Mind/Body Connection

Our Shih Tzu, Starburst, has an underbite.  Whenever she smiles, her bottom teeth prominently show.  This is what the dog looks like when she is happy:

 

It makes me laugh to see her smile because, sometimes, I worry that she suffers from depression and anxiety.  There are days when she is completely listless.  She won’t get out of her bed.  Some days, she becomes impatient, angry, and demanding; other days, she is very quiet and remains distant and aloof.

Lately, however, Starburst has been very happy.  She jumps around excitedly whenever I walk in the front door.  She runs around in circles and then stops right in front of me.  She smiles while her tail wags so hard and fast her little backside bounces off the floor.  Then she runs down the hallway and tumbles over with her bottom flipping up over her head.  She prances back into the living room and jumps excitedly up onto the couch and begs for attention until I rub behind her ears.  “Hey, little Fur Face,” I’ll tease her.  But she doesn’t mind my name calling.  She’ll roll over onto her back and wait for her belly to be rubbed.  I usually avoid doing this, though.  Starburst has a very sensitive spot on the right side of her body.  If I accidentally brush over this area, she’ll sit up with a shriek and nip at my hand.  I’ve learned the hard way not to be persuaded to rub her belly, even though she looks up at me with her big, brown puppy dog eyes.  I’ll just shake my head at her, walk into my bedroom, and close the door behind me.

Starburst isn’t finished playing, though.  Her favorite game is “Ding Dong Ditch.”  She likes to scratch at my door while I’m working.  I try to ignore her, but she keeps knocking until I finally get up from my chair and open the door.  I look down the hallway and see the dog’s furry backside bouncing up and down as she runs back to the living room.  I follow her only to find that she has jumped into her small, round bed and pretends to be asleep.

I go back into my bedroom and a few minutes later, the scratching begins again.  I open the door, and Starburst is once more running back to her bed.  She jumps onto the mattress and once more pretends to sleep.  “Stop now, Starburst,” I’ll tell her.  “Your not funny.”

But the situation happens again.  I hear scratching at my door.  I see a small dog racing down the hallway.  I see her little body jerk into bed.  She lays her head down and once more closes her eyes.  This time, however, I just laugh at her.  I walk over and  pick her up. I cuddle her close and carry her back into the bedroom with me where she will fall asleep on my lap while I work on my novel or my poetry book.  Sometimes, she’ll crawl underneath my bed where she snores and sniffs loudly as she enjoys her dreams.

There were some late nights when Starburst would visit my bedroom and become very agitated.  I don’t know what it was, but something inside my closet upset her.  She would stand stiff and straight in the middle of my room, staring intently and growling at something in the corner of my closet.  There were some nights that she really freaked me out, too.  Did she see…or sense…something that I couldn’t comprehend?

But last night, she was suddenly over her fear.  As soon as she entered my bedroom, she went over to the closet and climbed in through the open wooden door.  She then quickly created a small nest out of my shoes and promptly fell asleep.  There was no growling or barking, no fear or agitation.  She snored peacefully. And I slept much easier that night, too.

Starburst is also learning to have better manners and not be so impatient.  Before, whenever she was hungry or thirsty, she would stand in the kitchen with her bowl in her mouth.  She would fling the bowl, hitting me in the ankles with it, whenever I walked into the room.  Oh, yes, I got the message: she needed food or water!

Starburst no longer behaves this way now, though.  The other night, I walked into the kitchen to wash the dishes.  I didn’t notice that her bowl was empty.  Instead of throwing it at me, I suddenly heard a small cough.  Seriously, the dog just started to emit dainty, little coughs.  Ahha! Ahha!  She sounded just like Ben Stiller in Zoolander when he thought he had the black lung.  But she got my attention, and I filled her bowl.  She looked up at me with a grateful smile, sipped slowly, and then gracefully walked out of the kitchen with her tail held high.  She hadn’t been anxious or angry.  She was courteous and kind.  This made me very happy.

Starburst had had some health issues over the last few months.  She had been suffering from digestive illnesses, and her right eye had become infected making it difficult for her to see.  Mary, my sister-in-law, had taken Starburst to a series of vet appointments that include a few shots and several rounds of medication.  The loving efforts of my sister-in-law and the doctor really has made a difference.

Starburst is returning to good health, and her personality has been affected in very positive ways. She is a perfect example of the mind/body connection.  It is true for every living thing.  When we are in good health, we are loving and kind.  When we feel good about ourselves and practice love, our phsyical bodies heal.  I smile now as Starburst comes into my room.  And as she cuddles up on my lap and falls asleep, I wish good health and loving blessings on everyone of God’s precious creatures.  God Bless You and Good Health!

 

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Rainbows

I have always been the type of person to answer, “Oh, I’m fine,” whenever anyone asked me about my overall well-being.  I have a confession to make, though.  I am not always fine.  Anxiety, depression, and insomnia are part of my family heritage, and I am continually fighting to overcome these behaviors.  I meditate and keep positive mantras circulating through my mind.  I surround myself with beautiful, colorful artwork and post inspiring images on my Facebook page.  I listen to music to turn off my constantly chattering mind.  I enjoy long drives and indulge in road trips just to clear my head.  I don’t watch violent movies and television shows.  I delete hateful Facebook posts and avoid reading depressing news reports and bullying “tweets.”  I avoid anything that inspires negative thinking.

But I have to admit that over the last few weeks, due to medical concerns and professional problems, I had allowed myself to slip into a depth of despair.  Honestly, for a while, it felt good to just let go and not be strong for a while.  The only problem was that once I let myself fall, I had a hard time getting back up again.  The more comfortable I became with my negative attitude, the further down into my misery I sank.  I stayed completely alone in my anguish for a few weeks until I finally grew bored and realized I needed to move on with my life.  But I didn’t have the energy.  Even simple pleasures like meditating, day trips, coffee with friends, listening to music, reading, writing, or just vegging out to old episodes of Survivor on Hulu didn’t bring me any kind of enjoyment.

Finally, last Monday, I felt something within me shift and I suddenly realized that I needed to do something to renew my spirit.  I told myself that I didn’t need to make any big moves.  I just needed to do one small thing today that would put me back on my life path again.  So that afternoon, I reached out to my brother and sister-in-law and offered to take them out to dinner.  It would be my treat wherever they wanted to go.  To be honest, there was a part of me that hoped they would tell me no.  I wanted them to say that they had other plans, or that they weren’t interested in seeing me.  But instead, they seemed happy and eager to get together.

So, even though I just wanted to stay in my room for the rest of the day, I got myself cleaned up and went out to dinner at a local barbeque restaurant with my family.  Luckily, I had opened up to my sister-in-law that afternoon, and told her about my concerns and worries.  That conversation had lightened my soul and given me the strength to face the rest of the evening.  Now, as I sat in a booth, enjoying a good meal, listening to music, and telling stupid jokes with my brother, I felt renewed.  I realized my biggest problem was that I had stayed to myself for far too long.

As we left the restaurant, I continued to feel joyful as we climbed into my brother’s car.  As we headed down 635 North, I glanced out the passenger window and stared in shock.  A large, beautiful rainbow was arching high up in the sky.  It hadn’t rained that day; there had been no storms and yet a colorful rainbow shined through a few of the low hanging clouds.  To me, it was a promise of a new start and better, brighter days ahead.  And then a thought suddenly occurred to me.  What if that rainbow had been there for the last several days, but I had been so caught up in my own head, that I just couldn’t see it>  I shook my head then and wondered what other amazing glories I had missed because I had let myself wallow in depression.

