Election Day 2012

So I am standing in line at the polls, a ridiculously long line btw, with myShelby when Destiny walks up to us. She has come with her grandparents and cousin to the precinct. She stated that her government class held a mock election and of course Obama won. She thought it crazy that the class, 97% black, would hold mock elections because she, of course, knew the outcome would be Obama overwhelmingly. "We are a majority black school after all", was her statement. I thought that sad quite honestly. Was she saying that she and other black children at Hampton High School were voting for Obama simply because he was black? Or was she implying that the black population is overwhelmingly Democratic?

I would like to believe that the government class focused on the issues, highlighted the campaign proposals and promises of each candidate, discussed the pros and cons of the "ifs" ("if" Obama is re-elected ... or "if" Romney wins the presidency ...), and then made informed election votes. And maybe they did, she didn't go into any further detail and I, surrounded by a population of 94% black in line at the precinct, was not brave enough to question this mock election and point out such basic points of the election process as informed decision. I simply assumed that there is a "the government needs to care for me" mentality that the black population has that leads them to vote democratic. I pray that I am wrong.

I should have prayed for discernment from God prior to taking pen to ballot, but I didn't. My thoughts turned to the many United Methodist Women Priorities, how each party would or wouldn't support those 11 priorities. I believe my bent is shifting to a more liberal stance, but not so far liberal as to believe that the rich must pay for benefits the poor receive. We should eliminate poverty, I agree, but not by making the rich exclusively pay. There are no easy answers. The wealthy subscribe to many altruistic deeds and support many charities. The wealthy tithe to their churches. The wealthy do give, and some give until it hurts. But that hasn't eliminated poverty. Poverty can only be eliminated systematically. The government itself needs to stop applying bandages, needs to stop simply giving just to give, just because it can. Charity solves nothing. Justice fixes the problem. The government needs to get to the root issues of the problem and seek a cure to the cause, fix the brokenness.

Ok, off my soap box. Sorry.

Mysticsm

No creature has meaning
     without the Word of God.
God’s Word is in all creation, visible and invisible.

The Word is living, being,
     spirit, all verdant
          all creativity.
This Word flashes out in
     every creature.

This is how the spirit is in
     the flesh – the Word is indivisible from God.

"God's Word Is In All Creation" by Hildegard of Bingen

And God said to the soul:
     I desired you before the world began.
     I desire you now
          As you desire me.
     And where the desires of two come together
          There love is perfected.

Beguine Spirituality: Mystical Writings of Mechthild of Magdeburg

Just an update

I'm not going to continue with the Slice Of Life posts on this blog any longer - it is a redundancy that I just don't have time for. If you want to read the Slice Of Life: A Daily Story then please visit this link.

Thanks for understanding.

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 12
Tuesday, July 3rd
based on the latest adventures of McCoy, my mother-in-law's new puppy.

That Darn Dog

Well, he did it again. That darn dog. Returned home after being away for only four hours and he’s gone an’ chewed up the bottom of the couch, done pulled out near all the stuffin’ as well. That darn dog. So I took him by the neck and drug him to the couch and paddled his b’hind but good and then tossed him on outside. That darn dog. Stuffed the white billowy stuffin’ right on back inside the dern ole’  couch and then I commenced sewin’ on it when I heard the gosh awfullest yowlin’ comin’ from the back yard. That darn dog.

He weren’t neven supposed ta be my dog in the first place. He was fine an’ happy livin’ over there Texas way. When I first got the phone call that my son’s dog done gone an’ had a litter of pups I was a listenin’ and talkin’ with joy over their good will. Then he asked would I want one? Well heck no, I done got mah Teddy here and them two cats. What would I want with’n another pup? But then my daughter what lives up the road from me called me up an’ said ‘Ma, Riley sure would like ta have a pup. Course Matt won’t hear nothin’ of us havin’ a dog. Can you bring one o’them pups back wit’ ya and keep him at yer house ‘til we gets Matt talked into havin’ him?’ Well I’ma sucker fer mah gran’children. I called mah son over there in Texas and told him to pick out a pup fer me and I’d fly over there an’ get him when I come ta visit my newest great-gran’babe. I was assured that this here pup would stay small and while he was a feisty thing he was workin’ hard on his trainin’. I shoulda listened to my other daughter-in-law what told me ‘No, ma, ya don’ need a nother dog!’ As I said, I’ma sucker fer mah gran’children.

So I get this here pup home; he’s little as can be, an’ pretty calm little thing right at first. Didn’ do much other than sleep and eat and sleep and pee and eat and poop. ‘Course that was right there in mah livin’ room on the carpet that he’d done did all that. That darn dog. But then when he got himself acclimated to mah house he became all feisty and began a chewin’ up on everythin’ he could wrap his mouth around. Why he even devoured mah good house slippers. That darn dog.  An’ he eats faster’n a rocket ship. I gots ta keep him distracted so poor ole’ Teddy cans finish up his meal. Them cats isn’t none too happy ta have the pup in the house. He gets ta barkin’ at ‘em and they gets ta hissin’ at him. He’s had his nose swiped at quite a time or two which  I can sure tell ya true ta that one. Once though, he lit in ta Isis, the older of the two cats, and I thought he was goin’ tear her head off. I yanked him hard ‘til he choked and coughed fer a good twenty minutes or so after that one. That darn dog.

An’ a course mah daughter’s husband, Matt, won’t have nothin’ ta do with the pup so here he still is at mah house. I’ma guessin’ he’s mah dog now. He aren’t so little no more, he’s a growin’ every single day and he now towers over mah Teddy. Mah Teddy comes up about half a calf high on my leg but the pup, well he’s up ta mah knee already, an’ he’s only five months old. So much fer bein’ small. That darn pup. He aren’t nothin’ what my son said he’d be. He aren’t small, he aren’t house broke, and he aren’t trained niether, no sir not one little bit. I’d take him back ta Texas ‘cept fer the cost to fly him out there. Oh an’ the dumb pup has kinda grown on me. Yep. That darn dog. 

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 11

Monday, July 2nd

The Line

The line was rather long, the one of the three that we stood in that is. We were in the second line, the one in the middle of the hall, admissions. The first line was counseling. The third was financial assistance. There were like ten folks in our line ahead of us, five behind. Counseling had none when we arrived but now there about five. Financial assistance, well that line was like way the longest line ever. So glad we didn’t havta stand in that line. Our ‘rents were very well off. Unfortunately that meant we qualified for no financial assistance. Fortunately it kept us outta that ridiculously long and time consuming line. Yay for being economically healthy, boo for not being eligible for any state or government assistance of any kind. We aren’t an ethnic minority, we don’t fall below the middle class economic line, and we are residents of the state and country citizens. Ah well.

