I'm loving the process of getting reacquainted with my cello. My instructor, Rick is a life long musician, and plays the bass in the Stockton Symphony. Whether playing his bass or my cello, Rick's personal connection to the instrument translates into heavenly music. He often uses my cello during our lessons and plays what I might have been struggling with that week. When he pulls the bow over the strings, magic happens. He makes it look effortless. So why haven't I been able to produce sounds that are at least similar to his? Of course, there's the fact that he's been playing over thirty years. Also, "It requires Correct Repetition" is what he tells me when I point out that my hours of practicing seem to produce only three sounds; squeak, squawk, and squeal! "Correct Repetition" means that when I play the note wrong, I go back to it and rectify the error until each note is played properly. THEN repeating those corrected notes over and over again until they are consistently right. He reminds me that practicing is a waste of time if I'm not using the proper techniques and repetitively correcting my errors.
Every week I lug my cello into the music store, head to the designated spot, and wait for his request, "Show me what you're working on." I play, and the lesson starts.
One evening I presented my music to Rick. After the last note, he tilted his head, folded his arms and smiled (it looked more like a grimace). "It sounded so much better at home" I offered. All I've got now is squeak, squawk and squeal. "I have no doubt that you know the technique. You know HOW to play the cello," he said. Ok, he's not stopping there. And he's NOT about to stroke my ego by applauding my efforts. "That's great" he continued. I feel a little smile stretching across my face! Uh-oh, I think I hear a BUT about to happen. "The problem is," he continues, "you're not making music." The smile I almost had? Fast fade. In its place was a copy of Rick's grimace. "You have to make music." Then he offered a sort of Miracle on 34th Street, Santa Claus-like smile. "Let's make music. THAT'S what I'm here for."
Here's what I learned that night: Reading notes, using correct finger positions, and applying the necessary weight on the strings are all vital components to mastering the techniques needed to play the cello. I was doing those things and improving every week. Playing an instrument isn't only about technique. It also requires commitment. I would say that commitment is the heart of music. If I really want to produce enjoyable music, I have to know my cello - what it can do and what I can do with it, and commit my time to playing it. I have to know when I'm playing the notes too sharp or too flat. It means knowing when to slide my fingers a quarter, an eighth or possibly a sixteenth of an inch to make the cello sing.
Recently, I played a relatively difficult piece during my lesson. After I played, Rick told me that he assigned that piece knowing that I could play it, but not expecting me to perform it as well as I had. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than my instructor had expected. "Now," he smiled, " you're making music!" It takes time and practice. The result? Music. Sweet, Sweet Music.
Life is like music. Created in each of us is a desire for beautiful music. We learn the techniques and at some point we're capable of surviving the difficult notes of life. As we advance, we understand the necessity of Competitive Repetition: Don't repeat the mistakes. Repeat the successes. We understand that making music requires time and commitment. So we commit. We make the mistakes, but as time grants, we learn to make music and our lives sing. Along the journey to making music we encounter obstacles. One such obstacle is a frayed or broken string.
Part II will explore how obstacles interrupt our flow, but not our commitment to making beautiful music.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Happy Mother's Day...I miss you.
This month's blog was supposed to be about making music, and how it relates to our life's journey, but frankly, I'm not feeling it today. I'm not in the mood. I don't FEEL like blogging. I don't feel like laying down any nuggets today.
This is the part where you might want me to apologize, but I can't do that either. I will however, explain what's happening in my head today: Quite simply... I miss my mom.
It's normal, I know. It happens just about this time every year. April 18th was her birthday, and here we are, less than a month later and it's almost Mothers Day. Don't get me wrong; I'm not handing out invitations to a pity party and I'm certainly not sitting here drowning in emotional quick sand. I'll admit that I cried a bit this morning, but right now I'm just missing her.
Do you remember in chapter 2 of my book, With Her & Without Her where I wrote about wanting to pick up the phone to call her? (Yes, I'm assuming you read the book.) Well, I'm feeling a bit of that today. I want to hear her voice. I want to talk to her and tell her about my week. I want to hear her brag about her newest grand-baby, Olivia who was born last week. I want to tell her about my up-coming graduation, and about Imani's birthday plans. And you know what I really want to do? I want to buy a gift for her. That's it... I want to buy my mother a Mother's Day gift.
I know, I can buy a gift for someone else. Or do something special in memory of my mom. I know, I know... but I'm not going to do those things. What I am going to do is allow myself some time, some THINK time. I'm going to stop keying... go to my room, and sit quietly. Maybe I'll cry. Maybe not. Whatever I do or don't do will be what's right for me.