I can’t say that I will never be depressed or anxious again, but now I know, that no matter what, I always need to look for, and appreciate, the sudden rainbows, the simple pleasures, that always surround me.

 

 

 

 

Vibrant Red

It all started with a very simple comment.  A co-work looked at me the other day and asked, “When are you going to dye your hair again?”

I was a little surprised by her question.  It was true that I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to my hair lately.  Life has been so busy that I really hadn’t given a lot of thought to my style or color.  Over the last several weeks, I have just been washing my hair in the evenings and then giving it a few quick strokes with a brush before rushing off to work in the morning.  I don’t fuss with my hair for the rest of the day.  This is fine for me.  I have never been an “every hair in place” kind of girl.  I like my hair wild.  I admit though that sometimes it looks a little too wild, a little too untamed.  I don’t think I’m lazy.  I just have more important concerns than the color or cut of my hair.

Yet, I felt myself cringe a little as I looked at my coworker.  Her hair is always creatively styled and her makeup always looks professionally applied.

I hesitated for just a moment before answering her question.  Unfortunately, my reply wasn’t very motivating.  “I don’t know,” I answered.  “I’ll take care of it when I have more time.”

“Well, it doesn’t look bad right now,” she assured me, “but your color is kind of faded.  Your hair is the color of a peach.  I always picture you as a vibrant redhead.”

Her words made me smile. A vibrant redhead.  I had experimented with that color in the past.  I loved it, even though, I reluctantly admit, that years ago, it also made me very uncomfortable.

When I was born, I was completely bald; there was not a single strand of hair on my smooth, tiny head.  As I grew into a toddler, I had just a few wisps of pale blond hair.  My mother always loved to tell the story that when I was three years old, she had pulled the few strands of my hair up to the top of my head and secured them there with a small plastic barrette.  While we were at the grocery store, a man kept staring at me before walking over to the basket I was sitting in and looking down at the top of my head.  “Oh, she does have hair,” the man said to my mother then.  “I thought you had just stuck that clip straight down into the top of that poor baby’s head.”  Mom always thought that was adorable.  The story though haunted and embarrassed me for most of my life until I finally learned to laugh at myself.

But awkward comments were to be expected.  My childhood hair was always very fine and pure platinum blond.  I was very different from my both sisters who had thick hair.  My oldest sister was a dark brunette, while my other sister was a redhead.  We looked like a rainbow when we stood side by side.  The full light spectrum was always reflected off our hair whenever we were together.  I was the lightest, the palest everywhere we went; I was the one who always seemed to fade into the background.  Being a very shy child, I didn’t mind.  I rather liked it that way.

As I grew older, my hair darkened, until one day, when I was about 15, a neighborhood fried commented to me, “You’re going red!  Oh my gosh, you have red hair now!”

I was horrified!  I didn’t want to have red hair!  Red hair was so rare where I was growing up that my sister was continually teased about her coloring.  She was always noticed and the center of attention at any gathering.  I didn’t want that.  I wanted to stay pale and blonde and wallflower-y alone.  But I couldn’t fight it at the time.  Against my will, my platinum blond coloring continued to darken to auburn.

After a few years, as I slowly gained more confidence, I grew into my hair and I was proud of the color.  I wasn’t vain about my appearance.  There was still too much about my body that I hated.  I wasn’t thin; my long feet turned out awkwardly.  But I started to appreciate my red hair color which made me look much different from other people….in a good way.  I liked the idea that my hair was uniquely my own.

My hair wouldn’t stop changing color, though.  It went from a pale blond to a light red to a dark red until gentle gray strands began to shoot out all over my head.  I started to get gray hair at an early age.  I was only 26 when the first few gray strands appeared.  I must have inherited this trait from my maternal grandmother.  Grandma Edie was completely gray by the time she was 27.

Okay, I may have slowly learned to enjoy my red hair but I wasn’t so appreciative of the gray, even if it was premature.  It just made me feel old and I cried every time I was asked at a fast food restaurant if I wanted the senior discount.

It was time to dye my hair.

At first, I decided to relive my childhood and dyed my hair platinum blond like Marilyn Monroe.  But I’m not Marilyn and the color just once more made me look pale and washed out.  My life had changed; I had changed, and I was no longer accepting the wallflower position.  Red is the color of my soul.  But just like figuring out the dosage of prescription drugs, it took several experiments with different products, mixtures, and timing to get the right tint of red that made me feel the most comfortable.  Some reds were just too brassy for me; others made me look like a large carrot; a few dyes turned me into a pumpkin head.  I even tried burgundy once and really liked it until I realized it had faded to pink.  Yes, that’s right, I walked around with pink hair for several weeks before I finally took the time to dye it again.

Several shades later, I finally found the hue I liked the best and thought was the most flattering for my features.  I loved being strawberry blond.  It wasn’t too dark for me and the red shined brightly out in the sun.

This was the shade I had been using when my coworker made her comment to me.  The problem wasn’t with the dye but with the fact that I just hadn’t taken the time to touch it up again.  My gray roots were beginning to show, but I still didn’t really care.  It was true, though.  I was a peach with rotting, gray areas.  I decided to freshen myself up and started shopping through hair dyes that afternoon.  I reached for the box containing my usual strawberry blond formula but then stopped.  A vibrant red?  I had tried that before and many people made comments that my hair was a spark, a fire, a beacon, a siren.  But…vibrant red…Yeah!  That’s me!  Feeling adventurous and frivolous, I bought the red dye and hurried home before I could change my mind.

That afternoon, I mixed up the color and quickly applied it to my hair.  I wasn’t very careful with it.  I wanted to hurry up with the processes.  I’m not girly-girl enough to spend a lot of time on my hair.  I really didn’t want to mess with it.  I put the dye on and waited half an hour before rinsing it off.  I wrapped a towel around my head and squeezed out any additional water.  I took off the towel and didn’t really pay much attention to the color.  My hair is usually dark when it’s wet…no big deal.  I was sure it would be much lighter once it was dry.

Um…wrong!

About an hour later, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror.  “Oh, my God, what have I done!?”  My hair was certainly vibrant red, the color of blood, Midwest harvest summer sunsets, cherries, Mars, and measles.  I was horrified…it was horrible.

Too make the situation worse, my sister-in-law, Mary, was very nice as she complimented me on the new hair color…but then kindly pointed out there was a big problem.  Because I had been in such a hurry to complete the process, I hadn’t realized that I had missed applying the mixture to a large chunk of hair in the back of my head.  Peachy strands stuck noticeable out through the red.  I was shocked as I stood with my back to the bathroom mirror holding up a hand mirror in order to stare at the back of my head.  But there was nothing I could do about it now.  I didn’t have any of dye left.  And besides, it was late.  I needed to get some sleep for work the next day.  I went to bed knowing I had no way to fix the situation.  I spent most of the night telling myself all kinds of things: My color doesn’t matter.  I am not my hair.  I cannot be defined by the way I look.  Who cares what other people think or say?  Other peoples’ opinions shouldn’t matter to me.  It’s only hair, just dead protein.  I can change it again.  I could cut it all off and it would grow back again.  No big deal.

