Beautiful Belgium

 

Several years ago, as I was packing to travel through the southern part of America, my mother asked me what was my hurry to leave Kansas again.  I had lived in New Mexico, Tennessee, and California.  I had traveled extensively throughout America, driving cross-country on many occasions.  I had lived in England and traveled throughout Europe, Thailand, and Malaysia.

I thought my answer to Mom’s question was very honest and logical.  “Because, Mom, there are so many great things to see in this world.  God’s created so many wonderful landscapes and it’s also amazing to see what people have accomplished.  But, you know, there are always wars and disasters.  What if we run out of time?  What if we don’t get to experience all of the many wonders of the world before they are all destroyed by man or nature?”

Before I had finished my heartfelt statement, Mom was already packed and waiting in the car for me.  We would travel throughout America together and I’m so happy now that we had those special moments.  My mother entered heaven six years ago…and most of the beautiful world has been destroyed…not by nature or God, but by the will of man.

I was heartbroken last November when terrorist turned romantic, enchanting Paris into a battle zone.  Now, today, my heart is again splitting in two as I read the news reports about the suicide bomb attacks on the airport and train in Brussels, Belgium.  At least, 30 people were killed and many were injured.

My prayers today are with the people of Belgium.  I had been in that lovely country at a very innocent time.  When I was traveling the world, there was no fear of terrorist attacks.  I was in Belgium at a time when the country was joyful and peaceful.  I did not visit Brussels, unfortunately.  I was in the lovely, enchanted city of Bruges, just sixty miles northwest of Brussels.  Bruges is a place everyone should take the time to see someday, if there is still the opportunity now.  It is a fairy-tale, charmed city that still maintains its centuries-old architecture.  Most of the structures have been standing since medieval times (around the thirteenth century).  Visiting Bruges is like stepping back in time.   I am grateful I had the opportunity to experience this amazing city.

I had been living in England for just a month when the college I was attending arranged a trip to Bruges, Belgium, for all foreign students.  We would be taking an overnight cruise on a Thursday and returning the following Sunday.  Though the trip sounded enticing, several of my American friends debated if they should miss classes to go on the trip that was scheduled to leave on Thursday afternoon, November 26, 1992.  They didn’t want to miss classes on Thursday and Friday.  I thought I had the perfect solution.  “But Thursday is Thanksgiving,” I stated.  “You won’t be missing classes.”

“Um, Jamie,” the other American students informed me.  “They don’t have Thanksgiving in England!”

Oops!  My mistake!  Of course, I knew that.  I had just forgotten where I was for a moment.  But I decided not to feel stupid.  And I absolutely refused to feel guilty for skipping classes.  Though I always believed school was important, I absolutely was not going to miss the trip to Bruges!  I had come to England for the experience, not just the education.  I wanted to see all that I could see.  Any opportunity that presented itself to visit other countries, I’d be damned if I was going to pass it up!  This would be my first trip to Europe and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  Unfortunately, now, that world is slipping away.  I’m so pleased I decided to go on the cruise.  I didn’t give my classes a second thought.  I didn’t know if I would get another opportunity like this.

I had never been on a cruise before and loved being on the boat, even though, through another small bout of idiocy, I almost missed it.  I had taken a taxi to the port early and arrived before any of my fellow American classmates or our faculty advisor, Tom, had appeared.  I had been worried about missing the boat so I was content to arrive almost an hour early to meet up with everyone.

Slowly, my fellow travelers began to drift in until there were about thirty students sitting with Tom in the lobby waiting for the call announcing that we could board our ship.  However, before we could get on the boat we had to fill out an immigration card.  Card…what card?  Oh, yes, that thick, little, yellow card we were given by the university when we signed up for the trip and I had just thrown away in the port lobby trash can while I was waiting to board because I didn’t think it was important.  Now, I suddenly realized I wasn’t going to be able to get on the boat without it!

I wasn’t alone in my error this time, however.  Most of the American students did not have their cards either much to the annoyance of the small customs officer guarding the gate.  The officer was a short, skinny man with sparse gray hair, a loud voice, and a total lack of patience.  He appeared to become even more aggravated and annoyed with each of the students who tried to pass through his gate without the appropriate documents.  Explaining that the yellow cards had to be completely filled out before we could board, the officer loudly pronounced each student “Idiot” or “Moron” as he handed out additional cards and pens.

Suddenly, it was my turn at the customs desk and I was added to officer’s “moron” list.  I took the card and the pen he handed me and ran over to a little bench against the side wall to fill out the document.  I put down all of the necessary information: my name, where I was from, what country I was traveling to, and when I expected to return.  I noticed that my fellow classmates had now boarded the boat and I was the last one left.  I hurriedly applied my signature to the card and ran back to the gate.  The officer snatched the card out of my hand and said, “You finally finished.  You’re leaving the country.  Good, we can all celebrate now that you’re gone.”

And all of a sudden, out of my mouth came the words, “Funny.  That’s what they said when I left America, too.”

The customs officer suddenly stopped and stared at me for a moment…and then laughed out loud.  He smiled at me so beautifully, wished me a great trip, and told me he hoped I traveled safely.  He stamped my card, handed it back to me with a squeeze of my hand, and pointed out which direction I needed to go next.  He walked me to the gate with an arm across my shoulders before telling me good-bye and returning to his desk.  It was so strange to me that just those few words that popped right out of my mouth made the officer so kind and warm.  It was a great start to the trip to Bruges, Belgium.

It got even better, too.  We were traveling over night and one of the first things we did upon boarding the ship was enter the dining room for supper.  My gosh, I have never seen so much food in my life!  All kinds of food was lined up on every available counter space and steam table on the far side of the large room.  The food was endless.  People were lined up everywhere, grabbing first, second, and third platefuls of fish, chicken, steak, potatoes, vegetables, and rich, creamy deserts.  The counters were never empty regardless of how much food the passengers seized.  I imagined that all of the food could probably have feed hundreds of families for the next five years.  As starving students, I don’t know if that fact occurred to us at the time as we continued to go back to the buffet tables for additional nibbles of the entrees.  The food was there and we continued to indulge, our stomachs almost as deep and endless as the North Sea we were crossing.