Before I lay my head to rest tonight, I will have thanked the Lord for walking with me through this valley, and asked for His company through the next one. I'll go to sleep, probably thinking about Mom, and when I wake up tomorrow morning I'll say, Good Morning Lord... Happy Mother's Day Mom.
Friday, April 18, 2014
My Mom & My Cello
In the July 2013 blog, I wrote that I wish I would have played the cello for my mom. My cello case had been collecting its fair share of craft room dust while the rest of my life lunged forward into fast-play. When I decided to free my cello from it's cage, it was to fulfill a promise. The promise, you'll remember, was to honor my mother by taking lessons and playing again. Well, guess what?! Today is April 18th, my mother's birthday, and I'm happy to tell you that my craft room is minus one cello!
My first lesson was in January. If you could peer into my home one night a week, you'd see me carefully descending the stairway with 4 ½ feet of encased cello leading the way. I twist and turn my way through the house and into the garage where I somehow manage to lay my 10 pounds of potential in the back seat of my car, climb in, take a couple of deep breaths and drive us both to the local music store where my instructor imparts between a half hour to forty five minutes worth of music instructions into this 52 year old brain. Now, you might not be impressed, but I think my mom would be pleased! Happy Birthday Mom!
This is a short post, but stay tuned... I'll be sharing some insights I've picked up on my way to cellist-extraordinaire!
And you? Didn't you make a promise too? What does your life look like now that you're doing something new?
My first lesson was in January. If you could peer into my home one night a week, you'd see me carefully descending the stairway with 4 ½ feet of encased cello leading the way. I twist and turn my way through the house and into the garage where I somehow manage to lay my 10 pounds of potential in the back seat of my car, climb in, take a couple of deep breaths and drive us both to the local music store where my instructor imparts between a half hour to forty five minutes worth of music instructions into this 52 year old brain. Now, you might not be impressed, but I think my mom would be pleased! Happy Birthday Mom!
This is a short post, but stay tuned... I'll be sharing some insights I've picked up on my way to cellist-extraordinaire!
And you? Didn't you make a promise too? What does your life look like now that you're doing something new?
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Round and Round (part 2)
"I repeatedly found myself gasping for air. "What am I doing here?" I thought...."What in the world was I thinking? I am not a sports fan!... I thought about Jacob wrestling with the angel. That's when it hit me… I know this feeling. It's grief. (Round and Round part 1)
Attending a wrestling match wasn't as clear cut as I'd hoped it would be. My intention was to watch a round or two, then leave. I had no idea that I would be able to apply this to my life's journey. That's just how God is. He gives us room to plan and map our lives, while He places turns and twists on our journeys to give us better perspectives.
Round and Round PART TWO
The two high school wrestling teams went round after round, grappling with bears or giants, while I sat wringing my hands, waiting for it to be over. On the mat was a desire for victory as well as a temptation to surrender. At the fringes of the mat were the coaches whose discipline and guidance had prepared the wrestlers. I wanted to walk across the gymnasium floor, through the metal doors, and into the fresh night air, but I was compelled to stay. My thoughts turned to Jacob of the Bible, and his all night wrestling match. He didn't know the identity of his opponent, but he was determined to be victorious. How would I fare in such a match?
My unconditioned body and reluctance to be showered in sweat were enough evidence to say that I was no match for the giants and bears taking the mat that evening. Watching those young athletes brought a few thoughts to mind.
Life is much like what happens on the wrestling mat. We're on that mat, surrounded by our teammates, opponents, coaches, and spectators. Like the wrestler, we struggle with what threatens to undermine our equilibrium and endurance. On the list of what threatens to knock me off my balance is grief. Grief is a natural consequence of death and separation, but it can meet us like a bear and overshadow our lives like a giant. The problem for me is that when I struggle with grief, I am like the wrestler who feels unequally matched. Scripture tells me that I won't be given anymore than I can bear, but in my struggle I can feel its heaviness. At times I can't maneuver my way out from its load. I want to give in and give up because in my mind, it's too heavy. Like the wrestlers, I can hear the spectators screaming their advice about what I NEED to do. They tell me they know exactly how I feel. They believe they're encouraging me when they tell me to put the past behind. The problem is, there are too many voices, and if I can't find that ONE voice - the voice that I know - I will be in danger of losing this fight. So I take a breath, and listen. In the middle of all that noise comes the voice of my Coach. The voice of of One who knows the game and has won the match. It's then that I remember, I'm on the winning team.