But it was no use.  I have to admit that I, who never really fussed over my hair, felt stupid and ugly.  Maybe I was upset because this was absolute proof to me that I am completely klutzy with hair and make-up.  I would never be beautiful.  I can handle that actually.  I know I am a good person.  But I didn’t know if I was ready to face the awkward comments from people concerning the way I looked.  I didn’t know how to respond.  I didn’t know what excuse I could give.  What was I going to do?

The next morning, I walked into work with the collar of my coat pulled up over the back of my head.  I ran down the back hallway to my locker and yanked it open.  I suddenly sighed with relief as I discovered the answer to my dilemma.  I had forgotten that yesterday my supervisor had handed out Santa hats to everyone.  I never liked wearing the hats which usually were too big for me and put a lot of static into my fine hair.  But now, I grabbed the hat and plucked it down onto my head.  The peachy patch in the back of my head was now covered.  I couldn’t tuck all of my hair underneath the hat so I allowed bright red strands to hang around my face and shoulders.

But then, something really unusual happened.  It was so strange, I still don’t quite understand it.  Almost everyone who saw me that day complimented me on the way I look.  I heard endless comments of “Wow!  Love the hair!”  “  That’s a great red!”  “  What a beautiful shade!”

Now, of course, I didn’t let anyone see the peach patch in the back of my head, which could have easily changed everyone’s opinion.  I also admit that I wasn’t very gracious about the compliments.  I was so taken by surprise by everyone’s comments that I responded by saying, “Th…Thank you…?  I really don’t like it myself.”  Or I said, “Thanks…I’m trying to get used to it myself.” Why did I respond that way?  Why couldn’t I have just said “Thank you” and walked away?  But never feeling very secure with my looks, I felt so ugly and unsure of myself that compliments were hard to accept. I felt the need to apologize for who I was and what I had done.  I had to keep insisting to everyone that I was unattractive.

That evening I bought more hair dye and corrected the error I had made the day before when I colored all but the back of my head.

Now, my hair was completely vibrantly red…and I smiled as I looked at it.  It suddenly felt so right!  Yeah, maybe it was attractive.  Yeah, maybe I did look good.  As I brushed out my hair, I had thought about the compliments I had received that day.  I realized then that opinions didn’t matter.  No one’s thoughts about another person were important.  And hair is such a trivial matter.  But what I responded to now was everyone’s kindness when I was feeling so low and unsure of myself.  I smiled as I thought of everyone’s loving, positive reactions when I was feeling so ugly.  That’s all that really seemed to matter.

So now my hair remains a bright red.  I always loved red but was always worried about people laughing at me or teasing me.  I realized now that the reason I wasn’t comfortable with Mars red was because I was afraid of other people’s opinions.  Even now, there are strangers who walk by me and groan, “God, that’s BRIGHT red!”  Or they call me “beacon.”  But it doesn’t matter now, because I feel good.  It’s funny how I love bright red hair when I love myself.  I need to trust myself and know what I like and not worry about other people’s thoughts.  Hair doesn’t define the person I am inside.  I know who I am so what matters what happens to my body?  I know what my flaws are…I know where my scars are…but it’s strange how they don’t matter if I don’t focus on them.  I am very happy with my hair if I don’t give it too much attention.

I’ll keep my hair red for now.  It is uniquely and personally me.  It defines who I am and is part of my journey.  Maybe someday, I’ll change it again but right now I feel happy.  Besides, I am not my hair…I could dye it purple if that’s the way I feel.

Um….someday…

I smile as I think now of my coworker.  She was right…

I am a vibrant red!

All Lives Matter…Even Furry Ones!

Last Friday, I decided to read through a few recent articles before I started to work on my writing assignments.  Unfortunately, once more nothing but bad news appeared on my computer screen.  I read about cop-involved shootings, protests, natural disasters, and other sad events.  After a while, I finally pushed myself away from the computer with a sigh.  I stood up, stretched, and walked into the bathroom as I thought about…

“OH, DOGS!”  I cried out as I saw the mess that was left on the cool, tiled floor.  We have a huge, fenced-in, lush backyard and puppy training pads laid out in the front room, and yet the dogs still choose to make their messes right in front of the bathtub.  With a groan, I quickly cleaned up the bathroom and then thoroughly scrubbed my hands.

After drying off and hanging the towel back on the rack, I left the bathroom and walked into the living room where two of our three dogs, Friskie and Cowboy, were comfortably snuggled down into the big, soft, cushiony pillows that make up the back of the sofa.  They like to climb up on top of the couch and then plunge their little bodies down into the pillows as if they are falling into quicksand.  Only their sweet, round, dark eyes and cold, wet noses are visible.  The third dog, Starburst, was cuddled up in a little, round, furry ball on the big, brown puppy pillow by the television.

“Alright, dogs,” I call out to them as I clapped my hands together to get their interest.  Starburst lazily raised up her head and scootched her furry, white and brown body forward.  Friskie and Cowboy slowly and clumsily pulled their bodies up from the cushions like lazy, little swamp monsters.  Once I had their full attention, I pointedly asked, “Who made the mess in the bathroom?”

Of course, none of the dogs would confess, even though Starburst and Cowboy looked directly at Friskie, who had lowered her head back down into the pillows.  Otherwise, Friskie refused to admit any wrongdoing.  “Alright, fine,” I answered, surprising myself by how much I sounded like my own mother.  “None of you did it.  The mess just made itself.  No, no, don’t get up.  I got it all cleaned up.  Just go back to sleep…”

And that’s when I suddenly noticed a large, nasty, runny, orangey, thick fluid on the carpet just a mere two inches away from the puppy pads.  I stared at this new mess in shock for a few seconds wondering which dog had been sick.  I was suddenly spurred into action, however, when little Starburst suddenly moved forward from her comfortable position on the puppy pillow and prepared to clean up the chunky fluid by licking at it.  (I know that’s really disgusting—but that’s the way it happened!)  Once again, feeling absolutely revolted, I quickly cleaned up this new mess as the dogs once more settled back down to sleep.  I was sincerely and totally grossed out.  I never had children, so I never had to deal with projectile vomit, gross diapers, and disgusting messes.  Fate sure was catching up with me now.

Finally, after the orange mess was cleaned up, I walked around the room and checked on all three dogs to make sure they were not sick.  When they seemed to be all right, I walked back to the bathroom to thoroughly scrub my hands clean once more.

A few minutes later, I decided to go to the kitchen to get some iced tea.  I walked through the living room…

…and that’s when I heard it…

I stopped for a moment and looked around the room.  What was that noise?

And then I heard it again…

UUUUHHHHH!

What was that?

UUUUUUUHHHHHHHH!

Oh, my gosh.  The noise was a very loud, low, deep sound with a scratchy-throated screech at the end.  It sounded just like a person gagging for breath as he or she was choking.  Choking?

I looked around and that’s when I noticed little Starburst.  She had now moved off of the puppy pillow and was lying on the hardwood floor of the dining room.  The deep, guttural noise she was making continued to get louder.

UUUUUUUHHHHHHH!  UUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHH!

Oh, my gosh, Starburst was choking!  The dog was choking!

