokenness. Only a year later, the pit was trying to swallow her. She wept out of pain. I wept out of wonder.

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

She is afraid and adrift. Sure that what is coming will bring disaster. I have seen disaster and lived to tell about it. And so it was, that we spent two hours together, the unlikely pair that we are. She the lovely young lady that is everything I'd want a daughter to be. Me the woman old enough to be her mother sure I had nothing to offer that she could not find in a younger friend.

We spoke of love and faith and doubt. We spoke of foundations too poorly laid. I spoke of hope in the face of paralyzing fear and doubt. I clasped her hands and prayed. More than that, I promised to pray without ceasing until her storm has passed.

Today, I inboxed her with a reminder that I am here. I promised I would not leave unless she told me to. “And even then, you may have to chase me away with a bat because I know that 'go away' often means 'don't you DARE leave me in the middle of this mess.' ”

Courtesy Mad Penguin Creative

Last year, I had been a desperate heart in desperate need of prayer. A stranger said, “If you need prayer, just stop me and ask. I will pray for you. I will.” Too afraid to trust, I slipped an anonymous note under his water bottle when no one was looking. Later, we connected thru friends and Facebook. His prayers have followed me all year long.

Courtesy B. Creasy 2010

You have to smile a bit as it dawns on you. Heaven is filled with the echoes of our prayers. Now his for me mix and mingle with the echoes of my prayers for my hurting friend. What a beautiful sound that must be. 

  

Jeremiah 17:14

Heal me, O LORD, and I will be healed; save me and I will be saved, for you are the one I praise.