How about you? Maybe you've been bombarded by spectator coaches. Perhaps grief has overpowered you like a bear, bringing with it a sense of inescapable hopelessness. That's what grief will do. It will press you and sap your strength. But you know something else, don't you? You're a wrestler! You've conditioned! You've trained! You know the rules, and you know that this isn't the end of the match. You know how to break free from being under the weight of this bear. And best of all, you know your Coach's voice! You know that when you stop listening to the crowd and start honing in on the voice of your Coach, He will talk you through it. He will remind you not to surrender to grief. He's telling you that if you will lift one foot at a time you will circle the bear and be on your feet again. Victory is yours when you listen to the right voice.
In comparing wrestling to grief, I asked myself what I know to be true about it as it relates to my life. Here's what I know:
I know that grief is a bear and a giant with the potential to undermine my equilibrium.
I know that my Coach bears the marks of an experienced undefeated wrestler.
I know that I have the privilege to start each round by talking with my Coach.
I know that even when I can't hear his voice, I can trust what He has taught me.
The question then is; Who is your coach?
Suggested reading:
The book of Job
Psalm 30:5
Isaiah 55:1,2
Lamination 3:23
Ephesians 6:12
Attending a wrestling match wasn't as clear cut as I'd hoped it would be. My intention was to watch a round or two, then leave. I had no idea that I would be able to apply this to my life's journey. That's just how God is. He gives us room to plan and map our lives, while He places turns and twists on our journeys to give us better perspectives.
Round and Round PART TWO
The two high school wrestling teams went round after round, grappling with bears or giants, while I sat wringing my hands, waiting for it to be over. On the mat was a desire for victory as well as a temptation to surrender. At the fringes of the mat were the coaches whose discipline and guidance had prepared the wrestlers. I wanted to walk across the gymnasium floor, through the metal doors, and into the fresh night air, but I was compelled to stay. My thoughts turned to Jacob of the Bible, and his all night wrestling match. He didn't know the identity of his opponent, but he was determined to be victorious. How would I fare in such a match?
My unconditioned body and reluctance to be showered in sweat were enough evidence to say that I was no match for the giants and bears taking the mat that evening. Watching those young athletes brought a few thoughts to mind.
Life is much like what happens on the wrestling mat. We're on that mat, surrounded by our teammates, opponents, coaches, and spectators. Like the wrestler, we struggle with what threatens to undermine our equilibrium and endurance. On the list of what threatens to knock me off my balance is grief. Grief is a natural consequence of death and separation, but it can meet us like a bear and overshadow our lives like a giant. The problem for me is that when I struggle with grief, I am like the wrestler who feels unequally matched. Scripture tells me that I won't be given anymore than I can bear, but in my struggle I can feel its heaviness. At times I can't maneuver my way out from its load. I want to give in and give up because in my mind, it's too heavy. Like the wrestlers, I can hear the spectators screaming their advice about what I NEED to do. They tell me they know exactly how I feel. They believe they're encouraging me when they tell me to put the past behind. The problem is, there are too many voices, and if I can't find that ONE voice - the voice that I know - I will be in danger of losing this fight. So I take a breath, and listen. In the middle of all that noise comes the voice of my Coach. The voice of of One who knows the game and has won the match. It's then that I remember, I'm on the winning team.
How about you? Maybe you've been bombarded by spectator coaches. Perhaps grief has overpowered you like a bear, bringing with it a sense of inescapable hopelessness. That's what grief will do. It will press you and sap your strength. But you know something else, don't you? You're a wrestler! You've conditioned! You've trained! You know the rules, and you know that this isn't the end of the match. You know how to break free from being under the weight of this bear. And best of all, you know your Coach's voice! You know that when you stop listening to the crowd and start honing in on the voice of your Coach, He will talk you through it. He will remind you not to surrender to grief. He's telling you that if you will lift one foot at a time you will circle the bear and be on your feet again. Victory is yours when you listen to the right voice.
In comparing wrestling to grief, I asked myself what I know to be true about it as it relates to my life. Here's what I know:
I know that grief is a bear and a giant with the potential to undermine my equilibrium.
I know that my Coach bears the marks of an experienced undefeated wrestler.
I know that I have the privilege to start each round by talking with my Coach.
I know that even when I can't hear his voice, I can trust what He has taught me.
The question then is; Who is your coach?