“Star?” I called out as I ran over and knelt down beside her.  I reached out my hand and gently touched her side.  But before I could say or do anything more, she yanked away from me as if my touch had hurt her.  She moved away and crawled underneath the table.  Even though she was further away from me, her gags had gotten louder.  I crawled underneath the table after her.  Now, when she saw me, Starburst suddenly lifted her right paw out as if she was reaching for a lifeline.  But her paw quivered twice before the rest of her body began to shiver violently.  Oh, my gosh, the little dog was starting to convulse!  Her whole tiny body was now shaking as she continued to gasp for air!

In a panic, I got up and grabbed my phone off the table.  I quickly pushed the touch-screen buttons to call my sister-in-law, Mary, who is the actual owner of the dogs.

“Hello,” Mary answered her phone sweetly and I felt horrible to have to give her such bad news.

“Mary, it’s Jamie,” I screeched.  I didn’t wait for her to respond.  “Starburst…”  I stuttered, “Starburst is sick.  She’s choking.  She can’t breathe and she started convulsing now.  What should I do?  Where are you?”

“Oh, my God,” Mary gasped.  “I’m nowhere near home right now.  I’m babysitting the grandkids.  I can’t leave them.  But I’m going to call someone to come help you, okay?  I’ll get someone over to the house really fast.”

“Okay, okay,” I answered as we hung up.  God, I had studied and taught abdominal thrust, CPR, and first aid for years, but would those techniques work on a little dog?  Could I possibly call 911?  I crawled back under the table.  Starburst now let me touch her, but I think it was just because she didn’t have the strength to pull away.  “Starburst,” I whispered to her.  “Little Starry…Baby…it’s going to be okay.”

UUUUUUHHHHH, Starburst replied to me.  She was still gagging and her little body was convulsing terribly.  I reached out and pulled her gently towards me.  I raised her head and stared down into her little face.  Oh, my God…Starry’s beautiful, soulful, brown eyes were completely unfocused now!

Oh, my God…  Her left eye stared lifelessly ahead while her right eye had rolled off to the far side.  Then both eyes suddenly began to roll to the back of her head.

That was it!  I pulled the dog out from under the table and held her tightly.  I got up from the floor with little Starburst in my arms and grabbed my keys off the table.  I was going to take the dog up to the vet’s office that was just a few blocks away on State Avenue and 78^th street.  It was after 5 o’clock already, though.  I didn’t know if the office was still open but I hoped they would have some kind of emergency information posted somewhere by the front door.  I had to do something to help this tiny dog.  I love this dog so much.  “God, please,” I prayed as I ran into the living room.  “Please, God, please let this little dog be okay.  Please, God, don’t take this dog.”

UUUUUUUUHHHHHH!

I squeezed little Starry close to m y chest as I ran and prayed.  “Please, God…please, I love this dog.”

Just as I yanked open the front door, Starburst’s body suddenly stopped shaking.  There was one more hard UUUUUUUUHHHHHHH…

….and then silence.

No more movement…no more noise…

…just stillness… and silence…

And then the dog coughed.  She coughed.

“Starry?” I called to her as I held her away from me to look at her face.  I stared down at the little dog and suddenly saw her small mouth move.  She suddenly worked her furry jaw up and down in a chewing motion

…. and then she swallowed.

She swallowed…

And then Starburst opened up her eyes and looked directly up at me.  I stood very still and stared down into Star’s sweet, funny face.  We just stared at each other for a moment.

And then Starry took a deep breath and whimpered.  “Ummmmmm  ummmmm”

It was so different from the loud choking sounds of a few seconds before.  This sound was soft and tender and heartbreaking.  Starburst now feel limply against my chest as she started to whimper uncontrollably now that her horrible, scary ordeal was finally over.  I held her tight to me and cried right along with her as I gave thanks that she was now miraculously okay.  I sat down slowly on the couch and tried to sit Starburst on the floor but the little dog wouldn’t leave my arms.  We cuddled together for a while until her cries finally calmed down.  I placed Starburst carefully down on the floor.  “Oh, Star!”  I sighed as she ran over to the dog dish and began to eat.  “Seriously?”

After her near fatal choking crisis, she was now snacking on dry dog food.  I don’t know if the whole ordeal had just made her hungry or maybe she just wanted to show me that she wasn’t afraid to eat again.  Yes, she had been through a bad choking experience but she showed no lingering fear as she chomped on the food.  I just shook my head at her and laughed.  Then, once she was satisfied, she crawled back up into my lap.  For the rest of the evening, little Starry  followed me around the house and wouldn’t leave my side until we both exhaustively fell into our own beds and went to sleep.

The next day, I came home from work and checked on the dogs to make sure they were okay and there were no messes to take me by surprise.  I went into my room and turned on the computer to catch up on the news.  More deaths, more disasters…

And suddenly there was a knock on my door.  I got up and opened my door to find Starburst waiting patiently in the hallway.  Now as she saw me, she jumped up and down, daintily dancing on her tiny, white, hairy paws.  Starry would run towards me and as I stepped forward she would joyfully jump up and back and spin around before prancing back towards me once more.  I laughed as I playfully chased her back into the living room where Mary was cuddling with Friskie and Cowboy on the couch.

“Starburst wanted you to come out and play with her,” Mary informed me.  “You don’t’ have to if she’s bothering you.”

“She’s not bothering me at all,” I told Mary.  “I’m just so relieved she’s all right.”

“Yeah, I am, too,” Mary sighed.  “I think you are her best friend now.”

“Yes,” I agreed.  “We are very bonded.  We’re best buds now.”  I got down on the floor as Starburst rolled over onto her back so that I could rub her pale belly.

I had told Mary the details of what had happened the day before.  Now my sister-in-law stated, “I think when you picked her up yesterday from under the table and held her tight, you probably dislodged whatever was in her throat so she could start breathing again.”

“Probably,” I answered, “but I don’t really know what happened.  I just remember holding her and praying…”

I stopped talking and Mary and I just smiled at each other.  Mary got up from the couch then and called, “Come on, dogs.  Time for dinner.”  I think all three dogs understand the word “dinner.”  They all trotted after Mary into the kitchen as I walked back into my room and sat down at my computer once more.  After a few minutes, there was a knock at my door again.

I got up and opened the door.  Starburst walked into the room and over to my chair.  I knew what she wanted.  I picked her up and placed her on my lap after I sat back down in my chair.  I rocked her back and forth as I looked at the articles appearing on my computer screen.  Nothing but bad news.  I clicked off the computer and pulled Starburst close to me as I realized that it really doesn’t matter how much money we have or what job we do or what kind of cars we drive.  When it’s all over, the only thing God will want to know is how much compassion we displayed and I how much love we gave.  Because all life, no matter how small and furry, is precious in the eyes of God.  In God’s glory, all lives matter, I thought as I cuddled tiny furry Starburst close to me and once more gave thanks for God’s sweet mercy.

 

 

 

 

History Lesson

In the end, it is not the years in your life that count.  It’s the life in your years.–Abraham Lincoln

I have always found history fascinating.  I enjoy watching documentaries, reading textbooks, visiting historical sites, and looking at old, black-and-white photographs.  I don’t really know why I am fascinated with the past.  Maybe I just like the idea that there was life before I was born and there will be life after I leave.  History reminds me that time is never ending.  Maybe I like the idea that everything we say and do now will become the memories we turn to in the future for guidance or comfort.  Maybe our history is proof that our time hasn’t been wasted, and maybe, just maybe, there was a purpose to our collective lives and consciousness.  History demonstrates a solid cause and effect that can be mapped out as life progresses and our drama continues to unfold.  History reminds us who we are, where we came from, and the connection we all share to life.