A girl approaches the line, leans in to like speak with another girl that is standing in our line like four people ahead of us. “I know her”, my sister whispers to me. “Really, from where” I ask her, not really whispering ‘cuz I really don’t care who overhears us. “We were in middle school together.” I look carefully at the girl. Well, she is like vaguely familiar but doesn’t stand out in my recollection. She should though since my sister and I are twins and attended the same schools together since like pre-kindergarten classes at Miss Bonnie’s St. Mary’s Star of the Sea School three year old class. But nope, this girl triggers no memory in my brain. “She went to CN High,” she continues whispering. Curtis Normell High School, not exactly our rival school academically but pretty much our competitor in the Arts departments. “How’d ja know that?” I still don’t whisper and slightly elevate my volume hoping the girl like overhears us. “She looks like a CN.” I look intensely at my own face looking back humorously at me and laugh out loud. The folks ahead of us in line turn and give us a scowl. We stifle our laughter to a chuckle. “Are you ready for this,” I ask my sister. She nods her head with a big bright smile. “Of course you are”, I reply. “You thrive in any environment!” She looks at me and the corners of her lips turn up slightly. “That’s only ‘cuz I am a whole two and half minutes older than you.”  I smile back. “Yah, like that’s it.”

After twenty minutes of line standing a lady approaches the person who is now first in line. We’ve moved up to third in line. We hear her asking the young lady what she needs to have done but we don’t hear the girl’s reply. The lady tells her that she is in the correct line and moves onto the man in line directly in front of us. He’s older, by quite a bit; at least his gray hair implies that he’s quite a bit older. She asks why he’s in line. He responds but really I don’t listen to what he says…something about re-enrolling in the school, at least that’s what I think he says. Then she approaches the two of us and looks directly at my sister and asks “Why are you here?” “Registering,” my sister responds. “Have you already applied for admission?” “Yes we have…” “But we’re not sure what to do next” I interrupt. “Have you taken the placement tests?” She is still looking at my sister. My sister and I look at each other. “Uh, no,” I say. “Well, you should go up the hall to room 122 to take the placement tests and then go to room 132 for the orientation class which you must take before going to counseling.” We look at each other again. The woman looks at the line which we are now like second in. “But,” she continues, still looking at my sister, “since you are so close to the front of this line just stay here.”  “Oh, ok,” we say in unison. The girl behind us snickers. “Seriously,” I say to my sister. “Am I invisible?” The line all around us chuckles softly.

The man before us in line is called into the room. We stand at the open doorway. I try not to peer in, trying to respect the privacy of the two already in the room but I’m curious and can’t help myself. I lean in. There are actually four ‘cubbies’, two are dark and empty. There are two open windows that are occupied. I can hear the man speaking to the woman behind the admissions window number two fumbling with the answer to the woman’s question. The question seemed simple enough. “When did you graduate?” But he seriously seemed unable to answer the question. She remained patient and offered, “Last spring?” “Yes,” he replied. “Do you still have your student I.D.?” “No,” he said. “Do you have any I.D. on you?” He pulls something out of his wallet. She begins to say something to him but I can’t hear the conversation any longer because my shirt is being forcefully pulled upon by my sister. “Stop that.” She looks at me a tad bit annoyed. “What,” I say. “I was just curious.” “Curiosity kills the cat,” she recites. “But,” I mimic the sing song style, “satisfaction brought him back.” She laughs at me. The girl behind us in line chuckles again. After another minute or two the man walks out the door and we hear “Next in line.” 

“Wow, thirty-three minutes. Is that like some kind of line record or what?” The girl behind us as well as the two men and the mother/daughter duo behind them all laugh out loud. I smile broadly and follow my sister into the room.

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 10
Sunday, July 1st


Bond

Lost mother.
If found, tell her of her daughter.
She mostly forgets.

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Nine

Saturday, June 30th

Shell Shocked

I don’t have a lot of time so this is going to be a quick message to whoever is out there to read it. The thundering sounds of the shells are all about me. And the sky alights as if the fourth of July. Already there are reports of massive outages throughout the city, Upper James, Prince George, Victoria, Kings Ford, Raleigh and South Princeton all without any power. I fear that we will be hit all too soon and then I will be unable to transmit any information to whoever might be there. I pray that there are still others out there. Internet is still working, but it’s spotty at best.

I can now hear the rat-a-tat-tat of the machine guns right outside of the window; I’ve dimmed the lights so as to not attract their attention. They have invaded; there is no doubt about it now. I can hear the roar of the tanks rumble down the streets interspersed with the bombings. In the brief silence I can hear the voices, arguing at times, cajoling at other times. And occasionally a female voice rises above the din. They are too near. I have locked the doors, just in case the soldiers were to try the handle.

Wait, a flash of light, coming through the drawn curtains. A flashlight. I’m crawling under the table with my laptop. As I promised, I will stay on here as long as I can. I pray to God that someone is catching this chat window. Someone somewhere, please dear God, please someone be alive to become a witness to these horrific abuse of militia gone awry. Someone is at the door. The handle is turning. Wait, wait ….

It’s alright; I believe they have passed on by. I can breathe easier ag

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Eight

Friday, June 29th

Undeveloped

The little boy was brilliant but emotionally exhausting. I wept for him. Being brilliant is not a gift, it is a curse. There are those who want to take advantage of the brilliance, those who don’t understand the brilliance, those who shun the brilliance, those who ridicule and taunt and persecute the brilliance. And I wept for the plight of the brilliant little boy who was enduring all of those and so much more. And adult trapped in the body of a seven year old body. Life, at times, seems so unfair. Genius in a child is no different than retardation in an adult. Both are the subject of awkwardness.