Suggested reading:
The book of Job
Psalm 30:5
Isaiah 55:1,2
Lamination 3:23
Ephesians 6:12
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Round and Round (Part 1)
It may be slightly un-American, but I am not a sports fan. Don't misunderstand me, I've played on a softball league, coached a girls volleyball team, and long long ago I was on a gymnastics team, but really, I'm not a sports fan. I've been known to watch a few tennis matches, and I'll even admit to watching the Chicago Bulls, just to get a glimpse at Michael Jordan, but if offered court side seats today, it wouldn't be difficult to graciously decline. Let me say it again, I'm not a sports fan. You're probably saying, "Okay, I get it! You're not a sports fan! What's the point?" The point is that God is willing to use what we don't like to teach us what we don't know. Part One is the story. Part two is the application.
It may be slightly un-American, but I am not a sports fan. Don't misunderstand me, I've played on a softball league, coached a girls volleyball team, and long long ago I was on a gymnastics team, but really, I'm not a sports fan. I've been known to watch a few tennis matches, and I'll even admit to watching the Chicago Bulls, just to get a glimpse at Michael Jordan, but if offered court side seats today, it wouldn't be difficult to graciously decline. Let me say it again, I'm not a sports fan. You're probably saying, "Okay, I get it! You're not a sports fan! What's the point?" The point is that God is willing to use what we don't like to teach us what we don't know. Part One is the story. Part two is the application.
My daughter had an early evening appointment, so we decided to go to her school's parking lot where she could complete her assignments and be at the appointment on time. It wasn't a surprise that the lot wasn't empty. The students and staff are very active at this high school. No sweat. We found a spot, parked and my daughter got to work. At some point, I noticed the school's marquee announcing the wrestling match scheduled for that evening. Eww, Wrestling. No drawing power for me! The opposing school's name is what caught my attention. I have a friend who works with their wrestling team, and I'm acquainted with some of the students on the team as well. I called and confirmed that my friend would be there, took my daughter to her appointment, and thirty minutes later, I was standing in the gymnasium looking at the intense faces of several young men and women who bore the marks of concentration and pressure.
I talked with my friend from the team as well as with staff from the hosting school. Ultimately, I chose to sit with "our team" supporters and fans, near the middle section of the gym. I didn't want to sit that close to the mat, but it was fairly close to the exits as well. I wasn't planning to stay for the entire match, but I told myself to be in the moment and enjoy the experience. Riiight… this is wrestling. That equates to flailing, sweaty, smelly bodies all locked up in this gymnasium, which was suddenly getting smaller as my imagination of those odoriferous bodily fluids grew. Ewww, wrestling. (That's what me being in the moment looks like.)
This was not training day for these kids. It was evident that they had conditioned well before this day. It was all about winning. They warmed up by jumping and stretching and tossing their team mates. They rolled and bent their legs in pretzel-like positions. The teams met on the mat, and the announcer called out each name. The hosting team looked like bears. They were stout. They were sturdy. They had laser eyes that pierced through their opponent's core. They outnumbered us, 3 to 1. Initially, I expected to see more wrestlers come from the locker room, but there weren't any more. This was it. I looked behind me, where some of our boys sat on the bleachers. I asked a wrestler why he wasn't on the mat. He shrugged his shoulders and said the coach benched him. My eyes darted to back to the team. They weren't bears. Not as stout, and not quite as sturdy looking. I studied the young men and women on both teams. Yes, our team was out sized and even outnumbered, but weren't phased. They stood there on that mat like giants. They were ready.
The junior varsity girls were first. They shook hands and the first round began. The host girl stood over the visiting girl in what looked like a protective position. The buzzer sounded, and before I could blink, they were in a tight lock. The host girl held her opponent in a head and shoulder lock. It looked hopeless. How could anyone breathe in such a position, let alone maneuver out of it? The second girl did a twist with her upper body which loosened the grip and rendered her free from her captor. Bending at the waists, they stood face to face, eyes searching, hands and arms circling as if trying to find an opening. I felt the stillness. I must have blinked too long because in a split second the visiting girl made contact and had pinned the host girl to the mat. The host coach screamed, "Use your body! Circle! Circle!" What was he talking about? I watched. The visiting wrestler was trying to flatten her opponent's body to the mat. "Circle!" Came the scream. The pinned girl used her legs to lift her body as she dug her feet in to the mat. One foot in front of the other, she walked, indeed circling her opponent thus freeing herself. She bounded to her feet, and both wrestlers were standing, again facing each other. This went on round after round. I took notice of the visiting coach. He wasn't screaming instructions to his wrestler. He sat in his chair as if he was watching a round of golf. Looks really can be deceiving though. I had the inside scoop, so I knew something that the people in the bleachers might not have known. The coach wasn't screaming to his wrestler because she was deaf. He knew that when the rubber met the road for this wrestler, she would have to depend on her training. It all came down to what she knew.