So, if I truly honor past events that have created life as we know it today, why, every year, do I always dread August 21?  I don’t enjoy celebrating my birthday for several different reasons.  I don’t always like all of the attention.  Sometimes, I prefer to go unnoticed.  I also don’t feel comfortable accepting presents.  I don’t want people to spend their money on me when I know they may be financially struggling.  Or maybe…

Okay, to be honest…

I hate celebrating my birthday because I don’t like turning a year older.

There I said it.  I hate getting older.  It bothers me because I don’t see myself the way other people have started to view me.  In my heart, in my soul, I still see myself as a spritely, physically strong, highly capable, intelligent, attractive, young woman.

I’m amazed how many people disagree with me.

I was horrified the first time I was offered a senior discount at the movies.  But…but…I’m a young woman!  Why would I be offered the discount?  My brother, Tony, tried to calm my anxiety.  “Jamie, every person who works in retail or fast food thinks anybody over 30 is a senior.”  His explanation didn’t help.  How did I possibly go from being carded to being offered senior discounts?  What happened to the in-between years?

And I almost went over the edge when I received my first offer to become an AARP member.  I stared at the letter and magazine in abstract horror before I manically shoved both pieces of literature into the paper shredder.

I cringed in terror when I tripped the other day at work and one of my colleagues stated, “You have to be careful.  At your age, you could have fallen and broken your hip.”  I was shocked when I was informed by personnel at the school where I was teaching that my health insurance was going up by twenty dollars a month because I had crossed over into the “older age” category.  I’m always surprised when websites and applications ask my birth year and I have to scroll further down now to find the date.  And just how is it possible that people born in the year 2000 are getting their driver’s licenses now?  Why am I looking at the younger generation and saying things like, “Well, when I was growing up, we were taught to show respect…”  Isn’t that what my grandmother used to say?

I have tried desperately through the years to prove to other people that I am still a young woman.  I buy skin products like anti-wrinkle creams believing that each “magic elixir” holds the secret to eternal youth.  I put in hair extensions and dyed all the gray out of my hair.  Each gray strand reminded me of each day ticking off my life.  I go to the gym constantly and try to convince myself that I am in better shape now then when I was a teenager….if only my knees would stop popping.  I exercise and stimulate my mind by reading, writing, and studying…well…history!  Why do other people so quickly point out and joke about my gray hairs, the lines on my face, my momentary memory losses, and my thin, frail body?

For these reasons, I have let several years pass by without celebrating my birthday.  I didn’t plan on celebrating this year either.  I was just going to go to work, go to the gym, and not deviate from my usual day’s routine.

But then…

Ignoring my request to let August 21 just pass by this year, my family surprised me with dinners, sweet gifts, nice compliments, and a visit to the Kansas City Zoo.  And I was shocked how many people posted wonderful birthday greetings and blessings on my Facebook page.  The good wishes were heartwarming and made me feel connected to so many amazing people who had guided and supported me throughout the years.  Today, Tuesday, August 23, I received a twenty-dollar bill tucked inside a birthday card from my aunt Nancy in Florida.  The card and money made me smile as if I was eight-years-old again…and I think I appreciated the gift more now than I did as a child.  I understood the sacrifice my aunt made by sending me the money and I was touched by her generosity.  The money made me smile, too, because it reminded me of my mother who also sent money through the mail regardless of the risk of loss or theft.  My aunt and mother are women of grace; beautiful, trusting souls who saw the simple good in life, an attribute that only comes…

…that only comes with age!

And that’s when I realize that birthdays are a true blessing!  This year, I thoroughly enjoyed the attention I received from my family and friends and loved the birthday celebrations.

I suddenly realized that my birthday really wasn’t about getting older.  It was a commemoration of how far I have come in my life.  It was a reflection of the connections I have made and the friendships I hold dear.  As I went about my day on August 21, I didn’t feel a year older.  Instead, I felt surprisingly blessed.  I was so thankful for every day of my life and all of the amazing experiences I have had over the years.

Now, I have years of experience and knowledge that only comes with age!

And with age comes a carefree sense of self.  I walk around in my pajamas and go out in public without makeup or brushing my hair and I don’t care.  I say what I feel and don’t worry if it’s not the popular opinion.  I hold on to the things that I like and don’t worry if other people think my ideas are stupid.  I sing out loud and dance with spirit even though other people think I have no talent.  I hold on to my beliefs and refuse any pressure to become someone different.  I try to handle my stress and don’t insert myself into other people’s problems.  I’ve learned to live my life free, accepting the person that I am without fear of what other people think of me. I have grown comfortable in the person I have become.

And I know that all of those who offer me the senior discount and fear for creaking knees will not know this until they too have reached the age of “old,” the age of wearing pajamas in public and dancing when there is no music.

I am more of myself today than I have ever been.  I haven’t grown old.  I’ve grown up by growing strong and growing joyful and growing free.  Among the many great presents I have received over the years, I appreciate the gifts of humility and wisdom the most.  And this year, I learned that every day is precious and every moment needs to be celebrated.  My best birthday gift in 2016 was to see every year as one more blessing.

Though I now have my own unique past, I still maintain my childish heart.  I still have dreams and still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.  But I also have stories to tell and wisdom to share.  I have lived a full life of travel, adventure, successes, failures, heartbreaks, laughter, and tears….

Now, I am older.  I have a history….

I am history.

Tiny Dog Security Team–Episode 1–Independence Day

Usually, during rainstorms, our three dogs go crazy whenever it thunders.  They run through the house with their little paws slapping frantically against the hardwood floors.  They scratch impatiently at my door until I finally let them into the room.  Then, they scoot quickly under the bed and hide until the storm is over.

Because of the dogs’ response to thunder, I was concerned how they would react to the fireworks on the 4^th of July.   I imagined that the dogs would be running around in circles and barking hysterically once the fireworks began.  However, to my surprise the dogs were holding it together much better than I was.

Once the fireworks started, I jumped in surprise every time I heard the loud sizzles, cracks, pops, and rumbles that echoed around the neighborhood.  It has been 25 years since I have experienced a Kansas 4^th of July holiday. For the last 11 years, I had been living in the deserts of Southern California.  Personal use of fireworks is illegal there due to the dryness in the region.  Fireworks are a huge fire hazard in such an arid environment and can only be used in professional displays like at baseball games and theme parks.  While I lived in California, my Independence Day celebration was quiet and calm.  I wasn’t used to hearing the constant explosions happening all around me now and was growing more unnerved as the loud booms continued late into the night.  Every now and then, I ran to the front door to peek outside.  I wanted to see exactly how close the fireworks were to the house.  It sounded like the explosions were happening right outside the front door.  I worried for a moment if I needed to move my car to a safer location.  Was the house secure?  Of course, I was worrying needlessly but the deafening roars of the fireworks continued to unnerve me.  I apprehensively shut the front door.  The light from outside flickered about the dark room and made me feel anxious.  I walked back into my bedroom, shut the door, and took some long deep breaths.

And then….