About ten pm that night, while many of my fellow students were at the on-board bar, disco, or movie theater, I stood out on the deck and looked out into complete, never-ending darkness.  Every now and then, I would see a small ripple of water, but I couldn’t believe how lost I was in the total blackness.  There were no lights at all from the sky or the sea.  I was just drifting away, alone, with no one or nothing to hold me down.  I stood for a long time sailing away in the darkness, contemplating what would happen if I fell over the side of the boat.  Now, this was very different.  I wasn’t contemplating suicide, but I was being seduced by the nothingness and silence of everything around me.  I just fantasized slipping into that darkness and letting myself drift peacefully away, floating into eternity.  Finally, exhausted from the day, I breathed deeply into the blackness a few more times before finally going off to bed and letting the gentle currents rock me into a deep sleep.

The next morning, I woke up early and went for a morning run around the ship before meeting up with my classmates, Melissa and Sheilah.  We walked around the ship singing “My Girl” at the top of our lungs.  I was just so in the moment, feeling the sea breeze against my skin and the rocking of the ship under my feet, that I sang out loud in full voice, something I don’t usually do with other people around.  I didn’t care who heard me that day.  I was happy, carefree, and at peace.

After a few hours, we finally docked at the Belgium port and prepared to leave the ship.  Most of us from Hull University got off the ship easily but had a long wait on the bus that was going to take us to our hotel.  I couldn’t imagine what was taking so long for us to leave.  Everyone grew more concerned as Tom left the bus several times to run back to the docked ship.  After forty-five minutes, we were finally given some information.  One person from our group was missing.  The absentee had been found but there was another problem.  He was too drunk to get off the ship.  He had partied so much the night before, that officials were working relentlessly and furiously that morning trying to revive him.

For many of the students, this was one of their first moments of freedom, away from home, family, and school, and they took full advantage of it.  It certainly didn’t help to be on a ship that had several bars, restaurants, movie theaters, discos, gyms, and food and drink everywhere.  It was a boat full of temptation everywhere a person turned.  Many people were enticed to indulge without limitations.

It was finally decided to leave the student behind and once he sobered up, he would join us in Bruges.  He finally came stumbling out of a taxi in front of the hotel late in the afternoon.  At least, he did make it and had the opportunity to see such a glorious city.

…And glorious it was!  I fell in love with Bruges.  It continues to be one of the most fascinating places I have ever been.  I watched a Christmas holiday parade that proudly presented Saint Nicholas riding into town on a donkey.  I took endless pictures of the unusual architecture and brick twisted streets.  I’m fascinated with architecture and have countless photos of buildings and city views.  I actually explored the city on my own.  Everyone else opted to party at night and sleep the day away. I was just the opposite.  I explored the city continuously during the day, walking through the gorgeous courtyards, dancing down the cobbled streets, daydreaming by the river, and fantasizing about being a princess in the thirteenth century.  I went to bed early every night, so I could wake up to enjoy the sun rising over beautiful Belgium.

On the very last day of our time in this great country, I actually took on the role of tour guide for several late-night-partying students.  I showed them the many highlights of the town before getting on the bus to head back to the docks.  Several people later told me how much they regretted not experiencing more of this beautiful city.  I have no regrets at all.  I took full advantage of exploring Bruges on the limited time I had there.

It was a rough journey back to England on the ship, though.  On the way to Belgium, the cruise had been very smooth and comfortable.  “That’s because we are fighting the currents,” Tom informed me when I expressed my surprise at the rough rocking and tossing of the ship this time.  That made sense.  I could understand that but then he continued, “I’m really surprised we got to go at all.  Last year, the crew forgot to shut the doors in the bottom of one of their passenger ships.  The bottom filled with water and the whole boat capsized.  Hundreds of people drowned.”  Way more information than I needed.  I went to bed that night, agonizing and praying over every bump and wave.  I was relieved when we finally made it back to England the next morning.

But that scare did not stop me from believing that my time in Bruges, Belgium, was one of the most magical adventures of my life.  Gorgeous, amazing, wonderful Belgium…my heart is breaking for you now.  I pray for your recovery and I’m saddened for all of the people who never got to experience your majestic, enchanted atmosphere in the past.  Visiting your amazing country has been one of my best memories.  God bless Belgium and all of her people.

 

 

 

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Peaceful Days

Tuesday, March 14, 2016, was a great day!  Oh, I didn’t do anything special. I wasn’t on some romantic adventure or wandering off to exotic faraway places.  I wasn’t hang gliding or zip lining or skydiving.  Tuesday was quiet, but it was still a great day.

I woke up around 9:00 am.  That is sleeping late for me.  I used to wake up around seven every morning.  But for the last six months, I had been working early morning hours.  My workday starts at 4 am.  So, staying in bed until 9:00 is a luxury.  I stretched, stumbled out of bed, and quickly dressed.  I left my room and walked through the quiet house.  By now, my sister-in-law, Mary, was gone for the day.  My brother, Tony, was already hard at work.  Over the past few weeks, Tony has been diligently working in the backyard every day.  He has been clearing away all of the brush and saplings that have collected and overgrown the fence line.  A few days ago, I asked Tony why he was cutting all of the young trees away.  He responded that there were too many of them.  As I listened to him explain the situation to me, I was suddenly fascinated with the strength and determination inherent in all forces of nature.  Tony told me that he didn’t plant any of the trees.  The saplings were from acorns that had been blown by the wind or were dropped by the numerous squirrels running throughout the yard.  The acorns had taken hold and grown roots deep into the soil which caused areas of the ground to buckle and cave.

“And look at this, Jamie,” Tony exclaimed as he pointed to several of the trees that were growing near the chain link fence.  The trees were growing so full and strong that their trunks had grown around the fence; the saplings had made the metal a part of their overall existence.  Metal had become embedded and absorbed by the wood.  As the trees grew, they had started lifting the fence with the steel poles up out of the ground.  Tony and Mary were concerned about the gaps at the bottom of the fence that were growing big enough for their three little dogs to slide through.  I was amazed when Tony showed me this phenomenon.  I guess nothing is stronger than every living thing’s natural inherent force to live, grow, and thrive.