Fred was unpretentious. He was a quiet child and incapable of harm but harm was very capable of finding him. He was lost though he didn’t know it. During the moments of childishness he was quite adorable though. The way he smiled, his laughter, his wide eyed curiosity for the world, Fred was a very contagious soul and a sheer joy to be around. I found myself mesmerized by him yet unsure if I like that or not. I like the kid but I was afraid, so terribly terribly afraid – both of him and for him. He just wasn’t ready for the cruelty that would/ could befall him. If only he had been better supervised; life would have been for Fred if only he hadn’t of been so undeveloped. But instead he was misled and misguided and wounded … battered, beaten, and left behind. The conditions coupled with his injuries proved too much for him. He was found alive but his little heart stopped beating on the way to the hospital. Such a waste, such brilliance, and he was gone in one thoughtless, careless moment. 

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Seven

Thursday, June 28th

I Think I Can’t

“I can’t do this!!” Katelyn threw the cards across the table. Robert, Kip, and Cindy stared at her, jaws dropped. Katelyn stood, hands balled into fists, jaw clenched, tears forming and just beginning to roll down her cheeks. The three risked fearful glances at each other and stood at their seats. Katelyn turned toward the wall, keenly aware of how her outburst made her appear and of course she felt quite a bit of embarrassment tossed in with a tad of humiliation. “I’m sorry” she mumbled. She turned back to her friends, “I just don’t get this stupid, dumb, idiotic game!” Katelyn was whining but right at the moment she didn’t care. She had lost every hand since they began playing two hours earlier. “You said this was an easy game” she continued on. “But it’s not!” Robert and Kip looked at Cindy dumbfounded, a look Cindy knew all too well. It was the ‘YOU do something with her!’ look. Cindy shrugged slightly and walked towards Katelyn. “Ya do know that you’re overreactin’, don’ja?” Katelyn stared at her, eyes unblinking, tears still streaming down her face. She didn’t want to admit it but she did know that Cindy was right. “You just aint gettin’ the luck of the draw” Cindy crooned, wrapping an arm around Katelyn’s shoulders. “Com’n back ta the table and we’ll have a nother go at it.” Cindy led Katelyn back to the table and sat her in the chair. Robert and Kip mumbled something about drinks and snacks and darted off to the kitchen. Cindy shook her head as she watched them depart to the dining room. “Men,” she said. Katelyn kind of chuckled at that. “Ya wanna tissue, Katelyn,” Cindy asked. Katelyn nodded her head and watched as Cindy left toward the bathroom to retrieve the box of Kleenex. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid’, Katelyn scolded herself. ‘Why do you always have to behave like such a baby?’ Robert and Kip returned with a bowl of Mexi-chips and salsa. “Here ya go, Katelyn,” said Kip. “Dive in,” Robert finished. Cindy returned with the box of Kleenex and Katelyn took one and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She grabbed a chip and dipped it deep into the bowl of salsa. “Okeh” she said, stuffing the chip into her mouth. “Let’sh try thish again.” The three looked at her and said almost in unison, “Huh?” Katelyn laughed and repeated, “Let’s try this again. Robert, shuffle those darn cards.” Robert, Kip, and Cindy took their seats and an easy chatter began once again among the four friends. “Ok” Robert said as he dealt the cards. “Let’s try this again and this time Cindy will help you each step of the way.” “Better yet” Kip cajoled, “all cards face up fer the next two games.” Katelyn smiled big, glad for her friends who understood her so well.         

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Six

Wednesday, June 27th

Incapable

“I’m on disability” she said to me. “Why? Oh, because of your back?” She shakes her head slowly. I lift an eyebrow in curiosity. She takes her right hand, points to her head, and slowly makes a circle with her index finger. I get it, mental health issues. “I’m not seeing my therapist any longer” I say with a bit of pride. She smiles, “Really?” I smile back at her, “Yah, guess I’m ‘fixed’”, I reply with a slight chuckle. “I saw my therapist just before we left but I won’t see him again until the ninth. I get back in town and he goes to Arkansas.” Arkansas, I think, what’s in Arkansas? I don’t ask. “I’ve had two nervous breakdowns” she continues. I say nothing. After a bit of silence she says, “My back is still giving me problems, I have another slipped disc. And my foot is still bothering me.” I lift my eyebrow again and she continues. “It still slips out after I broke it. And right after I had the cast off, I was at Mike and Missy’s house and fell and broke it again. It was in a cast again for weeks.” “So, it’s very weak”, I say. She nods. “Yah so my doctor said that I’m not allowed to work.” Not ‘allowed’, I ponder but just when I’m about to ask her why she’s ‘not allowed’ her grandson comes up to her. I bite my lip. We never have the opportunity to continue the conversation as Missy shouts “Time to go my children, come dry off. We have to leave in the morning.” Linda turns from me and heads to the pool steps.

I have a couple of friends and family members that are on disability. I think of them as being weak, but I’m sure that I judge them far too harshly. Some people just don’t have the coping skills. Still. There have been many times that I have longed to be that selfish and fall into my label within the mental health community and be declared disabled. I haven’t…ever. I’m not that weak. I have my husband and children who keep me grounded if not sane. And while I do at times long for the escape of a hospital ward or a nervous breakdown, I just can’t allow myself that dependence. I have never been that dependent on anything or anyone, not even my husband – much to his dismay. I watch Linda as she dries the pool water from her leg. Linda … whacky, fluffy, tubby Linda; she has always been the kooky one in her family. We are similar, she and I. She bears the brunt of the jokes in her family and I in mine. While not as gullible as I, she can nevertheless be made to believe a lie quite easily, if you can keep a straight face when telling the tall tale. Linda used to work, at one time. She worked in the community hospital, laboratory I believe, though I’m not really sure. I never truly knew what she and her husband’s jobs entailed, I only knew that they worked at the same hospital.

“Jim’s retiring soon” Linda had whispered to me while we sat at the kitchen table. I had arrived late in the evening to see them, knowing that they would only be in town for three more days. She and Missy were making beaded bracelets. I hadn’t connected the dots at that time. “Really”, I had said. “That’s cool, what’s he going to do?” “He’s still going to be at the hospital, part time. They really wanted him to come back.” “Yah,” I begin to smile but notice the apprehension in her eyes. I didn’t understand then. Now I do. Disability isn’t a lot of money and with Jim retiring and working part time – well, finances could be tough. While I’ve always refused medication in outpatient care, I do know how expensive they are. I have no idea how many different medicines Linda is taking, but I understand the worry. And to top it off, she may require another back surgery. Could she be feeling incapable? I had the distinct feeling that she was worried about not seeing her therapist until the ninth. Is she so deteriorated?