Oh, goodness, I could hear the dogs thumping down the hallway to my room.  Then, of course, they were soon scratching at my door.  “Okay,” I sighed.  “The dogs are freaking out now.”  I got up from my seat at the desk and opened the door.  The dogs didn’t run into the room, though.  Instead, all three dogs stood in a straight line on the threshold and stared up at me with concern in their eyes.  Then, they came slowly into the room.  But instead of scooting under the bed, they circled around me and looked at me hopefully.  I walked back to my chair and sat down heavily.  To my surprise, the three small dogs surrounded me and stood at attention.  I suddenly realized then that the dogs weren’t looking for comfort; they had come into the room to protect me!  Had they sensed my anxiety?  Did they realize that I was uncomfortable?  Could these three small, incredible dogs actually read my emotions?  They had come into my room not to hide but to unselfishly take care of me.

Once I began to settle down, Cowboy and Friskie returned to the front room.  Only Starburst remained in the bedroom with me.  Starburst is a tiny, older, furry-all-over, white-and-brown female mutt who usually is very calm and low key.  Tonight, however, she stayed on alert.  Though she began to spread out and relax under my chair, whenever I jumped due to another loud crack of fireworks, Starburst would leap up on her four stubby little legs and walk around my chair; she marched around the room as if she was on patrol.  She growled and hissed at any noise that threatened my sense of well-being.  Slowly, she would settle back down beside me again.  She would relax until the next boom occurred just a few seconds later.  And then once again, “Officer Starburst” was back on patrol.  Starburst stayed with me for most of the evening.  She only left my side when I finally turned off my computer and got up from my chair.  After telling Starburst thank you for taking care of me, I closed my door after I thought she had gone back into the living room.

A few minutes later, I opened my bedroom door as I was getting ready for bed.  Oh, my gosh!  To my surprise, I found all three dogs standing sentinel in front of my doorway again.  I was so amazed that the dogs were still protecting me throughout the night.  Little Starburst seemed to be the commander of the Tiny Dog Security team.  She remained stretched out in front of the door as if she was blocking entry into my room.  She looked alert—poised and ready to attack any threat to me.

I suddenly laughed out loud as I got down on the floor.  I happily wrestled and played with the dogs for a few minutes before assuring them that I was fine now even though the fireworks continued.  Though Friskie and Cowboy wandered back off to their bed in the living room, Starburst remained with me throughout the night.  Starburst is Friskie’s mom and I guess when she thought I was scared, her mother instincts took over.  She was, for that night, my protector and defender.  Friskie and Cowboy also continued to check up on me throughout the night.

So with Starburst remaining outside my door, I settled down into bed.  And though the fireworks continued to rage outside, I fell into a peaceful, calm sleep, knowing that I was protected by pure kindness and unconditional love.

Those People

What was I thinking!?  I thought to myself as I stood inside one of the stalls in the small bathroom.  Why was I so anxious?  This moment hadn’t been a surprise.  I had spent the last several weeks reading through all of the Facebook posts describing the details, the “what, where, when, who, and why” of this event.  Each post made me feel alternately excited and depressed.  I couldn’t make up my mind what I wanted to do.  I debated continually back and forth.  I couldn’t decide if I really wanted to participate.  Because I was so unclear, I sought advice from many different people to give me some direction.  Unfortunately, I continually received the very same response from everyone without any diversion or counterpoint.  “God, why would you ever want to do something like that?  I never will.  Why would I ever want to see Those People again.”  “I wouldn’t go.  I couldn’t stand Those People.”  “  Well, you know, all of Those People were rude and mean.  They treated me horribly.  I never want to be around Those People again?”  The answer was the same again and again though everyone was talking about a different group of people.  But it was absolutely clear.  Everyone seemed to hate Those People….no matter who they were or where they came from.

And for a while, honestly, that’s how I felt, too.  It had been 35 years now seen I had seen Those People of mine!  Why would I even think about going back?  Well…maybe it was just curiosity…morbid curiosity, at best.  Maybe I just felt a horrible need to belong somewhere.  Maybe I just needed to reconnect with the past in order to move on with my life.  Maybe I just needed some closure.  Maybe I just wanted to show off that I had survived my teenage years…High school hadn’t killed me as I imagined it would at the time.  Had it made me stronger?  I can only hope so, but I do know this:  for good or bad, I have certainly come a long way since my high school days.  So, whatever the reason may have been, I was now standing, (oh, alright, I’ll be honest!), hiding in the bathroom  of St. John’s Catholic Club in Kansas City, Kansas, as I psyched myself up to join my classmates for our 35^th high school reunion.

As with most people, high school had been a traumatic experience for me.  I always felt unattractive, stupid, and awkward.  Gym class certainly didn’t help me gain any confidence.  Instead, the class seemed to reinforce  my negative feelings.  Many times, I was chosen last when deciding teams but, honestly, I can’t blame my classmates for this.  I wouldn’t have wanted anyone as uncoordinated as I was on my team either!  I believe I was the main reason my team always had to run laps around the gym for losing volleyball matches.  I would cower away in terror from any ball that came rolling, spinning, or zooming my way.

I fared no better in the actual classroom environment.  I was extraordinarily shy and quiet.  I never wanted to speak up in class and would continually play dead if the teacher called out my name.  I just could never seem to find my voice in a room full of people.  Giving presentations was torture for me.  I usually pretended to be sick on presentation days.  If that didn’t keep me out of the classroom, I would beg my teachers for any additional assignments to replace the presentation.  Many of them refused; they explained that the experience would be a good confidence builder for me.  It actually didn’t work.  I would stand up in front of the class with my paper shaking and rattling wildly in front of my face as I  mumbled through random information for the allotted five minutes of time.  I didn’t care about the grade; I just wanted to get through the experience without being laughed at or teased by my fellow classmates.

My social experience of high school was routinely painful.  I was the kid who continually seemed to have the runny nose, the drooping socks, and the untied shoelaces no matter how I tried to present myself.  I was overweight and wore thick, heavy glasses.  Every weekday, I just put on my green plaid school uniform, my sagging socks, and my arch-correcting saddle shoes (for my flat feet), and went off to school where I walked around with my head down and my shoulders protectively wrapped around my upper body.

In my senior year, I begged my mother to let me quit high school.  I am relieved and grateful now that my mother rejected all of my arguments for dropping out.  She refused to allow me to leave school until I safely had my diploma in hand.  But for years immediately following graduation, I failed to see the benefit of this at all.  I swore I would never go back to school or see any of those people ever again.

But there is one problem with the word NEVER.  It has a friend named KARMA.  Because no matter how much we hate certain experiences in our lives, they all happen for a reason.  And no matter how often we say NEVER, life has a way of recycling lessons until we learn them.  For example, even though I swore I was finished with my education, after a few years of working minimum wage jobs, I suddenly found myself drifting back to school.  I began attending Johnson County Community College and loved the experience of learning so much,  I transferred to the University of Kansas and found, quite literally, that the whole world slowly began to open up for me.  Over the next several years, I found myself in all kinds of interesting jobs and positions.  I worked as a model, a reporter, and a photographer.  I traveled the world, even waking up one morning to find myself in Thailand and soon I was backpacking by myself across Malaysia.  I lived successfully in New Mexico, Tennessee, and California.  After high school, I went on a 35-year journey to find myself.  I finally stumbled my way back to my hometown in Kansas last year.