I was amazed by the sight but still expressed some regret.  “It is too bad, though, that the trees can’t just grow free.  It’s sad that you have to cut them down.”

“Yeah,” Tony laughed, “now where are all of the little fairies going to live?”

I should have never told my brother that I believe in all magical and mystical things.  I didn’t mean it quite that literally but he is forever teasing me now about fairies, pixies, and unicorns running through the backyard.

Now, Tuesday morning, I smiled as I stood by the back door and watched Tony working so hard to clear away the yard.  I have always hated yard work.  I don’t like working under the hot sun or the feel of pulling weeds out of the ground.  But now, thinking about the information Tony shared with me, I slipped on my shoes and walked out the back door.  Before long, I was working side by side with my brother clearing away all of the brush that could create a dangerous fire hazard.  As we worked together, Tony and I shared stories, laughed, and teased.  As I worked, I watched the three little dogs running around the yard and digging up holes.  Every now and then, I would drop my gardening tools and chase them around in our own crazy, made up version of tag.  The dogs didn’t always play fair, but that’s okay; it was only a game.  The laughter and the playing made the work fun and enjoyable, and to my surprise, I suddenly found that I enjoyed yard work.  I loved the feel of the damp soil in my hands and the solid ground beneath my feet.  I loved working with the gardening tools and felt as if I was sculpting a more peaceful, danger -free environment.  I loved being outside and breathing the fresh air and for once I didn’t mind at all feeling the sun beating against my skin.

Tony and I worked together on the yard for several hours and had cleared away one small section before finally coming to a stop.  I felt flushed with the excitement of hard work and accomplishment.

After cleaning up and putting away the equipment, Tony and I grabbed a quick lunch together before he cleaned up and left for his job.  In a peaceful frame of mind, I spent the rest of the day, cleaning and organizing, writing, and pampering the dogs, who continued to demand my attention.  Once again, the dogs cuddled with me as we heard a bit of lazy thunder rolling around outside.  A few cool raindrops hit the house and front porch.  Little Starburst especially seemed anxious about the weather.  While the other two dogs began to relax on their own, Starburst stayed right with me.  She sat by my chair as I worked on the computer and refused to leave my side.  I didn’t mind.  I love bonding with the dogs and I’m always happy when they feel the need for my company.

Starburst was having an additional problem though.  I noticed it when she finally got up and walked across the hardwood floor in the family room

“Starburst, what’s going on?”  I asked her as if I really believed she would answer me.  “You sound like your tap dancing.”  Seriously, as she walked across the floor there was a continuous tap, tap, tap sound.  I easily picked her small furry body up into my arms and looked at her paws.  She had been out digging a small hole in the backyard earlier that morning and a tiny stone had gotten tangled up in the long hair around her right paw.  I tried desperately to snatch the stone away from her, but she continually jerked away from me.  Finally, I just cradled Starburst on my lap as I worked at the computer and waited for my sister-in-law to come home.  Together, Mary and I cut the stone away from Starburst’s paw and, once more, the dog was quietly trooping around the house.  I smiled as I watched her run and play with the other dogs.  It really felt good to take care of another living creature even in a very small way.

After a pleasant conversation with Mary and working on my latest writing project, I finally settled down into bed.  It had been such a pleasant day.  I didn’t do anything special.  I didn’t leave the house.  But I could not ignore the sense of peace and contentment that filled me.  And maybe that’s what counting blessings is really all about.  It’s enjoying those peaceful quiet moments in life.  It’s the ability to sit patiently and feel fulfilled.  I don’t always have days like this.  Many times, I am impatient for something to happen!  But now, I need to remember in my most anxious moments, that true contentment comes from the inside.  The ability to find bliss in quiet moments is a great gift.  I will probably never find happiness outside myself if I am not at peace first.  Just allowing life to happen without any preconceived notions is when I am always the happiest.

I fell into a contented sleep that night with my favorite Bible quote (Psalm 46:10) running through my head:

Be still and know that I am God (King James Bible)

Cease striving and know that I am God (New American Standard Bible)

Be still…something I rarely am but something I need to do more in my life.  I look forward to more quiet and happy days.  Be still… quiet days are filled with deep meaning and endless blessings …

 

Lessons from the Storm

Thunder!

I abruptly stopped typing on my computer keyboard when I suddenly heard the distant boom just outside my window.  The rumble wasn’t a loud clamor, but a quiet growl that seemed to echo all around me.  The weak roll of thunder still made me smile, though.  Of course, I considered the ever-changing and tumultuous weather patterns of the Midwest before I decided to return to Kansas last August.  Thunderstorms were one of the main things I missed while I was living for the last eleven years in the deserts of Southern California.

I love thunderstorms.  I love the feeling of being safe and warm inside while thunder clashes, lightening radiates, and rain cascades around my home.  I love witnessing the powerful effects of a storm that makes me realize the universe is even bigger than what I normally perceive.  Then, once the skies clear, I can smile at the approaching sunshine and realize that no storm last forever.  God’s great hope will always shine through the darkest and most violent times.  And then, when the storm…

A louder blast of thunder interrupted my thoughts, but it was the sudden howl and bark of our three dogs that made me jump.  Oh, my gosh, I had forgotten to consider how the dogs might react to this flash thunderstorm.  I hadn’t had a pet in nearly twenty years.  Moving into my brother and sister-in-law’s house last year had made me somewhat responsible for Tony and Mary’s three small, yippee, hyper, and anxious dogs when my family…my human family…was not at home.  I didn’t really mind; the dogs and I had bonded over the last several months.  I found great joy at times cuddling with the three mutts who always seemed to be starved for attention even though they usually dictate the happenings of the household.

I looked away from my computer and turned around in my chair.  Now, all three dogs were lined up, side by side, in the doorway to my room.  The dogs huddled closely together as they looked at me with huge, frightened, dark eyes.

“Doggies,” I started to say, using my pet name for the animals, “it’s okay!  It’s just thun…”

Suddenly an even louder boom rattled the windows, shook the house, and set the three dogs off as if they just heard the gunfire that signified the start of a race.  The three dogs jumped and banged into each other as they all started to run in different directions.  Frisky, the youngest and smallest of the three, ran directly under my bed.  Starburst and Cowboy, who are Frisky’s parents, ran in opposite circles for a moment before they both ended up hiding underneath my computer desk.  They huddled together as far back against the wall as they could get.