Our mental health was another shared bond that we had. I drove with her to an appointment once, many years ago now. She talked gaily about her diagnosis. I spoke apprehensively about mine, which I never really agreed with from the moment I was labeled. I hate labels. I hate being defined by a label. I am who I am. Linda had seemed almost proud of her many and varied diagnosis labels. I have an acquaintance friend who is the same, Michele. Michele wears her mental illness on her sleeve, literally, and on her chest and back; a t-shirt that lists every mental illness to be found in the DSM-IV. She will proudly point to her shoulder and proclaim ‘this is one of mine’, or her left breast and tell anyone who will listen ‘this is my favorite diagnosis ever’. She is wackier than Linda. Michele is also far more disabled. I heard that she and Mark, her husband of over thirty years, have divorced. Jim and Linda have remained together for over forty years. I don’t see them divorcing any time soon, but I don’t see them often enough to know the dynamics. Not any longer. We used to see them twice a year, sometimes three times a year. Now it is down to once a year. She seems unchanged, really, in all the years that I have known her, for nearly thirty years now. Does mental illness do that to people? Linda, Michele, Renee … oh, you don’t know Renee?

Renee is an extreme case, lost in her depression, her PTSD, her anxiety, her suicidal ideation, her other selves. When I first stumbled upon Renee, twenty years ago now, I believed her to be so strong. She spoke eloquently, she wrote masterfully. She lived alone, took no bull from anybody, and adored her therapist and her cat. Then she met Eric and, after a quick engagement, was married and pregnant. Jordan was born with many a disability herself, autism and retardation. Renee was crushed. She seemed to go into rapid decay and as the years past and Jordan aged, Renee became more and more incapable. There is a revolving door on the state mental hospital, on several hospitals actually. Anytime Renee feels ‘unsafe’ she checks herself in. At one point her depression became so severe that she willingly, almost wantonly, endured seventy plus electroshock therapies. Crazy? I’d say certainly. I guess Renee actually has changed over the years, from competent to incompetence, capable to incapable.

I am no longer connected to these, my comrades of mental health. While I am not sane, I’m not ‘insane’. I have learned coping skills and have found an internal strength that Linda, Michele, and Renee do not seem to have. While Linda is the most capable of the three, there is just something about the term ‘disability’ that implies a lack of. Linda is incapable after all. And while I espouse my own capabilities, my own competence, my own sanity, am I? Really? Are any of us truly competent, capable, sane? 

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Five

Tuesday, June 26th

Nothing

Meribeth stood beside the bed. The beeping had ceased. The fervor disappeared. She hugged herself and stared down at the bed. The tubes remained yet in her arms. Life ends so suddenly. Walking closer to the bed, Meribeth stared down into the face of her mother. It wasn’t as she expected … death. It was so brutal, almost cruel. There was the look of terror on her face just before a bubbling, gurgling sound. Her eyes open wide, moving erratically, almost in frenzy, almost like she was fleeing, or trying to. Death didn’t come peacefully to her mother. Death came forcefully and her mom tried desperately to escape its clutches. Why? Why Mom?

Meribeth lightly reached out her hand, brushing her mother’s hand ever so lightly. It wasn’t cold like she expected. It wasn’t anything, actually it just was, just is, well, there. That was it really. All that was left of her mother was just, well, there. There lying in that bed as nothing; just a body, a bag of bones and flesh and nothing more. But oh mother, where have you gone? Not in this bag of flesh. This isn’t you any longer. Meribeth pondered as she stroked her mother’s lifeless hand. Mom seemed so extremely terrified of death that surely she hadn’t seen the bright light and walked a path where family members greeted her warmly and the love of God surrounded her. So where did you go, mom?

What happens to the soul after it leaves the body? Does it “hang around” here, completing unfinished work in the afterlife? Does it go into a form of “purgatory”? Are there levels of heaven that each soul has to work up through to reach God? Or is there nothingness, sleep eternal that seems but a moment in time. Is heaven for real?  Are you there Mother? Can you look down upon me, cheer me on, weep with me? But would you be so frightened of heaven? Could you be in hell? Was that the final look that I saw in your eyes, wide and frantically searching for a way to get out?

Meribeth shivered. The thought of an eternal hell sent chills down her spine. There would be no knowing. Her mother lay dead in the bed and could never come back and tell her. That is the way of death. It is to remain ever a mystery. Philosophy wasn’t something she enjoyed, theology even less. No Meribeth lived in the reality of the physical world, that which can be touched and seen. There were things that needed attending to now, arrangements that needed to be made. “We all die. The goal isn’t to live forever; the goal is to create something that will.” Good ole Palahniuk. While she didn’t believe in any form of immortality she did like to ponder that which would outlive all of humanity. The cockroach, it will definitely be the cockroach.

Meribeth reached up and closed the still wide open eyes, closing the terror that she still saw lurking behind the glazed over globes. A nurse walked into the room. The funeral home had arrived for the body. She nodded and stepped away from the bed, taking one last long look at the body lying in the bed. After all, that is all that it is. There is nothing; nothing but a bag of bones and flesh. Her mother was not there, not any longer.

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 4
Monday, 25 June 2012

Blown Away 

     The leaves are literally being ripped from the willow tree! How is it going to survive this? The gush of wind is whipping around the house, howling through windows that are barely able to keep the wind out on mild days. The tumultuous rains slash through the air at an angle almost parallel to the nearly flooding yard. The houses across the street have become nearly invisible; the evening is now dark as night. I am worried. I have not yet experienced such a storm as this; lightning piercing the sky, thunder rumbling in a low growl, and hail mixed with the rain pelting the roof and angrily slamming against the windows. I hear a crack and watch the splinter in the glass crawl its way up. A broken window. This is more than worry, this has quickly become fear, I have never felt so alone. 

     The phone rings and I startle, turning quickly in the direction of the sound. Brr-ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey hon."

"Hi, are you on your way home" I ask too quickly.

"No ..." he pauses slightly. "I can't get out of here in this just yet. Looks like another half and hour."

I turn and look out the window. Through the splintered crack I can see the flooding of the road. Flash flood, I think.

"Swell. Get home safe."

"I will."

"Bye" I say. Nothing...no reply comes through from the other end.

"Hon? Honey?" Nothing. Are the phones down? I hang up the line and click it on again - no dial tone. Fear has progressed to terror.

