To Those Brave Enough to Love Me

I've wondered for days whether or not to post this blog.  It's risky from where I'm standing.

Doing so will tear down a brick wall that guards and protects me and replace it with a wall of glass so that anyone who wishes can see inside.
It flings open a Pandora's box I have diligently kept padlocked for decades. I'm typing it now, still not sure I have the courage to execute the click that will share it with the world. It will likely sit here for weeks, unpublished, before I get the nerve....if I get the nerve....

Recently, I read someone else's blog post and had myself an epiphany. It was like looking in a mirror, like someone had figured me out and decided to write about it.  It also pointed out that keeping things concealed only prevented people from understanding one another, which inhibits LOVE.  And since Love is the focus of my own blog......

I am like Julius Caesar standing at the edge of the Rubicon, debating whether to set foot on that bridge and risk what may come for the sake of what I hope it will accomplish.

I sound dramatic.
But know this, friend: Exposing myself in this way is extraordinarily frightening for me.

I fear your harsh judgments, your stinging comments that social media makes it so easy to throw at another person.  I am more vulnerable than my personality makes me seem, be assured.

I fear the label you may attach to me. I fear the condescending air you may have with me once you know.

Except I fear even more that my behavior has sometimes confused people I love, and it may be worth the risk just for you to understand.

I fear that some of you haven't known what to make of it when I withdraw and become very distant, especially if we are family or if you thought we were close friends. (We probably are.)

I fear many things.

But Love can conquer fear, and Love is the Song I want my life to sing.

So I'm unlocking the box, and crossing that bridge over the Rubicon, although I do so trembling.

If you know me personally (and maybe even if you don't,) please click on this link and read. It will introduce you to a part of me you probably don't know, and it will help to explain the part of me you do know.
I have never cut or physically harmed myself in any way, nor will I.  Other than that, here I am:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lexi-herrick/11-habits-of-people-with-_b_6384062.html

Home, the Journey

As a Mom, I entered this school year with much fear and trepidation.

After much prayer and consideration, we had decided to homeschool our two daughters.  Although we loved the private school they attended, we were burdened over the fact that one of them was experiencing deep insecurity and seemed chronically angry.  Her behavior, at least with me, was rebelliously disobedient, at times even defiant.  I knew this was not who she really was.  Something had taken root in her, and to get to the bottom of it and address it, I was going to have to become much more engaged in her world than our demanding schedule was allowing. 

It was a tremendous leap of faith.  I am an unorganized person.  I am not a good planner.  I tend to lack self-discipline and need the accountability of a job with a boss to whom I must answer.  But we asked God for a clear answer, and He had given it.  And the only thing scarier than trusting Him and diving in was the thought of disobeying such a clear instruction from Him.

So we did it. For most of the first semester, I wasn't sure it was helping anything.  Getting them to realize that school had not suddenly become optional was harder than I had anticipated.  Some days we all melted down (yes, Mommy included), and on those days I questioned how this could be God's answer.  Was this really His plan? 

I constantly tortured myself with questions.

What if they are behind their peers?   (It turns out that in most all areas, they were ahead.)

What if they aren't doing enough crafts?  (December was spent doing not much else.)

What if they miss their friends?  (Between church and play dates, they saw them plenty.)

What if the all- important state tests don't go well at the end of the year?  (All-important? Really?)

and the WORST....the one lurking behind all of the others.....

What if I fail them? 

There's the monster.  Failure.  The boogie man in the closet of my life whose delight is my fear-stricken soul, my paralysis at the very thought of him.

But at some point during the Christmas season, which had always been too frantically busy for us to slow down, something began to unravel in us.  The sense of urgent panic, the feeling that we must always be in a race against the clock, was leaving us.  Peace was coming into our home.  I began to put the rough places we had experienced into perspective.  We were completing a season of "cultural detox."  The schedule-chasing, the peace-stealing urgency.....they were gone. 

We went on a Christmas scavenger hunt downtown that ended with hot cocoa.

We studied what makes the Seasons happen.

We had friends over and made ornaments. 

We had other friends over and made cookies.

We talked, REALLY talked, about the Christmas story.

We hugged more.  We laughed more.  We listened more.

I told my daughters about their Enemy, why he hated them, and the lies he would always try to make them believe, why they must always choose to believe God's voice no matter how things look. I began to feel like a warrior fighting in a real battle.  On the winning side!!  The fear of failure, that threatening monster, completely vanished. I began to feel like I was a force he should be afraid of instead.