“Come out, doggies,” I called to all three of the animals.  I got down on my hands and knees and raised the blanket and sheets on my bed.  “Frisky, come on, sweetie,” I cooed as I tried to coax the little brown and white fur ball out of her hidden place.  “It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s only a storm.  I promise you’re safe.”  But Frisky did not believe me.  Two dark, wide eyes glowed back at me as the next burst of thunder propelled the dog back further into the shadowy areas.  I reached my hand under the bed and tried to touch the small, frightened animal.  But Frisky kept moving further back until she was now squished under the far side of the bed.  I found myself now lying flat out on the floor and crawling along on my belly as I tried to squeeze under the box springs.  My left arm reached out to grab the dog, but I just couldn’t reach her.  Finally, I gave up hoping Frisky would eventually crawl out on her own once the storm was over.  However, all it took was another, even closer slap of thunder to send Frisky racing out from under the bed in a furry, blurry blob to now join her mother and father under my desk.  Maybe, Frisky thought there was safety in numbers….or maybe, like all of us do, she just wanted to feel the loving warmth of her parents while she was so afraid.  Now, all three dogs again resorted to climbing on top and over each other as they searched for warmth and safety.

I just smiled now as I watched the dogs slowly beginning to calm back down.  I decided that I would just let the dogs stay under my desk if it helped ease their anxiety.  I sat back down in front of my computer and started to work again.  I couldn’t help but smile as the rain hit the windows and I rubbed my feet playfully against the soft fur of the three dogs clustered under my desk.  The dogs playfully began to roll over to allow my feet to pet their bellies and backsides.  We were all happy now and together…soon, however, there would be just a little too much togetherness.

The next clap of thunder sent all three dogs barking, howling, and running again.  This time the dogs began to claw at my legs as they tried to jump into my lap all at the same time.

“Doggies, doggies, settle down.  It’s okay.  You’re safe.”  But once more, the dogs refused to believe that the storm raging outside would not hurt them.  The dogs continued to push their way up onto my lap.  Looking down into the big eyes and furry faces, I couldn’t resist.  I leaned down and, one by one, helped each dog make the leap onto my lap.  There wasn’t a whole lot of room.  I had two of the dogs, Starburst and Cowboy, resting against each leg, and Frisky cuddled up directly on my lap.  I was just grateful in that moment that they were small dogs.  I don’t know how I would have managed if the dogs were Pit Bulls or Great Danes.  The dogs were lying on top of each other but for once, they didn’t seem to mind.  Usually, the dogs are fighting each other for attention.  I can never pet one without the other dogs knocking each other out of the way and placing their small, furry bodies underneath my outstretched hands.  I have heard the dogs growl and seen them nip at each other if they think one is being favored over the other two.  There have been a few times when my fingers have gotten caught between their tiny teeth as they wrestled violently for the top position of attention.

But today, as the rain hit against the window and the thunder continued to roll, the dogs didn’t seem to mind sharing the small space or me.  To my absolute surprise, the dogs even began to raise their furry paws and pat each other lovingly on the back or head.  They licked at each other’s faces as if trying to soothe worried brows.  The dogs tried lovingly to reassure each other that they were all safely together.  The comforting touches between the animals lightened the tension and soon all three dogs were breathing a little easier as they closed their eyes and began to doze.

I had to stop working on the computer then.  The dogs hampered my ability to correctly type up my thoughts.  But it didn’t matter, I smiled as I realized.  It had been a long time since I had taken care of another living creature during a raging storm.  I enjoyed this moment of feeling and delivering comfort and ease.  I delighted in the warmth of the dogs’ bodies as they cradled themselves around me.  I spent several minutes just relaxing, feeling warm and safe and, surprisingly, very present.  My own anxiety about my work, my writing, my life, and my world slowly dissolved as I stayed right in the moment.  I just sat there listening to the dogs breathing and feeling the weight of their small bodies.  I idly pet the dogs as I let my mind wander.  After a while, the storm began to ease.  The thunder and lightning stopped.  The rain became nothing more than a soft drizzle.

And I have never before experienced a more peaceful, sunnier glow after a storm….

The Faith of a Child

Sunday afternoon, I decided I needed to be free of all distractions.  Over the last month or two, I had fallen behind in my work.  With my cross-country move, starting my new job, and completing my novel, I had taken time away from writing my blog, my poetry, my journal, and my short stories.  I wanted to get back to writing again on a set schedule so no aspect of my work would suffer.  In order to do that, I needed to leave the house.  Facebook, laundry, cell phone, and TV are just a few of the culprits that can distract me from getting my creative endeavors accomplished.  With this thought in mind, I decided to head up to the local Wendy’s restaurant.  I was determined that I was going to sit in the restaurant for at least two hours, sipping cups of iced tea and writing several pages in my notebook.

About an hour into my work, I was making good progress.  I felt focused and thought I could work through the rest of the afternoon.  I had written two poems and had started scribbling ideas down for a new short story.  For a brief moment, I became stuck on a particular aspect of my narrative and glanced up and away from my notebook.  I had meant to look away for just a moment…but it was a moment that broke my concentration and suddenly I could no longer focus.

My mind had wandered over to the next table about ten feet away from me where a family of four had sat down to enjoy their dinner.  The parents were sitting with their backs to me, so I could not see their faces.  The two beautiful young children, however, were facing towards so I could see them two clearly.  The girl was around the age of seven with bright eyes and straight, long blond hair that was pulled by blue ribbons away from her smooth, round face.  The little boy appeared to be much younger as he sat forward on the bench of the booth.  His small feet did not even reach the floor.  Like a typical 5-year-old, he swung and kicked his legs joyfully as he ate his meal.  Both children were incredibly well-behaved and radiated a glow of good health and the happy inner light of youthful joy.

I smiled at the children before turning my attention back to my notebook.  I was reading over the ideas I had scribbled down when I suddenly heard a small sound.  I glanced up and realized the little boy was now speaking in an enthusiastic, sweet voice that bridged the distance between our two tables.  I tried not to listen.  I didn’t want to eavesdrop but his words kept getting my attention.