When the final buzzer sounded both wrestlers were clearly exhausted. Hardly able to stand, they took their places next to the referee, who held one hand from each girl. He raised the winner's hand, and the spectators cheered. The girls walked passed each other to the opposing side and shook the coaches hands. They then faced each other, and shook hands. The wrestlers returned to their respective teams, and oddly enough the response from both teams was identical. I knew that the deaf wrestler won the match, but the hosting team was just as enthusiastic with their wrestler as were the visiting teammates with their wrestler. No one held back the hugs, pats or high fives. Both teams showing their pride. Noteworthy, I thought.
When the varsity team took the mat, the atmosphere felt different. There was a distinct air of confidence accompanying these young people. The bears stood strong and resolute. The giants did the same. Knowing they were outmanned hadn't dampened their confidence or desire for victory. They were here to win, and they were here to show the bears just what they were made of. I couldn't put my finger on what it was, but this event had the feel of more than just a high school wrestling match. (But what did I know? It was my first match.) Maybe it was determination. Maybe that's why I stayed. I wanted this to be a knock down, drag out fight, with the underdogs coming out on top.
The first wrestler from the visiting team was announced. Instead of approaching the referee and his opponent, he went to the front of the mat, kneeled and prayed. Just as with the previous rounds, this one began with one wrestler taking the dominant position over the other. Let the flailing bodily fluids fly! These guys were intense, even fierce.The coaches yelled instructions as did the crowd. The wrestlers were able to filter who was saying what, and without missing their opponent's moves, were able to adjust, maneuver or be still as instructed. It was round after round of giants verses bears. The coaches yelled instructions and criticisms to the wrestlers, and at times the frustration on the wrestlers faces was obvious. Choke holds and pinnings were part of every round. There were mat burns, banged ears, and bloody noses. This was a game of equilibrium and endurance. If the wrestler could make his or her opponent lose their balance, it could lead to a quick victory. Once he has been pinned, the wrestler's struggle to regain footing and standing often looked like a hopeless cause. At times I feared the wrestler's breathing was being compromised. The pain in my hands let me know that I had been wringing them. When a wrestler was on top, securing his hold on his opponent, I wanted to yell, "Get off of him!" Instead, I covered my mouth with my clinched fists. I wanted to rush to the mat and pull the wrestlers apart. I repeatedly found myself gasping for air. "What am I doing here?" I thought. "What in the world was I thinking? I am not a sports fan! I should be home studying or reading a book or making something!" I felt the urge to leave, but I couldn't. My feet were bolted to the floor, and the exits were miles away. I thought about Jacob wrestling with the angel. That's when it hit me… I know this feeling. It's grief. (TO BE CONTINUED)
I talked with my friend from the team as well as with staff from the hosting school. Ultimately, I chose to sit with "our team" supporters and fans, near the middle section of the gym. I didn't want to sit that close to the mat, but it was fairly close to the exits as well. I wasn't planning to stay for the entire match, but I told myself to be in the moment and enjoy the experience. Riiight… this is wrestling. That equates to flailing, sweaty, smelly bodies all locked up in this gymnasium, which was suddenly getting smaller as my imagination of those odoriferous bodily fluids grew. Ewww, wrestling. (That's what me being in the moment looks like.)
This was not training day for these kids. It was evident that they had conditioned well before this day. It was all about winning. They warmed up by jumping and stretching and tossing their team mates. They rolled and bent their legs in pretzel-like positions. The teams met on the mat, and the announcer called out each name. The hosting team looked like bears. They were stout. They were sturdy. They had laser eyes that pierced through their opponent's core. They outnumbered us, 3 to 1. Initially, I expected to see more wrestlers come from the locker room, but there weren't any more. This was it. I looked behind me, where some of our boys sat on the bleachers. I asked a wrestler why he wasn't on the mat. He shrugged his shoulders and said the coach benched him. My eyes darted to back to the team. They weren't bears. Not as stout, and not quite as sturdy looking. I studied the young men and women on both teams. Yes, our team was out sized and even outnumbered, but weren't phased. They stood there on that mat like giants. They were ready.