     The outside door in the laundry room flings open, the wind driven rain rapidly soaking the floor. I run quickly in and slam the door shut, sliding the bolt in place and turning the lock on the handle. I breath out slowly and place my head against the door. I can hear the rain bearing down heavily on the other side. And another sound, louder and harsher. The hail, I think, and slowly turn away from the door. Water, leaves, and melting ice pellets lay before me. I walk to the mop and take it from the wall. Before turning to tackle the wind blown mess I glance into the kitchen and freeze. Muddy shoe prints track across the floor toward the dining room. My jaw drops open. My eyes grow big in horror. I drop the mop and back away slowly towards the now bolted and locked door. Escape is just a twist and a slide away, but can I do it before the owner of those large muddy shoe prints walk back this direction? I turn to the door, to the lock. The handle lock wont turn. I'm fumbling and my fingers feel fat and slow and sluggish. Finally the lock turns. Now to lift the bolt and slide it left. I draw a deep breath and hold it, forcing muself to concentrate. Through the pelting rain i hear another sound. Footsteps. Horror rises to panic.

     I begin to breathe heavily as I glance over my shoulder, a shadow slowly growing on the kitchen floor cast by the light from the dining room that I know I didn't turn on. I turn back to the lock, tears begin to well in my eyes, my breathing becomes erratic - the lock won't move. Come on, come on, come on, I try cheering myself on. The sounds behind me become louder, I don't turn to look. Finally I lock frees and I pull the door open, which practically flies from my grip as the fierce wind rips the door inward. I step out, preparing to run, when I feel a hand upon my shoulder. A scream escapes my throat and then two firm hands turn me abruptly and I look up into the eyes of ...

"Hey Hon." Recognition begins to flood into my brain. Anger replaces the terror. I pulmmet his chest before collapsing to it, allowing his strong arms to envelop me.

"Oh my God" I say wearily into his shoulder. "You scared me to death!"

His hand comes up to my head and he strokes my hair, entwining the length of it trough his fingers.

"Not yet" he whispers throatily. "Not yet."

Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Three

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Driven

Finally, the road stretched before her. Tunes played on the radio and she sang along merrily. She loved driving, almost more than anything else that she did. There was just something about being on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel, foot on the pedal, and of course the tunes playing on the radio. The hum of the tires beneath her during the silence between songs was somewhat soothing, rhythmic and somehow comforting.

The traffic moved steadily, she set her cruise control – don’t want to risk a ticket, now do we?  The two lanes opened up to three as she approached the incline, the third lane allowing over the roads to pass each other. She gripped the wheel tighter, looking up at the driver of the fuel tanker as she passed him by. She was always overly cautious when passing the might trucks, especially since her life was almost lost due to a near collision with one as a teenager.

It was a small highway, four lanes that cut through the desert straight as an arrow. She was inexperienced behind the wheel, just received her license in fact. The drive from the DMV toward home took her onto the highway at speeds she was just learning to manage; seventy was fast even for experienced drivers in the mid ‘70’s. She came upon the semi-truck driver quickly, too quickly. She signaled and swung into the passing lane much too sharply, but she maintained control of the car. Looking into her rearview mirror, she saw the car approaching so she swung back into the right hand lane, too soon. Too close to cutting off the giant semi-truck, who laid on the horn and quickly applied the brakes. She sped up, seventy-five, eighty…her heart beating too quickly in her chest, she didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she began climbing the mountain and headed through the pass. She missed her turn to home.

But that was now thirty odd years and about half a million miles ago. Now she was quite an accomplished driver. She realized that her thoughts had been wandering and the third lane was now merging into two, into her own. In her reminiscent mind travel she had not noticed the large truck that had been forced to merge into her lane, flashers blinking brightly to warn of his slow forty-five mile per hour speed, far slower than her own sixty-five mile per hour speed. She slammed into the back left corner of the merging trailer, throwing her left where she bounced off the right rear quarter of a passing van. The steering wheel was ripped from her grip as the wheels tried to grip some road width as the car spiraled first on the interstate and then off and down the edge of parkway. She lost count of the number of times the car flipped as she rolled down the mountain towards the valley below her. She once caught a glimpse of the road above her, the semi-truck trailer hanging precariously over the edge, the guard rail damaged, dented, and totally gone where her own car had gone through it. She could almost make out the look of horror on the faces of those who had stopped their cars and watch her tumble down the side of the mountain.

At last the car stopped rolling and slid to a stop, the driver’s door flat upon the ground, the steering wheel pinning her thighs to the seat. She reached up to grip it and listened to the spinning of the wheels of the tires.  There was just something about being on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel, the hum of the tires beneath her was somewhat soothing, rhythmic and somehow comforting.

Slice of Life: A Daily Story

Day Two

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Bumping Into

It’s very difficult to bump into old “friends”. I’m not even sure if I can call them “friends” – at least not any longer. At one time in my life, they were very close “friends”; and what I mean by that is that I confided many personal things to one or more of these bumped into “friends”. My life was impacted by them in various ways, good and bad. And as I said, it is very difficult to bump into old “friends”.

But here I am, standing awkwardly with many thoughts running through my head. Things like, ‘gosh, what am I supposed to say to her?’ or ‘do I give them a hug?’ and even ‘I wish they were still a part of my life.’ Time and distance does that, builds awkwardness into a once casual closeness that was not lost on either me or them. But now? Now I stand here uncomfortable and longing to get away.

There are things left unsaid. Does she know how healed I have become? Does he know how much he rooted me and gave me security? Can he ever understand how his being fallibly human enabled me to approach authority figures? Probably not; nor is this the time or place to discuss such things. And so I look away and watch my feet and smile and make small talk and recognize the longing within myself that sought more. More from each of them. I was needy then, maybe I still yet am. Maybe that contributes to the awkwardness, this recognition that I’ve not changed as much as I believed. The story moves forward.

She did look good, not seeing us as she scanned the crowd far above our heads. If it hadn’t of been for my companion she would have disappeared altogether without ever noticing me. But her attention was drawn to us by the shout of my companion. And she looked at her. And then she saw me. And I stood. I had to; she was after all coming towards me. And so I stood. I hugged her lightly – at least I believe I hugged her lightly. It’s hard to know if I did or didn’t for you see right at that moment I was lost in the longing of myself and the past and who we were together in friendship. We chatted idly, about the wedding, about her daughter’s wedding album(s), a mention of her son and then she was off. I fumbled with items in my bag, drawing a deep breath; my companion nudged me and mentioned that he was waving at us. I looked down upon the floor and yes, there he was, standing where he sits every year that we are here, smile as big as his face and arm waving wildly. I smile back and wave slightly and then the moment was past. They looked toward the stage and I resumed fumbling through my bag. I don’t feel regret and yet there was something. Maybe it is the realization of the loss of the friendship, the recognition of that which was and can never be again. The story moves forward.