“Mom,” the child said, “remember what I told you was going to happen in 45 years?”

Though I could not see the mother’s face, I noticed that her body suddenly grew tense.  Her movements seemed to be on pause for a moment as she stared at her son.  I didn’t hear her response because she spoke in a soft whisper.  I could only hear a few mumbled sounds but her voice was too low to make out any words.

“Mom,” the child said again, “I told you before what was going to happen in 45 years.”

Now, the mother cleared her throat and answered, “In 45 years, I’m going to be 79.  And you are going to be 50….”

But the young child was not satisfied with this answer.  “No, Momma,” he protested.  “Don’t you remember what I told you?  When you and I die…”

Now the mother began to frantically whisper again.  The tone of her voice was kind, but her body continued to be tense as she spoke quickly to the boy.  She tried to explain to the child how they would both age over the coming years.

“No, momma,” the boy interrupted her.  Though he spoke in a steady voice, the volume had increased as he tried to get his mother to understand.  “Remember, I told you when we are going to die.”  Then the child must have suddenly become aware his mother’s agitation.  He said, “It’s okay, Momma.  You don’t have to be afraid.”

Again, the mother spoke but her voice was too soft to hear.  Her hands began to idly pick at the food still lying on the paper wrappers in front of her.

The child responded, “Momma, you don’t have to be afraid.  I won’t let you be afraid.  It’s okay, Momma.  Heaven is wonderful!”

Again, the woman stiffened as she listened to her small son.  “Remember, Momma.  Heaven is beautiful!  Do you remember what’s going to happen to us when we get to heaven?”  The child then began to laugh.  “Don’t you remember, Momma, what it’s like in heaven?  I remember, Momma….”

Both the young girl and the father said nothing as the child talked.  The family now sat in stunned silence as the child talk about the glories of heaven.  He spoke about the love of God and a complete absence of fear and worry.

Finally, the family stood up from the table and began to walk to the exit.  Halfway across the restaurant to the door, the mother suddenly stopped, looked down at her son, and then engulfed her tiny prophet in a deep, loving embrace.  Slowly, they pulled apart and the mother gripped her son’s hand as they walked out of the door together.

I sat still for a moment as I contemplated what I just heard.  The phrase “A child will lead them” entered my mind.  Children are born into this world knowing all about heaven, the universe, past lives, and healing secrets.  Children can see angels and departed loved ones, and they understand God’s mercy in ways adults can no longer even contemplate.  It’s so sad that we lose the ability to truly know God and witness the glory of his universe as we grow older.  We lose the fascination of childhood.  We lose the possibility of the impossible.  We give up as we grow up.  We let go of faith, and hope, and miracles just so we can exist in a world that is fleeting at best.

I want to know the glory of God and the universe as I did when I was a child.  I want to be that five-year-old again who has no doubt about heaven and believes in all possibilities.  I want to be that child who saw angels and felt the presence of God in all things.  I thought about the bible verse from Matthew 18: 2-4:

“Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.  Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”

Now, I smiled and put away my notebooks.  It suddenly didn’t matter how much work I could accomplish.  All my anxieties had disappeared.  I just had the sweetest of distractions and didn’t want to let go yet of the joy and happiness I was suddenly feeling.  I got up from my table and walked up to the front counter.  I bought myself chocolate ice cream which I hadn’t eaten in years.  I went back to my table and sat down slowly.  I tilted back in my seat and put my feet up on the opposite chair.  I sat for several minutes, enjoying the sweet taste of the ice cream as I watched the pink and orange glow of the sunset.  Life is not a distraction.  Yes, indeed, there is nothing to fear.  Heaven is wonderful!

 

 

First Snowfall

Last summer, when I was making plans to return to Kansas, there was one thing that caused some anxiety for me.  It was the reason I had originally left the Midwest and the reason I had stayed away for over twenty years.  I have hated winter ever since I was a small child.  I never liked playing in the snow, catching flakes on my tongue, building snowmen, riding sleds, or having snowball fights.  I have faced many challenges on my own, but I still whine like a spoiled child whenever I am cold.

I have a fear of falling on the snow and ice, so I tend to walk with very tiny steps and my toes pointed directly to the middle whenever I have to go outside.  My mother noticed my little baby steps one time and laughed at me.  “Jamie, what are you doing?” she asked in surprise.  “You’ll be okay.  Just walk normally.  The way you actually pigeon walk on the ice is what makes you fall.”  I did not take her advice, however.  I still continue to walk in tiny little toe pinching steps across the snow.

I think my problem with winter began when I was just five-years-old.  My mother did not have a driver’s license, so my maternal grandmother always took me to my kindergarten class which started at noon every weekday.  One morning, Kansas City, Kansas, experienced a record-breaking snowstorm, which left over two feet of snow on the ground.  My father had taken my two older sisters to school on his way to work that morning.  As snow started to rain down out of the gray, wet sky, Mom was left at home with my baby brother, Tony, and me.  My grandmother called to say she would not be taken me to school that day.  She refused to drive in the snow.  Yay!  A snow day for me….no!

For some unknown reason, my mother was determined that I was going to school that afternoon.  She dressed me in a pair of red tights, a plaid red dress, a white sweater, big white plastic snow boots, and a small blue jacket.  She bundled Tony up in his little, puffy, blue snowsuit.  Then, with baby Tony in her arms and gripping me by the hand, Mom left the house.  She was determined she was going to walk me all the way up to school.

I was absolutely miserable!  I cried and begged and whined for Mom to take me back home as we walked the three miles to Stony Point North Elementary School.  The snow was so deep that it came to the middle of my tiny thighs.  I remember gripping Mom’s hand as I raised my foot almost up to my chest every time I needed to take a step forward.  I would put my foot back down on the icy surface and plunge into two feet of snow.  Every step was a challenge.  I was chilled to the very depths of my being as snow filled my boots and froze my feet and legs.  Twice, I lost my balance and fell face forward into the snow.  Mom would just yank me back up again by my hand and sigh wearily as she saw the snow encrusting my nose and mouth.