The junior varsity girls were first. They shook hands and the first round began. The host girl stood over the visiting girl in what looked like a protective position. The buzzer sounded, and before I could blink, they were in a tight lock. The host girl held her opponent in a head and shoulder lock. It looked hopeless. How could anyone breathe in such a position, let alone maneuver out of it? The second girl did a twist with her upper body which loosened the grip and rendered her free from her captor. Bending at the waists, they stood face to face, eyes searching, hands and arms circling as if trying to find an opening. I felt the stillness. I must have blinked too long because in a split second the visiting girl made contact and had pinned the host girl to the mat. The host coach screamed, "Use your body! Circle! Circle!" What was he talking about? I watched. The visiting wrestler was trying to flatten her opponent's body to the mat. "Circle!" Came the scream. The pinned girl used her legs to lift her body as she dug her feet in to the mat. One foot in front of the other, she walked, indeed circling her opponent thus freeing herself. She bounded to her feet, and both wrestlers were standing, again facing each other. This went on round after round. I took notice of the visiting coach. He wasn't screaming instructions to his wrestler. He sat in his chair as if he was watching a round of golf. Looks really can be deceiving though. I had the inside scoop, so I knew something that the people in the bleachers might not have known. The coach wasn't screaming to his wrestler because she was deaf. He knew that when the rubber met the road for this wrestler, she would have to depend on her training. It all came down to what she knew.
When the final buzzer sounded both wrestlers were clearly exhausted. Hardly able to stand, they took their places next to the referee, who held one hand from each girl. He raised the winner's hand, and the spectators cheered. The girls walked passed each other to the opposing side and shook the coaches hands. They then faced each other, and shook hands. The wrestlers returned to their respective teams, and oddly enough the response from both teams was identical. I knew that the deaf wrestler won the match, but the hosting team was just as enthusiastic with their wrestler as were the visiting teammates with their wrestler. No one held back the hugs, pats or high fives. Both teams showing their pride. Noteworthy, I thought.
When the varsity team took the mat, the atmosphere felt different. There was a distinct air of confidence accompanying these young people. The bears stood strong and resolute. The giants did the same. Knowing they were outmanned hadn't dampened their confidence or desire for victory. They were here to win, and they were here to show the bears just what they were made of. I couldn't put my finger on what it was, but this event had the feel of more than just a high school wrestling match. (But what did I know? It was my first match.) Maybe it was determination. Maybe that's why I stayed. I wanted this to be a knock down, drag out fight, with the underdogs coming out on top.
The first wrestler from the visiting team was announced. Instead of approaching the referee and his opponent, he went to the front of the mat, kneeled and prayed. Just as with the previous rounds, this one began with one wrestler taking the dominant position over the other. Let the flailing bodily fluids fly! These guys were intense, even fierce.The coaches yelled instructions as did the crowd. The wrestlers were able to filter who was saying what, and without missing their opponent's moves, were able to adjust, maneuver or be still as instructed. It was round after round of giants verses bears. The coaches yelled instructions and criticisms to the wrestlers, and at times the frustration on the wrestlers faces was obvious. Choke holds and pinnings were part of every round. There were mat burns, banged ears, and bloody noses. This was a game of equilibrium and endurance. If the wrestler could make his or her opponent lose their balance, it could lead to a quick victory. Once he has been pinned, the wrestler's struggle to regain footing and standing often looked like a hopeless cause. At times I feared the wrestler's breathing was being compromised. The pain in my hands let me know that I had been wringing them. When a wrestler was on top, securing his hold on his opponent, I wanted to yell, "Get off of him!" Instead, I covered my mouth with my clinched fists. I wanted to rush to the mat and pull the wrestlers apart. I repeatedly found myself gasping for air. "What am I doing here?" I thought. "What in the world was I thinking? I am not a sports fan! I should be home studying or reading a book or making something!" I felt the urge to leave, but I couldn't. My feet were bolted to the floor, and the exits were miles away. I thought about Jacob wrestling with the angel. That's when it hit me… I know this feeling. It's grief. (TO BE CONTINUED)
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Happy New Year! Wow! I've been away from blogging since August 2013, and here it is, January 1, 2014 AND I'M BACK!
I'm thankful that my family, friends, acquaintances, readers, leaders, followers and YOU have made it safely through another year! I am also thankful that God in His wisdom has seen fit to lay others to rest. As I have so often said, Thank God for the resurrection!