I proudly put the information of my return on Facebook and was amazed that a lot of my old high school classmates reached out to me.  That was fine.  I could handle Facebook relationships.  But four months after my return, posts began to appear about our upcoming 35-year reunion.  I was surprised because it seemed a little ironic.  How was it possible that I would return to Kansas the very year a reunion was scheduled?  Maybe…just maybe…it was KARMA challenging my never-ending use of the word NEVER and my reluctance to see Those People again.

I was NEVER going to attend a high school reunion.

For years, I had agreed with Jase Robertson of Duck Dynasty when he said, “Do I go to high school reunions?  No.  If I haven’t talked to you in over 25 years, there’s probably a reason.”  For the 10, 20, and 30 year reunions, thankfully, I continually had the excuse of being “out of town” to avoid the events.  But now, I no longer had any excuse.  So there I was on Saturday night, April 23, 2016, in Kansas City, Kansas, at my 35-year reunion, hiding in the bathroom at St. John’s Catholic Club.  Of course, this brought back even more unusual memories of my high school experience.

Once a month, my school sponsored a mixer for all of the students on a Friday night.  I never wanted to attend these dances with Those People.  My mother forced me to go.  She thought it would be good for me to get out and mingle with my classmates.  I hated it!  I wanted to stay home and watch Donny and Marie.  I had a huge crush on Donny at the time, which I think my mother considered somewhat unhealthy.  It would be a good thing for me to get away from my teen idol for a while.  Mom and I would argue about the mixers before and after the events, but every month, I was expected to attend.  Once I was at the dance party, I would spend the first few minutes standing around the refreshment table before retreating to the bathroom where I would hide in a stall until it was time to go home.  I never danced and I never talked to anyone.  I would just stay in the bathroom and wish that I was at home watching Donny.  Though I have seen him in Vegas, I no longer watch Donny now.  I have traveled all over the world.  I have published.  I have modeled.  I have had my own business.  I have taught struggling students.  I have had an amazing life.  But here I was, at the reunion still huddled in a bathroom stall instead of facing my former classmates.

I took a deep breath and willed myself to leave the bathroom and yet I continued to linger.  I may have stayed in the bathroom all night if I hadn’t thought of Janice and began to feel terribly guilt.  Janice had been a good friend to me during my awkward elementary and high school years.  I was fortunate to  reconnect with her several years ago on Facebook.  Janice had confessed to me that she too had debated about attending the reunion.  But then she said something that really got my attention.  “If I don’t go,” Janice had stated, “I’m afraid I’ll regret it later.”  Her statement made complete sense to me.  What if this was my last chance to make amends?  Janice was right.  We decided then to go together so we would each, at least, have someone to sit with during the event.

Since I was still relearning my way around Kansas City and, especially, Strawberry Hill where the event was taking place, Janice offered to drive us to the reunion.  Because sections of the I-70 were closed, we got a little lost on the way to St. John’s and ended up in downtown Kansas City, Missouri.  If I had been driving alone, I would have used “getting lost” as an excuse to just go back home.  Janice took it all in stride, though.   She stayed completely calm; methodically and strategically, she  found the way back into Kansas.  She did a great job navigating the one- way streets and the closed roads to find St. John’s Catholic Club.  She never gave up.  She never got upset.  I need to be more like Janice.  Because now I realized that while Janice had gotten us to the reunion, I had suddenly deserted her to go hide in the bathroom.  What a horrible friend I am!

With that thought in mind, I forced myself move out of the stall.  I walked over to the sink and washed my hands while I stared at myself in the mirror.  Oh, God, what have I done?  My make-up didn’t look too bad, but my hair was a stiff, unnatural, badly blended mess.  I usually don’t fuss with my hair.  I tend to just brush it and run, but tonight I wanted to look good for the reunion.  So before I met up with Janice, I had taken the time to carefully curl and style my hair, which is something I never really do.  Once I had my hair in the design I wanted, I had grabbed the hairspray and didn’t stop spraying until I was sure not a single strand of hair would dare to move out of place.  Though I began to choke on the fumes, the spray hadn’t been enough to ease my hair anxiety.  I also had a can of spray-on hair dye to touch up my roots.  (Yes, I dye my hair to cover the gray…what of it!)  I didn’t have time to dye my hair earlier and I didn’t want any of my (gray!) roots to show.  I thought I would just touch up my hair with the red spray.  I had tentatively tried the dye on a thick strand first, and when that looked okay, I went crazy spraying the dye in a solid line down the center of my head.  Oh, my gosh, it wasn’t until I was at the reunion that I realized that the spray-on dye didn’t match my hair color at all.  The color from the can was much darker than my normal (I said normal, not natural) lighter strawberry blond color.  The spray had turned the center of my scalp horribly bright red.  I looked like I had a badly oozing wound on the top of my head.  Seriously, it looked like I had split open the top of my skull and blood was seeping out.  But I couldn’t wash it out now.  I would just have to make sure that no one could stare down at the very top of my head.  Man, I need to stay away from hair products when I’m in the midst of a panic attack.  Hair products are the bane of an anxious woman…well, at least for me.  I always go overboard in order to hide my scars and imperfections.  I try to save myself from ridicule but just tend to make everything worse and much more noticeable.  So, now, I was already at the reunion and had no choice.  But what was I really worried about anyway?  I just needed to get through tonight and then possibly NEVER see those people  again.

I took a deep breath, turned away from the mirror and walked out of the bathroom.  I stepped into the main room of the Catholic Club.  The lights were down low and a soft golden glow filled the room.  Ten tables were lined up parallel on both sides of the room and covered with white tablecloths and black beads.  There were several people standing around in small groups up by the stage.  And suddenly to my surprise, I began to smile…and it felt natural…and it felt good.  My smile did not feel faked or forced or strained.  For some reason, there was an energy about the room that made me feel excited and happy.  I don’t really know what brought on this feeling.  I had expected to find myself standing on the outside of any gathered group and out of my own comfort zone, but that’s not what happened.

Instead, I felt relaxed and happy when Cindy walked up to greet me with a hug.  I felt comfortable in her presence, but in all honesty, Cindy wasn’t a challenge.  She looked radiant and her personality always sparkles and shines as much as her physical appearance does.  She has always been welcoming and charming.  She makes everyone feel like a friend.  Cindy was my very first Facebook friend from high school and continually communicated with me through that medium for the last six years.  We had already met for dinner twice before this reunion, so I already thought of her as a friend.  I was pleased that she was the one of the first people I saw at the reunion that night.  That situation helped set the mood for the rest of the evening.

After a moment, Cindy moved away and I found myself talking to Gregory.  His soft, gentle voice and easy-going manner put me right at ease.  After talking to Cindy and Gregory, the rest of the evening suddenly became easier and, to my shock, I found myself connecting, hugging, and talking to many people I hadn’t seen in over three decades!  The conversations came easily, the hugs were heartfelt, the emotions sincere.    I talked to more people that night than I did in my four years of high school!  It was a surreal and unusual situation to see everyone again.  Most of the people looked just like older versions of their high school selves.  I felt completely disoriented whenever someone’s seventeen-year-old face suddenly superimposed itself over his or her current, older facial features.  Remember, I had never seen the adult version of any of Those People.  I only knew them as teens.  I felt for a moment as if I was in a time-travel movie.  Maybe I was actually traveling forward in time.  I suspected that I would wake up the next day and it would be 1980 once more.  But for now, it was fun to see everyone again after so long.