As Mom struggled to keep me moving forward, the challenge was made worse by my baby brother, who kicked and screamed and pounded his tiny fists.  He was fascinated with the snow and wanted to dive head first into the clean, white powder.  Mom struggled to keep me standing and Tony securely tucked into her arms as we made our way to the school.

I don’t know how my mother handled it all, but we made it to the school just fifteen minutes past twelve.  I had arrived in class with a red, runny nose and cold, soaking wet feet.  I don’t know how my mother was able to get me all the way to school and then make the long, wet, cold walk home. She never complained or talked about it again.  It was just something she did and a choice she made as a mother.

I did not have to walk home.  I was eternally grateful that my father had left work early to pick my sisters and me up from school.  I am grateful to my parents for the sacrifices they made for me…and, yet…I still hate winter!  This fact spun around and around in my head endlessly as I returned to my childhood home in Kansas.

At the beginning of November, I began to prepare for the upcoming winter.  I bought coats, sweaters, gloves, boots, ice scrapers, defrosters…I had been living in the desert of sunny Southern California for the past eleven years.  I didn’t even own a single pair of warm wool stockings!  I felt completely unprepared and at the mercy of a harsh cold winter season.  Throughout the months of November and December, I held my breath and waited for the snowstorms, freezing rain, sleet, and hail to begin.

November and December weather, though, was surprisingly warm, calm, and mild, except for a 5-day storm over the Thanksgiving weekend that was more rain than ice or snow.  I prayed that the weather would stay tame throughout the holidays.  Just let me get to Christmas, I prayed.

And it happened, my prayer was answered.  Friday, December 25, 2015, was dry, warm, and beautiful with a high of 46 degrees.  The first snow and ice storm didn’t occur until the following Monday, December 27, 2015.  I was a little apprehensive as I listened to the news reports about the approaching storm. The storm would start late Sunday evening and continue all day on Monday.   It would first produce rain which would later turn into freezing rain and sleet until a heavy snowfall closed out Monday evening.

I awoke Monday morning around 9 am to see the storm already in progress.  Light freezing rain was falling from the leaden sky.  “It’s not bad yet,” my brother, Tony, observed.  He has lived in Kansas all of his life, so I decided to accept his word for it.  Around eleven am, he stated, “Let’s go out for a while.  Let’s go to lunch before it can get really bad.”

Over big bowls of hot soup and salty chips at the local Chili’s, Tony, my sister-in-law, Mary, my nephew, Logan, and I laughed and teased and bonded as we told stories of our childhoods. It was an extremely pleasant, enjoyable lunch that made all four of us feel warm and safe even as the storm continued to rage outside.

The only confrontation came when Tony noticed the way I was pigeon walking and toe hopping across the frozen parking lot.  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.  “Why can’t you walk right?”

Mary quickly stuck up for me.  “She hasn’t been in snow for years,” she said.  “She’s not used to it.  That’s why she’s walking funny.”  I nodded at Mary as she gripped my arm and pigeon walked with me across the snow and ice.

The weather had gotten much worse as we left the restaurant.  The sleet was now stinging our skin and pinging off the tops of the cars.  Large snowflakes were beginning to drift in the air.  “We better get home now,” Tony advised and I wasn’t going to argue with him.  I quickly pigeon walked to the car and climbed into the backseat.

That afternoon, when we were warm and safe back home again, Mary called me over to the back door.  “Come here but be very quiet.  I want to show you something.”  Mary was looking out of the large full-length window of one of the French doors that lead to the backyard.  Through the glass, Mary pointed at the large, beautiful, fir tree only five feet away from the porch.  She whispered, “Look.  Do you see them?  There are blue jays trying to find shelter from the sleet in that tree!  Look to the inside of the tree and you will see them.”

I looked where Mary directed and laughed.  Five beautiful blue jays were jumping from limb to limb as they searched for a warm, dry place to stay warm.  As the sleet and snow continued to fall, the backyard was suddenly coming to life.  Squirrels raced up and down the trees as they scurried around looking for food.  Birds flew from tree to tree.  Mary and I sat together for a while as we watched the animals running around the backyard.  Mary’s face glowed with delight and wonder as she watched all of the critters still preparing for the rest of the winter.

I realized then that winter did not have to be a cold, lifeless, hard season.  This day was a perfect example of what winter should be.  I had a great moment bonding with my family.  I had watched adorable little creatures preparing for the cold.  I had felt the peacefulness of watching large white snowflakes tumbling to the ground.

I think I could grow to love winter….

…As soon as I perfect my pigeon walking technique!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas Season

Christmas is only 18 days away right now.  I’m very excited.  I love the holiday season, even if I don’t do anything special.  I don’t put up a Christmas tree or sing carols.  I don’t buy presents or string lights around my studio apartment.  I don’t visit Santa Clause or go back home to Kansas.  Yet, there is something about this time of year that creates feelings of love and hope within me.  I’ve always believed that Christmas is the season of peace, the time of miracles.  I have been so fortunate.  I learned to believe in miracles at a very early age.

In my earliest memory, I was just six-years-old.  One particular night, I did not feel blessed or miraculous.  I did not feel loved or safe.  Instead, I was lying in bed, crying deep wracking sobs.  I don’t remember exactly why I was crying.  I only remember being very afraid.  Well, I must have cried myself to sleep because the next thing I remember I was surrounded by morning.  The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was bright golden sunlight pouring in through the window across from my bed.  I just watched the sunlight, fascinated by its glimmering rays that lit up every corner of my bedroom.   I was lying on my back with my left hand resting palm up next to my head on the pillow.  I suddenly became aware of a warm pressure in the palm of my hand.  I turned my head and saw a smooth hand with long slender fingers resting in mine.  I followed the hand up the arm to the shoulder until I found myself staring into the face of an angel who was sitting by my bedside.  The angel was dressed in long white robes, her wings rustling softly behind her, and her halo lighting up her face and golden hair.  Her lips curved then into a gentle smile before her hand slipped out of mine and she began to move away from me.  She floated effortlessly across the room and flowed through the shaft of light that drifted in through the window.  The golden glow of sunlight followed her out of the room and soon I was just surrounded by normal morning light.