I stopped blogging in August because I was overwhelmed with my attempt to effectively juggle life as wife, mother, sister, employee, student, writer, blogger, and friend. Something had to give, so I dropped out of the blog scene. I thought I would be able to come back well before now, but life doesn't always go according to plans. Please accept my apologies for the sudden departure. The good news though is that I am now finished with school, and I'm ready to give the blog another go at it! Yay!!
Now that I'm re-taking the blog-pen, I need your help! Help? Yes, HELP. "How can I help?" you ask… Well, you can help me get back in the grove of blogging. This can be accomplished in a few ways: First, send me your suggestions about topics you'd like me to address under the "umbrella" of daughters and moms, grief, loss, death, caring for elderly parents, etc. I'm also open to talk about the relationship of sons and mothers, but since my niche comes from my experience as mom and a daughter, I am better suited to address the topics therein. I do welcome the tough topics as well. I'll do my best to tackle them! I welcome your questions, comments and even your criticisms. Also, I'm relatively new at this so if you have suggestions about how I can improve this blog, please include those thoughts as well. All your suggestions should be sent to my email, daileyzone@yahoo.com or go to my With Her & Without Her FaceBook page.
Finally, you can help me by getting the word out about this With Her & Without Her blog. I'm looking forward to reading your emails and replies!
Happy New Year to you and your families! My hope and prayer is that you will enjoy a prosperous and faith filled 2014!
I'm thankful that my family, friends, acquaintances, readers, leaders, followers and YOU have made it safely through another year! I am also thankful that God in His wisdom has seen fit to lay others to rest. As I have so often said, Thank God for the resurrection!
I stopped blogging in August because I was overwhelmed with my attempt to effectively juggle life as wife, mother, sister, employee, student, writer, blogger, and friend. Something had to give, so I dropped out of the blog scene. I thought I would be able to come back well before now, but life doesn't always go according to plans. Please accept my apologies for the sudden departure. The good news though is that I am now finished with school, and I'm ready to give the blog another go at it! Yay!!
Now that I'm re-taking the blog-pen, I need your help! Help? Yes, HELP. "How can I help?" you ask… Well, you can help me get back in the grove of blogging. This can be accomplished in a few ways: First, send me your suggestions about topics you'd like me to address under the "umbrella" of daughters and moms, grief, loss, death, caring for elderly parents, etc. I'm also open to talk about the relationship of sons and mothers, but since my niche comes from my experience as mom and a daughter, I am better suited to address the topics therein. I do welcome the tough topics as well. I'll do my best to tackle them! I welcome your questions, comments and even your criticisms. Also, I'm relatively new at this so if you have suggestions about how I can improve this blog, please include those thoughts as well. All your suggestions should be sent to my email, daileyzone@yahoo.com or go to my With Her & Without Her FaceBook page.
Finally, you can help me by getting the word out about this With Her & Without Her blog. I'm looking forward to reading your emails and replies!
Happy New Year to you and your families! My hope and prayer is that you will enjoy a prosperous and faith filled 2014!
Friday, August 9, 2013
A Trip for Two
Several years ago my sister in-law, Philana, and I drove to her cousin's home for a girls weekend in beautiful Monterey, California. We'd known each other for three years, but prior to this weekend, we hadn't spent any quality time together. This trip was designed to remedy that.
She picked me up in the morning, and our three hour jaunt took us through sections of California's scenic Central Valley and into the breezy coast of Monterey. We talked about our families and our jobs, and short snippets about Gilroy's Garlic Festival, and our infrequent visits to Anderson's Pea Soup. Other than that, we drove in virtual silence. The silence had nothing to do with us not wanting to converse. We wanted to talk, but it was strained. What should we talk about? I figured the only thing we had in common was our connection through Laurence. The small talk was enough to get us there, but I honestly wasn't looking forward to the long drive home.
I'm so thankful that the weekend didn't continue the way it began. During those two days, we discovered things about each other that we might not have learned for several years. We had similar tastes in foods and restaurants. We cherished "alone time" and shared a healthy appreciation of what looked and feels best on our feet... we loved shoes! With her cousin Cheryl, we laughed at memories that they shared of their childhood and young adult lives. They filled in some of the questions I had about their family history, and assured me that my husband's "imaginary cousin" (as I referred to him) was in fact a real live person.