And then we are off to lunch, my companion and me. I sat in the seat of the bus, staring out the window, stopped at a traffic signal near the place that we were to be let off. They came into my vision, I focused and I saw them. I said nothing. At least I believe I said nothing. Once again I was lost in my own thoughts, the past met the present in the longing of myself. However this relationship was never as close or as strong as the relationship between me and the two sitting on the floor of the center. Ever. In fact the relationship between me and the he of these was much more volatile than any relationship I had ever experienced with and by a person of authority. I learned a lot from this relationship, from this friendship, from him; I learned that it is alright to argue with authority, it is ok to question authority, I can raise my voice to authority, and that those in position of authority are not above me and not better than me. And so I exited the bus and as I did we paused; all four of us saw each other at the same time and we hugged lightly and smiled gently. I tried to keep the pity deep behind my eyes so he could not see that that was the feeling I now held for him. We chatted briefly about lunch, where to eat, what was good, did he treat us to the Mexican restaurant just last year or was it two years ago. And then we parted, they boarding the bus and we off to lunch. The feelings were far more muted than I thought they would have been, should they have been? The friendship, if truly there was “friendship”, seemed entirely past. And I suppose that is as it should be. After all, they are not in my daily life any longer.

I have moved on…that much was made plain today as I bumped into old “friends”. I am no longer the person I was seven years ago or eleven years ago, or even fifteen years ago when I first moved to Virginia. I am more confident of who I am in my own skin, of my own opinions and of my own feelings. While I am ever grateful to them, they are not integral to the development of me any longer. Bumping into them made that blatantly obvious. I am, apart from all of them, more complete.    

Slice of Life: A Daily Story

Day One

Friday, June 22, 2012

She

She walked upon the stage, haltingly, cautiously, almost wearily. The weeks have been long and difficult – moving does that at times and all the packing is taking a toll on her already weakened body. Illness does that at times. She was still young and unwilling to believe that she was no longer vital. What is vitality anyway? Well, if your career involves speech and one has lost the power of speech then obviously vitality involves the ability to talk. So I guess I am no longer vital, she thought to herself. She breathed deeply and placed one foot on front of the other, forcing herself forward across the stage. Recognition for achievements seems all but mundane in the face of the loss of her job, her career, her calling. YOUR calling God, she thought, YOUR call upon my life. Arriving mid-stage, she stopped and listened to her name echo through the sound system around the giant space that is the civic center. Accolades for a job well done, for all of her accomplishments, for all that she has done for and given to the church, the constituents, the conference. She dropped her head – not out of embarrassment, more out of shame. A feeling of failure seemed to seep deep into her bones and settle there. And then the Bishop approached her, hugged her, whispered into her ear – “there is more for you to do; God isn’t finished with you yet.” The tears began to well within her eyes. The applause began subtlety and began to grow. By the time she was released from the Bishop’s embrace the entire room was upon their feet and applauding. A standing ovation, for me, she thought. The tears fell. She slowly walked off the stage, escorted and aided down the stairs, she exited the room. Around the corner, out of sight, hidden from all the eyes – pull yourself together girl. She returned to the hall, walked to her seat. She held her head high.

Pride, isn’t that one of the seven deadly sins? She didn’t care; she was going to make sure that retained her pride in the face of her bitter loss. She had heard the call from God while still a young adult in college; it challenged her and urged her to change her major life course to that of a minister. Being a minister is a tough job, ridiculously tough as a female; the perspectives of many older congregations were not aligned to the acceptance of women in the pulpit, even now. Had she miss heard? Maybe she had misinterpreted? She completed seminary, began her ministry as every woman in the conference had, in the small rural church of the Shenandoah Valley. The Valley was the truest test of the preaching abilities of the women – if rural Virginia could tolerate you in the pulpit, then a successful career in the pulpit was assured. And she passed, with flying colors, and was moved to a very urban community. Things were going wonderfully and then she was struck – unable to speak; as debilitating as a construction worker becoming a quadriplegic. She was left bereft, broken, and feeling abandoned by God. Friends encouraged her, prayed with her and for her, uplifted her. Words of comfort and care surrounded her. And she knew the value of the words, and for the most part agreed with each sentiment. Yes, she knew that while God closed one door he would open another. Yes, she knew that God would walk with her through this period in her life. Yes, she knew that great things would come if she trusted in God. Yes, she knew … At times she just wanted to scream, but she didn’t even have the ability to do that any longer, did she?

She sat in her chair, on the floor of the civic center, with her head held high, and the tears streaming down her face; and those around her offered yet another platitude, another sentiment. They placed their arms around her shoulders and they gently hugged her and they encouraged her to hang in there, hold on, and wait upon the Lord. And she smiled bravely, with the tears streaming down her cheeks, and nodded slightly with each passing word and touched each hand lightly. And within, within she was screaming.   

Snapshots of Life

Snapshots of Life. Of living. Of being.


A photograph ... capturing a second of a moment in time and space. People frozen in time, forever.


Like this ...

Jeff and Karen in Paris

Looking at this photograph we, the viewer, have no connection or attachment to it or the setting (some of you don't even have know who Jeff and Karen are). We look at this photograph and say "gorgeous setting" or "don't they look happy" or even "wow". But we are not there, we are not Jeff and Karen, and we are not the photographer. Jeff and Karen, however, will look back on this photograph someday in the future and will remember not only where they were but who they were with (Bernard and Tracey), what they were doing moments before this photograph was taken, where they went moments after. Maybe they will remember where they ate breakfast or lunch, maybe where they shopped, or where they ate dinner. This photograph, to Jeff and Karen, will bring back a memory of visual images and a flood of emotions. They are connected to this photograph, to this event, to this moment in time and space. We, we are merely outside observers that have knowledge ... you now having more knowledge after reading this paragraph than you may have had just looking at the picture. But knowledge isn't a cue to memory and knowledge does trigger emotional responses.

Now, imagine living your entire life as the unattached viewer of a photograph. Imagine you have no connection to not only the visual cues of photographs but also the visual and audible cues of video images. Imagine having no emotional correlation to anything that you are seeing or hearing. You would not, could not, ever be involved in a life that you have no relationship to. 