When January came, we started planning "Family Nights."  We let the girls plan our first one.  They put on a show with the karaoke machine they'd gotten for Christmas.  The younger was too shy to sing in a show just yet, so she decorated the room, made programs and handed them out, complete with her own beautiful kindergarten artwork.  ;)  The oldest (the insecure, angry one who had seemed so lost before) performed.  And I don't mean she halfway sung a few songs with her head down, like we'd have been lucky to see a few months earlier.  No, she was back!  Her eyes lit up. She danced.  She sang every word with emotion and conviction and clearly planned choreographed moves that acted out the words she was singing!!  Her sister clapped and cheered and encouraged her from the depths of her sweet little heart.  We were witnessing the work of God, and it was surreal.

Then came the last song.  As she sang it, I cried.  It was the voice of God using song lyrics to assure and encourage us from His heart, settling all my worries and doubts with His promises. And my heart was echoing the words to my beautiful daughter, promising her in turn that I would be right here, and whatever it was.....because of God's grace, she could heal. 

Hold on to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
Although this way be stringing us along
Just know you're not alone
Cuz I'm gonna make this place your home.

Settle down, it'll all be clear.
Don't pay no mind to the demons, they'll fill you with fear.
The trouble, it might drag you down.
If you get lost, you can always be found.
Just know you're not alone.
Cuz I'm gonna make this place your home.

Home.  The name of that song and the name of our school, where the teacher is learning and growing as much as and alongside her students.  Ya know, this crazy plan is gonna work after all. 

Today

March 24, 2012

Today I turned 37.  And today, I buried my Grandmother.

It was a beautiful Spring day in south Mississippi.  The sun was shining.  The sky was bright blue.  Mom says it was like that 37 years ago, too.  We were, after all, in the same city.

We learned in late February that her heart disease had all but claimed her, and we had only a few months left with her at most.  We took a few days off work and made the trip down. She'd been sent home on hospice care.  No one told her. Still, I think she knew.  She sat up in bed, having full conversations.  She gave hugs and kisses.

I knew she may not last until spring break when we could return.  She did, though.   Always was a fighter.

When we returned on March 18th, she was completely different.  She still knew us all, just by the sound of our voices.  She didn't open her eyes much at all.  Still, she responded. 

I told her I loved her a lot. 
She said she loved me too.
She said my name.  Sometimes. 
Other times, she called me precious.

"Ashley, you're precious." 

"I love you too, precious." 

"Bye, precious..." 

I will always be grateful to God for those few days.  Sunday and Monday.  They upped her meds after that, and she never responded to us again.  She drew her last breath Wednesday night, March 21.

When it was decided that we would hold her funeral on Saturday, I silently determined to pretend it wasn't my birthday at all.  Celebrating felt inappropriate.  In all those years, she never once forgot my birthday.  All 36 of the others were acknowledged by her specifically.  I could give this one up.  For her.  For all of us.  It was a simple decision.  I didn't feel like celebrating anyway.  There would be other birthdays.  There would never be another MawMaw.

I sang for her.  I played the piano myself so my mind would be too occupied to think. 
That almost worked. 

Three of my cousins read poems they had written about her.  For her.

My brother and all the male cousins were pall bearers. 

It was right in a way I can't fully describe.  We were giving her what we could, each expressing love in our own way, handling her goodbye ceremony ourselves.  Music... poetry... physically carrying her body to its final resting place.....
It felt like one last thing we could do for her.

Afterward, when we were all together, I hugged every sibling, every cousin, every aunt, every uncle.  And my parents.  The first two to rejoice over me thirty-seven years ago today.

I savored each of those hugs, looked at each face and wondered.....
Do they know?  Can they possibly be aware of what they mean to me?  How I cherish every memory with each of them... how I see them, every single one of them, as a part of me? 

It was the anniversary of my Life's beginning, and despite my protests, my parents were unwilling to let it go by.  We went to dinner.  Two of my aunts and the cousins who hadn't already flown out joined us.  My sister-in-law made a cake.  We were together.  There were cards and gift cards, but my favorite gifts were their hugs.  In the face of loss, I was acutely aware of the magnificent gift it was to be in their presence, to hold each of them close to me for a few moments and drink in their love, to pour my own love onto each of them as best I could.  It turned out to be a uniquely blessed day.  And I hadn't expected that. 