There was Julie looking as young as she did in high school.  And Mary who always had a great sense of humor.  She was a little more serious now, but still putting out positive, good vibes.  Joan still retained her good heart and sweet smile.  Teri continually displayed enthusiasm and pride in the school and her classmates.  Karen definitely had to be the most honest of all of us.  She confessed that she didn’t remember Janice or me at all.  Her candor made me laugh.  While some of us ran around the room trying to remember everyone, and cheating by deviously reading name tags first (well…I did…),  Karen was refreshingly open and straightforward, which was greatly appreciated.  I couldn’t help but smile when Brian suddenly sat down next to me and talked about his family.  And I was comfortable when Jeff did the same later that evening.

Most of my former classmates gave me sweet compliments on the way I looked that night and congratulated me on publishing my first book.  The most consistent compliment I received from Those People, however, was for my Facebook page.  I was completely stunned to hear people mention this.  After a few months of posting comments and statements about my life, both positive and negative, I decided that I wanted my Facebook page to be encouraging and motivating.  I have posted only positive quotes and stunning artwork on my page for the last five years.  I am not trying to be pretentious.  My Facebook page is my creative attempt to keep myself inspired and focused on the optimistic aspects of life.  I was thrilled that so many of my classmates, especially Therese, Terri,and Melissa, expressed their appreciation for my posts and asked me to keep the positive thoughts coming.  I was pleased that so many people felt inspired by my Facebook page.

Everyone happily conversed and engaged with each other, but sitting in a small group of five women later in the evening was a surreal moment for me.  I never had children and so as my former classmates talked about their families, I had nothing to add to the conversation.  But that didn’t matter to me.  I didn’t care.  I was absolutely fascinated by their words.  Thirty-five years ago, the conversations had been about tests, classes, homework, and teachers.  It was an unusual experience to listen to my classmates talk about their grown children.  “They just don’t get it.”  “I have been encouraging them to move on.”  Every comment was made with a mixture of joy, love, concern, worry, and stress.  There was no doubt that these people absolutely loved their children and wanted the best for them.  It was incredible to hear these same sweet teenage voices discussing grown-up issues.  I just sat there mute and quiet as I usually was in high school.  Only this time, I was fully attentive and could have listened to them all evening.

I also enjoyed seeing Steve, Jeff, Duke, Aldo, Nick, Joe, Chuck, Keith, Michael, and Brian again.  I think I talked to the “boys” more that night than I did through the four years of attending Bishop Ward High School.  This was an extremely bizarre moment.  What happened to all of the boys from my class?  And why was every one of them so tall?  They were not scrawny, little kids any more.  Now, I was surrounded by fully grown, handsome, strong men.  If I had realized that was going to happen, I would never have left Kansas 35 years ago!  I smiled as I looked around at all of these incredibly tall, incredibly attractive, older men.  I just prayed that none of them would suddenly look down on me and notice my “oozing” painted-red scalp.  That became one of my challenges of the evening.  I strutted around and kept moving just to make sure that my wayward vanity would not be discovered.

It had been a real challenge trying to make sure no one could look down on my red scalp.  Maneuvering away from tall men became easier when I got out on the dance floor where I was now  too happy to worry about my “bloody” hair.  Now, I could shimmy and move and turn without looking like I had to go to the bathroom.  Yes, I danced!  I was actually out on the dance floor with several of my classmates as we threw our hands up in the air, spun around, and kicked our legs.  I was not hiding in the stall now as I did at the mixers 35 years ago.  I was wiggling around in the middle of the dance floor.  I was actually dancing!  Look at me, Momma!  Look at me!  And I didn’t care at all what anyone else thought of me.  I didn’t care if I made a fool of myself.

The evening was perfectly summed up by Natalie’s comment about me.  “When we were in school, Jamie, you were so shy and quiet, most people didn’t even know you existed.  But look at you now.  Look at all of the amazing things you’ve done!  It’s incredible!”  I couldn’t help smiling at her statement.  I felt completely different than I did in high school.  And as I looked at my former classmates, I realized that we had all grown into a successful, good-looking, kind-hearted group of people!

And that’s when I suddenly realized something.  I was not the only one who had changed.  All of my classmates had grown up, too.  None of us were the same people we had been in high school.  As much as I have grown and changed, so have they.  How could I ever hold anyone responsible for what they said or did as teenagers?  I wouldn’t want anyone judging me now based on my 16-year-old self and I wasn’t going to do that to anyone else.  Those awful high school years when I felt so battered…well, I suddenly realized now that most of my scars had been self-inflicted.  It was my own reserved heart and negative mindset that had kept me locked up and hidden away in bathroom stalls.  But now, we were all (a little?!) older and a whole lot wiser.  And we were beginning to connect on a whole different level.  We were no longer the jocks, or the brainiacs, or the geeks, or the cheerleaders, or the nerds, or the loners.  Those were just labels we gave each other as we all struggled to find the place where we belong, as we all strived to find our own identities.  Those titles are laughable now and certainly don’t reflect who we have become…

And the strange thing was…I really wanted to keep partying with my former classmates because, on this night of the reunion, I truly loved those people…

So, at the end of the evening, I proudly gathered with my classmates for a group picture.  I was a little concerned when my high school crush walked over to me.  Oh, my gosh, he could still make me shiver as if I was sixteen-years-old again.  I quickly maneuvered myself away from him, though, and moved to the other side of Janice.  Well…okay, maybe a few insecurities still remain.  I just didn’t want my old crush to think that I was still clumsy enough to injure myself.  “Help, someone!  Jamie’s bleeding from the top of her head!”  So, yes, I definitely needed to move away from him.  I may never see him again and didn’t want that to be his last impression he had of me.

Hopefully, that will not be the last impression anyone has of me.

So here is my advice.  Do NOT go to your 10^th or, even 20^th, reunion.  Wait for the 30^th or 35^th reunion.  Do not see anyone from high school for at least 30 years.  Wait until everyone has had the chance to experience life.  Give everyone the opportunity to grow up.  See everyone again when they are seasoned, when they are weathered.  Become friends with high school classmates after everyone has had the chance to experience life.  Give each other the chance to experience life as God intended.  My classmates are people…real people.  People who are raising their families, working their jobs, and suffering their losses.  People who have cried and laughed and loved and hurt and grieved.  We are all really not that different after all…

Even though we had originally debated about going, now Janice and I really didn’t want to say good-bye.  We finally left the reunion around 10:30 pm because, unfortunately, I had to work early the next morning.  As Janice and I walked out of St. John’s Catholic Club and into the dark night, we turned right to walk down the steep hill to her car.  Suddenly, I gasped and had to catch my breath.  I stared at the scene in front of me.  From the top of the hill, I saw the beautiful, white, round moon shining down on the bright Kansas City skyline.  It was an amazingly beautiful image.  The sight filled me with wonder!  I now suddenly realized I was home.  I knew where I belonged.  I was loved.  I was safe.  The past had been put to rest…well, it had been put into perspective.  And the future, for my classmates and me, seemed even brighter now than it did 35 years ago.  Beautiful days loom ahead of us.  And though I may not always now where I am headed , I certainly now know where I have been, and where I come from…

I feel united and am proud to say I am one of Those People.

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

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!