That, THAT has been my life to this point in time. Snippets of a life that I have lived, a photograph of a moment forever frozen in time but not connected to me. Until this point in my life.

I imagine that most people can recall a moment in their life and remember what they were doing, where they were, and who they were with. I imagine that THIS is finally how things are becoming for me. Finally, after a lifetime of lack, I will have a full and complete picture. Not merely what I know, for knowing is different that memory, than remembering. I will have a complete picture of a life not only known about but also remembered. 

It is a scary thing. It is an exciting thing. It is a miraculous thing. It is a first. Finally, it is all me.

Monica and Kim

This is me and one of my very best friends on Rosedale Dr. in Las Cruces. It was taken on the way to high school, Mayfield High School. We had just stepped out of the house and her brother, Danny, snapped this picture of us as he was teasing us (an activity that he did often when he was home). We will come back to her house after school and listen to Donny Osmond and the Beatles White Album, drink sodas and munch on chips, and we will talk about the boys in high school, the girls in high school, and we will try our hardest to fit in even though we both know that we will not ever fit in. 

I remember, not only this day but many days such as this at Kim's house.

The Sounds of Silence

So, I am sitting here (well, laying actually) in what would be absolute quiet, if not for the small plane landing at Langley, with myLittle Kitty on one side and myAnnie on the other, pondering the deep silence of the house. A silence, now that the plane has landed, that isn't even disturbed by the breathing of the animals beside me. 


This, I realize, is the first time in my entire life that I have had a moment of total silence "all-to-myself". It is rather disconcerting and yet ... and yet it is also rather amazing. 


There is a calm in this deep silence. 


The caucophany that causes stress andstringshighemotionintoanxiousactivityis, well, is gone. 


I simply ... am. 


That may not seem like a lot to most people but to me ... me, myselves and I? Well, this is like being in paradise, or how I would imagine paradise to be, not ever having been to an island paradise. It may be a once in MY lifetime occurrence, or THE calm before a storm, or simply a gift from many to one. It MAY mean absolutely nothing. OR, it MAY be the dawning of a new ME.

Slice of Life: A Daily Story

I have found my next big  365 day adventure. Ruth and Stacey at Two Writing Teachers encourage readers to reflect on a moment of a day, 31 days specifically, March 1st to March 31st — bring a small slice into focus, and consider it as a writer. So, I have decided to utilize their challenge, take a small slice of each day for a year (ack! Am I crazy?), consider it and write about it. Look for this crazy adventure not only here in this blog but also on facebook where I'll be posting them in notes. I'll be starting in exactly 67 days, since there are 66 days remaining on my 365 Daily Photographic Gratitude Journal. Hard to believe a year is almost complete. It went by far too quickly.

The End

And so it all comes to an end for yet another year. The Lenten Dailies, the Stations of the Cross, the Encouraging words that I have been doing (on Facebook). I have learned so much about myself through the writings this year, through the readings of the posts by my friends, through the comments made by friends and acquaintances. I have grown and the most important thing through these Lenten encounters is that I have seen the growth. Even more impressive is that I like who I have grown into.


Change is hard to embrace at times, especially change within oneself. It has taken me some seventeen years to reach this point of maturity, to become the woman that I see myself as today. It has taken me some seventeen years to say honestly, I like the person I am becoming. 


I thank God for this journey during Lent this year.

Via Crucis :: Immersion

Fourteenth Station:  Jesus is Placed in the Tomb (Matthew 27: 57-60)

The Tomb

 ^57-61 Late in the afternoon a wealthy man from Arimathea, a disciple of Jesus, arrived. His name was Joseph. He went to Pilate and asked for Jesus' body. Pilate granted his request. Joseph took the body and wrapped it in clean linens, put it in his own tomb, a new tomb only recently cut into the rock, and rolled a large stone across the entrance. Then he went off. But Mary Magdalene and the other Mary stayed, sitting in plain view of the tomb.

Jesus impacted the lives of many Many individuals. He impacted groups of people. He impacted those whom He walked among, people from before and future people. Jesus made an impression and an imprint upon all of humanity for all of eternity. Jesus was, is, and ever shall be THAT person - THE person who touches the lives of all who hear about Him. Thus it was so even as He died upon that cross. And moved, the Arimathean asked to place the body of Jesus Christ into a tomb that he owned. Impact; then, now and forever. Thank God!


Father God, Your son, a simple unassuming man is known of by millions and millions of people - loved, hated, praised, jeered, cared for, tortured. There is no in between. And Jesus Himself stated that it would be so - none could straddle the fence, you are either for Him or against Him. None can be "lukewarm". Father God, may I always be "on fire" for You through Your sacrificial son Jesus Christ. May I NEVER "stay upon the fence". May I always be with You Father God, now and forever, through Your son, Jesus Christ.

Lenten Daily Quotes

Day 40 - a quote describing who you are now

"Just let awareness have its way with you completely." 
 ~Scott Morrison

Via Crucis :: Immersion

Thirteenth Station:  Jesus Dies on the Cross (Luke 23: 44-46)

 ^44-46 By now it was noon. The whole earth became dark, the darkness lasting three hours—a total blackout. The Temple curtain split right down the middle. Jesus called loudly, "Father, I place my life in your hands!" Then he breathed his last.

Into Your hands. What absolute obedience, what absolute trust and confidence, what absolute love. Jesus Christ died for ALL of us, for ME, and He placed His spirit assuredly into His Father's loving hands. 


Father God, may I always have the confidence and assured response that Jesus has upon the cross. May I ALWAYS know that I am Yours.

Lenten Daily Quotes

Day 39 - a quote about how you have changed

“I am still every age that I have been. Because I was once a child, I am always a child. Because I was once a searching adolescent, given to moods and ecstasies, these are still part of me, and always will be... This does not mean that I ought to be trapped or enclosed in any of these ages...the delayed adolescent, the childish adult, but that they are in me to be drawn on; to forget is a form of suicide... Far too many people misunderstand what *putting away childish things* means, and think that forgetting what it is like to think and feel and touch and smell and taste and see and hear like a three-year-old or a thirteen-year-old or a twenty-three-year-old means being grownup. When I'm with these people I, like the kids, feel that if this is what it means to be a grown-up, then I don't ever want to be one. Instead of which, if I can retain a child's awareness and joy, and *be* fifty-one, then I will really learn what it means to be grownup.”
~ Madeline L'Engle

Via Crucis :: Immersion

Twelfth Station:  Jesus Speaks to His Mother and the Disciple (John 19: 25-27)

^{24-2 7}While the soldiers were looking after themselves, Jesus' mother, his aunt, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene stood at the foot of the cross. Jesus saw his mother and the disciple he loved standing near her. He said to his mother, "Woman, here is your son." Then to the disciple, "Here is your mother." From that moment the disciple accepted her as his own mother.