I felt the presence of God with me all day.  He was there when it was time to sing and I wasn't sure I could hold it together.  In the face of each friend, each relative, each flower....and each of those rich, life-affirming hugs.  For it is Love that speaks of Him loudest.  He taught me much through her death.  He made me aware of what is important and of what is not. 

It was not a day of unblemished happiness.  But it was one of blessings; rich, deep, and recognized.

I realize at the end of it, that in this day I have lived.

Today I laughed with those I love.  And I cried with them, too.

Today I rejoiced over Life's beginning.   And I grieved over its ending.

Today I celebrated togetherness.   And I mourned a separation.

Today I loved.  And today I lost.

Today I lived. 

Today, I turned 37.  And today, I buried my Grandmother.

Climbin' Mt Everest

Have you ever noticed that nothing impressive is ever easy?  I have.

Wanna know what impresses me?  People who have climbed Mt. Everest.  These people really blow my mind.  So not easy.  Sign me up to never try it.

Which brings me to my point.  Love just ain't easy.  We wanna think it is, don't we?  That's because we think of the easy kind.  Puppy dogs, newborn babies, and ice cream.   See, we use one word to mean so many different things.  Most other languages have separate words for each.  Take the Greek language, for example, in which much of the New Testament was written.  There's a separate word for each kind. 

Romantic Love? Eros.
That strong stuff between family members? Storge.
Generalized compassion for fellowman? Philia.

Ice Cream? That's not even considered love.  I'm sure there's a completely separate Greek word that means "I really enjoy eating that."   Love? No.  It's a dairy product, for cryin' out loud.
 
And then there's Agape.  Pure, selfless, and unconditional.  The most impressive, by any standard.  And by far the most difficult for us mortal types. 
1 Corinthians 13 gives its definition:
Patient. Kind.  No envy. Never boastful. Not arrogant or rude. Doesn't insist on its own way.  Not irritable nor resentful. Bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things. Endures all things. 

Anyone else feel disqualified? 

See, here's the thing.  Love with an agenda disquaifies itself as love. 
Agendas are, by definition, selfish. 
Love, by definition, is not. 

One of my favorite quotes is by Ann Landers: "The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good." 

That's right.  The person most people reject or ignore for whatever reason.  How do you treat that  person?  Don't talk to me about the guy in the spotlight to whom everyone wants to chum up or the one with all the connections who could "put in a good word for you"...  No, those are easy.   Jesus says even the heathen can do that!  The beautiful, the talented, the popular....  Easy.  But what about when there's no agenda?  Nothing to gain?  The one with absolutely nothing to offer you.  Tell me about that  guy.  What has he seen in you, if you've even given him a moment to see anything at all? 

See, I don't anticipate God asking us to give an account of how many celebrities we befriended or how far "up the ladder" we climbed ourselves.  Despite all the glamour and attention our world gives that kind of thing, our God remains severely unimpressed.  I think it must be because that stuff's easy.

^"If you love only those who love you, what reward is there for that? Even corrupt tax collectors do that much.  If you are kind only to your friends, how are you different from anyone else? Even pagans do that."  Matthew 5:46-47

Open your eyes today.  See that guy?  The lonely one nobody has time to hear?  Follow Jesus over there to that guy.  Forsake the crowd, for once.  Dare to love that guy.  Out loud, even!  

Speak Up, Please

We live in a world that is LOUD, don't we?  So many distractions, so many things to do, so much competing for our attention.  Yet, when it comes to loving people, we tend to wanna keep quiet about it.  It's not that we don't love.  Think about it.  Just at the mention of it, many people you love came to mind.  Didn't they?  Now, ask yourself this question:  When was the last time I said or did something to or for these people that said "I love you?"  I mean, out loud. 

You probably think most of them already know it, and maybe they do.  But their world is loud, too.  It's not enough to know that you love and quietly ponder it.  That's like hoarding treasure.  A treasure that means nothing if hoarded.  It only has value when it's given.  Shared.  Spoken of.  That's when it comes alive!

Think of that list that came to your mind.  Which ones do you think need a drink from the refreshing fountain of knowing someone cares?  Find a way to let them know they came to your mind when love was mentioned.  Today.  Show them. Tell them.  Bless them.  Out Loud.