Angels have always graced our lives.  Miracles have always occurred.  Why have we stopped looking for them?  Why do we not believe?  Every year, Christmas fills me again with the hope and dreams of miracles to come.  I don’t need lights, or presents, trees, or Santa Clause.   Christmas is about love and hope, giving and learning, finding miracles and creating magic.   Christmas is a state of mind. I just have to remember that I can create and celebrate Christmas every  day of the year.

Angel In the Mirror

Because I felt the need to laugh
I bought myself a mirror
And every time I looked inside
An angel would appear

She had a halo of endless gold
And wings that shimmered with spring
And with every prayer I would say
She would start to sing

She sang to me of the universe
And blessings soon to come
And when I needed comfort
She would start to hum

She was my tender spirit
The other part of me
And I knew without a single word
That God has always loved me

And then one day to my dismay
My mirror began to crack
My angel flew out of the glass
I didn’t know if she’d be back

I cried that night because I thought
That I was all alone
But then I heard angelic voices
A choir of angels was in my home

The angels sang with all their might
And gave God’s word to me
“God is forever by your side
And shall always be

So don’t be sad if your mirror
Should suddenly fall apart
It had been just a reflection
Of what is in your heart

Travel with God by your side
And learn to have no fear
And when you need to have a laugh
Remember…
You are the angel in the mirror”

–Jamie Zunick

Finding Meaning in Las Vegas

Even though I’ve enjoyed traveling around the world, I have been thinking lately that it is time for me to settle down. I need to get married, have a family, own a home and, perhaps, a dog. I’ve never been married and, honestly, I don’t have a lot of faith that it’s a possibility for me. I’m not good at flirting. I am awkward and shy. I’ve always been an outsider. I don’t do well with social games. I always tend to lose.

But last weekend, I was determined to change all of that. I was taking a few days off to go to Las Vegas. I just knew that this was going to be a great weekend for me. I had fantasies that I was going to meet someone very special. I tend to attract more people when I go out of town than when I’m at home. That’s easy to understand though. When I’m in my home city, I run around in sweats, with no make-up and my hair is unkempt. It’s different when I go out of town. I tend to make an effort to make myself more attractive.

So last Saturday, while I was in Vegas, I woke up early and took my time fixing my hair and make-up. I put on a long skirt that makes me look taller. My 5’5” frame looked slimmed and stretched to at least 5’7. I felt great and attractive as I walked down the Vegas strip. I’ll admit I did a few tosses of my long curled copper red hair as I smiled beguilingly at the people walking around me. I even caught myself glancing every now and then at my reflection in the windows of the shops and restaurants as I passed by. I laughed and took pictures and just felt happy and attractive… until I reached one of the overhead pedestrian walkways that crossed over South Las Vegas Boulevard.

I decided not to take the escalator or elevator. I felt strong and healthy so I went bounding up the twelve concrete steps. I was near the top of the stairs when suddenly the front tip of the sandal on my right foot caught on the edge of the top step and I felt myself pitching forward.

I put out my hands but wasn’t able to stop myself. I fell forward onto my face but that wasn’t the end of this escapade. By the time it registered in my brain that I was always falling, I was already rolling down the steps. Within seconds, I found myself sprawled in a tangle of limbs and long full skirt on the corner of Aria and South Las Vegas Boulevard. I laid there for a moment burning with embarrassment in front of all of the people. Yet, I felt strangely alone. No one helped me up. No one asked me if I was okay. Then I opened my eyes to find a group of men standing on the corner pointing at me and laughing hysterically.

I looked down at the palms of my hands that were scrapped raw. My left foot felt twisted and bruised. My biggest concern though was my camera. The little bottom door of the camera laid open and the batteries were falling out. Amid the sounds of loud laughter and chattering voices, I pulled myself up from the ground and snapped my camera back together. Then, with as much dignity as I could muster, I began to walk back up the steps, moving slowly but with my head held high. I reached the top and continued my journey down the strip still feeling my body tingling with embarrassment. I should have known better. I shouldn’t have been strutting. I shouldn’t have been feeling so proud and pleased with myself. I should have known I was going to crash for being so…

“Hey, hey, Red,” I suddenly heard a voice call. “Hey, Red!” I looked away from my thoughts now and noticed a homeless man standing directly in front of me. He was wearing torn denim shorts and a stained brown plaid button door shirt that was hanging open to display his thin bony chest. His long hair was clumped together with dirt and his long goatee was braided to a point at his chin. “Oh, God,” I groaned inwardly as my body still ached from the fall, “what now?”
“This is for you, Red,” the man said as he suddenly turned and jumped onto a short concrete pillar. He sat on the pillar as the fountains of the Bellagio Hotel suddenly burst into action. Large streams of water suddenly sprayed up and danced in time to the music from Phantom of the Opera.

The homeless man didn’t miss a single movement or beat as he waved his hands around in time to the music. I was suddenly captivated by this man, drawn helplessly into his fantasy. As I watched his movements, I truly believed he was conducting a massive water orchestra. Every few seconds, the man turned around and smiled at me as I stood on the sidewalk. At the end of the performance, he jumped down off the pillar and bowed elegantly to me before taking his place again on the sidewalk with the rest of the people who were begging for handouts. I smiled then as I walked down the strip to the Mirage Hotel.

Once inside the Secret Garden, I stood before the cage of the white tigers. Two of the tigers were perched up on a low tree branch as they lazily passed away the sunny afternoon. One of the tigers was staring directly at me. I was so mesmerized by this creature, I couldn’t turn away. I felt so connected to this amazing animal as we continued to make direct contact. The whole universe existed within his round dark eyes. “It’s the hair,” I suddenly heard a voice say. I turned around to look at the trainer who was standing next to me. The young man smiled at me and said, “The tiger is fascinated with your red hair.” I smiled then and felt a light blush tinge my cheeks as I slowly pulled myself away from the front of the cage.

I walked over to the dolphin habitat then. While most people were crowded around the large tank where several trainers were working with three dolphins, I stood next to the second smaller tank, playing with two young dolphins. I watched in awe as the animals jumped out of the water and spun in the air. Several times, the dolphins pushed their gray shiny bodies up on the dock directly in front of me. “See,” a trainer whispered from behind me, “they like you. They’re showing off for you.”