This is the humanity of Jesus ... the love of his mother who has given birth to him, raised him, cared for him. He assures that she is taken care of at his death not by his siblings but rather by the apostle whom he loved the best. He asks that John care for her and likewise that she looks after John. Those whom Jesus loved the most in the world. It is as if his heart would be broken had he not been assured that those He loved the most in the world were cared for. Who better to care for them than they who cared so much for Him? Jesus' love seems boundless, even at his death bed. Jesus cares not for himself but for those He loves.


Father God, I am ever as loved by Jesus Christ. Thank you Father God.

Via Crucis :: Immersion

Eleventh Station:  Jesus Promises His Kingdom to the Good Thief (Luke 23: 39-43)

³⁹ One of the criminals hanging alongside cursed him: "Some Messiah you are! Save yourself! Save us!"

 ^40-41 But the other one made him shut up: "Have you no fear of God? You're getting the same as him. We deserve this, but not him—he did nothing to deserve this."

 ⁴² Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you enter your kingdom."

 ⁴³ He said, "Don't worry, I will. Today you will join me in paradise."

"Remember me." It is so ridiculously hard to believe that it could be that simple. "Remember me." But that was the point, the purpose, justified by His death on the cross. We are, ALL of humanity, to live eternally with God in paradise because God justifies each of us to Himself through Jesus Christ. It IS that simple. We need only say, "Jesus, remember me."


Father God, and so I ask of Jesus Christ, Your son, and of You, "Remember me."

Lenten Daily Quotes

Day 38 - a quote about when you were young

"When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six,
I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.
The End"
~ A. A. Milne, Now We Are Six

Via Crucis :: Immersion

Tenth Station:  Jesus is Crucified (Luke 23: 33-34)

^{3 3}When they got to the place called Skull Hill, they crucified him, along with the criminals, one on his right, the other on his left.

 ^34-35 Jesus prayed, "Father, forgive them; they don't know what they're doing."

   Dividing up his clothes, they threw dice for them. The people stood there staring at Jesus, and the ringleaders made faces, taunting, "He saved others. Let's see him save himself! The Messiah of God—ha! The Chosen—ha!"

Everything leads up to this moment, the crucifixion. From birth, through ministry, to arrest and trial culminating in this moment. "They nailed him to a wooden cross to die a crim'nal's death. They scorned him in his final hours as he labored for each breath. (...) Truly this was God's only son, convicted, condemned and now crucified." Innocent save for us, humanity. He died because of us, he died for us. We died with him. I died with him.


Father God, I have said this before but there really isn't enough thank yous that can be lifted up to you for your sacrifice. Because of His death, I have life. Thank you.

Lenten Daily Quotes

Day 37 - a quote about something from your bucket list

"I like the spirit of a bucket list if not the exact phrase. I like exhilarating memories but not to the exclusion of meaningful experiences. And I like lofty goals if they do not obscure the rest of what matters."
~ Christopher Peterson, PhD

Lenten Daily Quotes

Day 36 - a quote about your day 


"What my day is like depends on where I am." 
 ~ Daniela Pestova

Via Crucis :: Immersion

Ninth Station:  Jesus Meets the Women of Jerusalem (Luke 23: 27-31)

Skull Hill

 ^27-31 A huge crowd of people followed, along with women weeping and carrying on. At one point Jesus turned to the women and said, "Daughters of Jerusalem, don't cry for me. Cry for yourselves and for your children. The time is coming when they'll say, 'Lucky the women who never conceived! Lucky the wombs that never gave birth! Lucky the breasts that never gave milk!' Then they'll start calling to the mountains, 'Fall down on us!' calling to the hills, 'Cover us up!' If people do these things to a live, green tree, can you imagine what they'll do with deadwood?"

What difficult words Jesus spoke to the women who wailed and wept and moaned. What do they mean, these words that feel so harsh? Were they prophetic words? According to one commentary, Jesus is allowed to pause to speak to the women and he gives a warning to the total destruction of the Temple under the Roman Occupation. Isn't it odd that as Jesus is being marched off to death, surrounded by Roman soldiers so that none of his disciples who follow could attempt rescue, that He pauses to give warning to those near him? He thinks of others above himself even yet.


Father God, may I think of others before self even up to my dying day. May I always offer words of comfort to all people in my life. May I encourage and uplift, give warning and advice until I am no longer to speak.

Lenten Daily Quotes

Day 35 – a quote about your night

"The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest. The repose of the night does not belong to us. It is not the possession of our being. Sleep opens within us an inn for phantoms. In the morning we must sweep out the shadows."
~ Gaston Bachelard

Lenten Daily Quotes

Day 34 – a quote to a person who you would love to trade places with for a day

"There are a few parts of my brain that are missing. I know this not because I used to have them, because I didn’t, but because of how other people refer to their own feelings and thoughts, which I simply can’t relate to or sometimes even decipher."
~ Cathy O'Neil

Via Crucis :: Immersion

Eighth Station:  Jesus is Helped by Simon the Cyrenian to Carry the Cross (Mark 15: 21)

The Crucifixion

 ²¹ There was a man walking by, coming from work, Simon from Cyrene, the father of Alexander and Rufus. They made him carry Jesus' cross.

It is immensely relieving to know that there are those who still offered aide to Jesus, especially in His darkest hours. I know from my own personal experience what a comfort it is to have the kindness of others, even strangers, at times when I am in the depths of despair. That Christ was left utterly alone by those closest to him, that the kindness of this stranger was a beacon of light, the love of his Father, well...I can only imagine. Did you feel the love? Did you know at that moment that your heavenly Father had not forsaken you? Did you understand that Simon the Cyrenian was the comforting hand that you so needed at that time?


Father God, may I always recognize your presence in my life, in whatever form you send it; be it through the smile of a stranger, the embrace of a loved one, or the kiss of family.