Philana and I left Cheryl's house in the early afternoon, had lunch, then headed home. The drive back was in every way different from the first. We shared stories about marriage and family similarities. We talked about our homes, our husbands and our hopes. This time our Gilroy comments could be more extensive because the slight shift in our comfort zones meant we could share why we were or were not planning to attend this year's Garlic Festival. One of us even found out that although Anderson's Pea Soup has no bacon in it, a true vegetarian would do well to avoid their potato soup, being that it's really clam chowder!
There was only one thing wrong with the drive home: It went by too quickly.
That's the thing about life. It's a journey, a trip. A trip best traveled in groups of two or more. The journey can be made alone, but why? I like "Me time" but I have no desire to spend my life alone. Too much ME time means not enough You time. Too much Me time means I don't get the privilege to discover who YOU are. Traveling alone makes the journey monotonous and long. Traveling with a friend brings us to our destination that much faster.
Here's how I see it: Life is about relationships. If we were meant to journey alone, God could have put us on our own little planets and left us there to figure it all out. But that's NOT what He did. He gave us parents, children, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, neighbors, co-workers and in-laws so that we can cultivate meaningful relationships.
When I invite others to join my journey, or when I step on to the path of another person's journey I don't always know where the road is leading, or when it will end. That puts me in a vulnerable place, so I'm sometimes hesitant. It's okay though, because not knowing the ins and outs makes it the ultimate adventure! Relying on another human being is a part of the ride. It's vital that I experience the journey with someone! The discoveries I make are not just about me. I'm learning that in matters of life and death, I have an opportunity enhance a fellow traveler's experience, which means my journey is also being enhanced.
Looking back on the weekend with Philana makes me smile a lot, and weep a little. I smile because I remember how our friendship began. I weep because we didn't spend another girl's weekend together before she passed away. But I am reminded of Steven Curtis Chapman's song, Not Home Yet (!). I'm thankful that part of my journey was shared with my friend Philana. And when the time comes and this leg of the journey ends, I'll begin a new journey with Jesus. That journey will also include Philana. We have a lot of laughing to catch up on!
I'm so thankful that the weekend didn't continue the way it began. During those two days, we discovered things about each other that we might not have learned for several years. We had similar tastes in foods and restaurants. We cherished "alone time" and shared a healthy appreciation of what looked and feels best on our feet... we loved shoes! With her cousin Cheryl, we laughed at memories that they shared of their childhood and young adult lives. They filled in some of the questions I had about their family history, and assured me that my husband's "imaginary cousin" (as I referred to him) was in fact a real live person.
Philana and I left Cheryl's house in the early afternoon, had lunch, then headed home. The drive back was in every way different from the first. We shared stories about marriage and family similarities. We talked about our homes, our husbands and our hopes. This time our Gilroy comments could be more extensive because the slight shift in our comfort zones meant we could share why we were or were not planning to attend this year's Garlic Festival. One of us even found out that although Anderson's Pea Soup has no bacon in it, a true vegetarian would do well to avoid their potato soup, being that it's really clam chowder!
There was only one thing wrong with the drive home: It went by too quickly.
That's the thing about life. It's a journey, a trip. A trip best traveled in groups of two or more. The journey can be made alone, but why? I like "Me time" but I have no desire to spend my life alone. Too much ME time means not enough You time. Too much Me time means I don't get the privilege to discover who YOU are. Traveling alone makes the journey monotonous and long. Traveling with a friend brings us to our destination that much faster.
Here's how I see it: Life is about relationships. If we were meant to journey alone, God could have put us on our own little planets and left us there to figure it all out. But that's NOT what He did. He gave us parents, children, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, neighbors, co-workers and in-laws so that we can cultivate meaningful relationships.
When I invite others to join my journey, or when I step on to the path of another person's journey I don't always know where the road is leading, or when it will end. That puts me in a vulnerable place, so I'm sometimes hesitant. It's okay though, because not knowing the ins and outs makes it the ultimate adventure! Relying on another human being is a part of the ride. It's vital that I experience the journey with someone! The discoveries I make are not just about me. I'm learning that in matters of life and death, I have an opportunity enhance a fellow traveler's experience, which means my journey is also being enhanced.
Looking back on the weekend with Philana makes me smile a lot, and weep a little. I smile because I remember how our friendship began. I weep because we didn't spend another girl's weekend together before she passed away. But I am reminded of Steven Curtis Chapman's song, Not Home Yet (!). I'm thankful that part of my journey was shared with my friend Philana. And when the time comes and this leg of the journey ends, I'll begin a new journey with Jesus. That journey will also include Philana. We have a lot of laughing to catch up on!
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