I was actually deeply happy then. I smiled with my heart because now I truly understood the purpose of this day. Maybe I was never meant to get married and settle down. Maybe I was never meant to have a husband and family. Maybe the dog and the house were out of my reach. My life consists instead of jumping dolphins, mesmerizing white tigers, and a homeless man who conducts water symphonies for me. My life is pure and joyful. I am truly blessed.

The Randomness of My Life

I was reading back over my blogs the other day and released that there’s not really a theme. Was I supposed to have one? I noticed that most bloggers write about a certain thing–fashion, food, travel. But I can’t seem to focus. I can’t seem to choose one thing. I realized then that my blogs are just as random and unorganized as my life.

It made me think of a writing assignment I was giving a few years ago. What was the best year of my life in a 5-year span? I still don’t know how to answer that. Nothing actually stands out in my mind. I have never climbed Mount Everest, sailed around the world, or performed a heroic feat that saved another person’s life. Maybe I didn’t know what to write because I couldn’t think of a specific moment that turned my life around. I have never married. I don’t have children. I have never won the lottery. My life instead has been very different. It has been a day-to-day process. It has been a continuous unfolding of insight and understanding. I see my life as being an endless progression of trial and error.

Maybe I am trying too hard. Maybe I am overthinking the question. Maybe I should think about the happy moments of my life. Maybe I should think of the times that have made me feel alive and joyful to be in this world. I think of my miraculous moments. I have seen angels and other visions. I have helped people heal through massage and energy work. I have traveled extensively around the world. I have gone to several different schools and graduated with honors. I have taught in several different schools and helped others graduate with honors. I have waded in the oceans. I have gazed at mountains shining purple in the sunlight. I have received hugs from family and friends. I have experienced painful breakups of relationships. I have watched friends and family suffer and pass through my life no matter how hard I tried to hold onto them. I have read great books that showed me a different way of life. I have seen great movies that have inspired emotions deep within me. I have listened to amazing music that moves my soul in the same way it moves my feet. I have screamed for victory at sporting events. I have competed in the race of life for an attainable victory. I have tried to be kind, though I know I don’t always succeed when I am tired or stressed. I have taken beautiful photographs and have become frustrated when others don’t see the amazing things that I do. I have been strong at times and shown amazing courageous. I have been shy at other moments and cowered away from perceived threats. I have held babies. I have watered plants. I have cared for pets. I have treasured objects that would have no value to anyone else. I have lived life to the very brink of its existence. I have slept and being lazy on warm summer days. I have eaten great food and then worried about my weight. I have exercised and loved my body. I have hated my body and every one of its flaws has left me depressed and feeling unlovable. I have moments when I have doubted God’s existence. There were days when I have doubted my own existence. There are times when I have been a great believer just because I saw a sunrise or a drop of rain. I have great faith that won’t diminish even on days of sadness. I have great sadness that can sometimes diminish my faith. I have had a life filled with many years of great joy and tremendous sadness. I have had many years that I want to live again and others I would wish to erase from my memory.

So to answer what is the best year of my life, what can I say? Maybe I haven’t lived enough. Maybe I have lived too much. I can’t concentrate on one idea. My life is swirling in front of my eyes as if I am about to pass over into a new existence. When I finally do pass over into a new existence, will I look back on the best year of my life? Will I know then when the best time of my life had been? No, I will only know that I had a life…

The Frog Prince

I usually got off work around 10:30 pm. Most nights, as I walked through the courtyard to my apartment, I would see a big bullfrog sitting out by the pool, soaking up the moonlight. I usually am squeamish around any kind of slimy, hopping, crawling thing. I think the bullfrog was a little wary of me, too. Every time I would approach, he would frantically hop away trying to avoid me. He would take long leaps back into the garden and hide within the foliage. This little game between the two of us went on for a few weeks. It was always the same until March of 2010. In that month, I lost my mother to complications of colon cancer.

The death of my mother left a big void in my life. She had been my confidant, traveling companion, and best friend. I really missed her. The loneliness was intense after she passed. I spent the next couple of days just listlessly going to work and returning home to the lonely apartment my mother and I had shared.

In August of 2009, my mother had moved from Kansas to California to live with me. We spent the time we had together traveling throughout California and the southwest. We were together for just nine months before I lost her. After her death, I didn’t feel like traveling or going anywhere. I spent long days just going to work and coming back home.

A few days after losing my mother, I returned home from another long work day. I got out of my car, walked up the sidewalk from the parking lot, and turned the corner into the courtyard. There again, sitting by the pool, was the bullfrog. I just ignored it at first and started walking towards my apartment. I was positive the frog would move as I approached. But something strange happened this night. Instead of hopping away, the frog actually turned and looked right at me. I stopped for a moment and just stared back. I decided to just keep walking forward. The frog was sure to get nervous and jump away from me. But he didn’t. instead the frog just sat patiently by the pool and waited for me to come nearer. When I walked by the frog, he suddenly turned and started moving in the direction I was walking towards my apartment. He hopped along with every step I took. He stayed right by my side and I had to laugh that he stopped when I stopped and moved when I moved. He stayed with me right to the steps of my second floor apartment. I stepped up the first step and the little frog hopped up beside me. This is as far as he would go, however. He stayed on the first step as I continued on up to the second level. His large black eyes followed me all the way up the stairs. Once I made it to the top, I glanced back down over the balcony railing and watched as the frog turned in my direction. He stared up at me and gently chirped, serenading me with a beautiful natural song.

After a few minutes, I went inside my apartment. However, every time I glanced outside, my frog was still there, still sitting on the first step and staring up at my apartment. And suddenly, I realized I had laughed for the first time since my mother had passed. I went to bed that night feeling hopeful and safe with my frog prince sitting down at the bottom of the steps. I never saw the frog again after that night, but I continued to wonder about the experience. Was this frog a sign from Mom or the angels? Could this frog have been my prince, my knight in shining armor? Should I have kissed him and found out? I don’t know. I didn’t try. I just had the enjoyment of knowing, even after the loss of my mom, that I was safe and protected and loved in God’s great universe.