Solstice Surprise

Recently, two of my friends, Rebecca and Cindy, invited me to go with them on a day trip to Weston, Missouri, on Sunday, April 15, 2018.  I had never been to this small town before and excitedly looked forward to the adventure.  I had envisioned a beautiful, bright spring day with a warm sun and cool breezes as my friends and I strolled around the antique shops and visited the wineries of Weston.

But that’s not exactly how the day unfolded.

On the 15^th of April, I awoke around 9:00 am and quickly showered and dressed.  I told my family good bye and stepped outside to wait for my friends to pick me up.  Oh, my gosh!  What was going on?

The cold air wrapped around me and caused a shiver to shake my body as white, wet particles floated in the air in front of my face.  Oh, my gosh, is that snow!?  Yes, it was snowing!

But how was that possible?  The seasons were supposed to change weeks ago on March 21.  However, spring had been a horrible tease only showing her face on a few random occasions since the solstice.  The season was playing drama games with the Midwest…and I had heard that she wasn’t being too kind to the northeast coast either.  But maybe it wasn’t spring’s fault.  Maybe winter was a cranky old woman who was refusing to allow spring to make her debut.  I contemplated the past winter season of 2017 and 2018.  The weather had been much colder than expected.  The freezing Artic air drifting over the plains caused temperatures to dip below the zero degree mark many times.  It had been colder than I had ever remembered.  And several ice storms in the last six weeks made travel difficult.

Winter just would not end.  Even Easter, on April 1, had been a cold, gray, snowy day.  Now, the flakes of winter snow, like Mother Nature’s dandruff, floated around me for a moment before I quickly turned around and ran back into the house.  The cold air chased after me until I finally slammed the front door shut.  I stood in the living room and looked out of the large picture window as the flakes continued to dance on the air.  I didn’t venture back outside until I saw Cindy’s car pull into the driveway.  Then I ran out into the cold air once more, and shivered as I yanked open the car door and crawled into the backseat.  We were finally on our way to Weston on this winter (but should have been spring!) day.

It was about a 45-minute drive to Weston, and I still had a hard time getting warm even though we had stopped along the way for cups of hot coffee.  After Cindy parallel parked in front of the pink and white building of the Weston Winery Company, I hesitated before getting out of the car.  The snow had grown heavier and wetter, and I had to admit that I was a little annoyed that we didn’t have a bright spring day to enjoy.  But there was nothing we could do about it.  As I took a deep breath and stepped out into the cold, Cindy was suddenly standing beside me as she said, “Well, now that we are out of the car, I can give you a proper hug.”  And soon, her arms were around me and we held each other close.  Rebecca and I shared a hug as well and, suddenly, I didn’t feel so cold anymore.

My friends and I walked down the street with snowflakes falling all around us as we talked and window-shopped, and I soon forgot all about the winter weather.  Even with the harsh winter conditions, I was still enjoying a fun, relaxing day with good friends.

After shopping around for a while, we finally decided to stop for lunch in a small, rustic upstairs café of one of the antique stores.  I sat in the wooden chair closest to the large window.  As I chatted and laughed with my friends, I stared out the window and watched all of the people walking down the main street as snow fell like white glitter around them.  I felt so warm and peaceful that as we left the restaurant and walked back down the street to the car, I realized that it had been a perfect day.  I don’t think I have ever enjoyed a winter day so much.  Yeah, I love winter.

But then, just one week after that cold day in Weston, Missouri, I was sitting with my friend, Chandra, on a black, iron bench next to Wyandotte County Lake.  We sipped iced coffees and watched the ducks and geese chase each other around the muddy bank.  We were enjoying a warm, 70-degree day with gentle cool breezes and bright sunshine.  Chandra and I spent the afternoon talking, laughing, and enjoying a glorious spring day.

And I suddenly realized that it really doesn’t matter if it rains, snows, or thunders; it doesn’t matter if the temperature is 35 degrees or 70 degrees?  The weather doesn’t matter; I felt blessed with good friends, happy days, great moments, and surprising solstices that will create amazing memories.  Every season I have the privilege to enjoy is an amazing gift, and I am eternally grateful.

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Money Well Spent

Dang, I sighed dramatically under my breath as I stood outside the Hotel Pacific in the early morning darkness.  I had been standing outside on the tiled front steps in the cool morning air since 4:45 am.  The private driver who would be taking me to the airport for my flight to Alice Springs was scheduled to pick me up around 5.  In my rush to shower, dress, and pack, I had completely forgotten to grab my two bottles of water and packages of cookies that I had placed in the small refrigerator in my room the night before.  I didn’t even think about the water and snacks until I was already standing outside and a large, white van was coming up the long, curved driveway towards me.  I told myself it wasn’t a big deal, but I had been carefully watching my cash ever since I had arrived in Australia a week ago.  I still had ten days left on this adventure and I didn’t want to run out of money.  Although most places accepted credit cards, I needed to use cash to buy simple things like drinks and snacks.  I also needed tip money to offer to all of the various employees at different establishments to thank them for their wonderful service.

As far as cash was concerned, I had followed the advice of my travel agent.  When I had asked Ken how much money I should bring with me to Australia, he had suggested, “Just take about a hundred to a hundred and fifty dollars with you for drinks and tips, and then charge everything else.”  His reasoning was very valid.  According to Ken, people make the mistake of exchanging hundreds of dollars and don’t realize the high fees they have to pay.  If people don’t use all of the money in Australia, they have to pay another fee to change the cash back to American dollars.  Plus, Ken told me that a lot of people call the travel agency to complain that they still have Australian dollars when they return to America, and the travelers usually get upset when the agency can’t do anything to help them get the full value of their money.  “Besides,” Ken had continued, “cash can be lost or stolen, and it’s gone.  Your credit cards can be easily canceled and replaced.”

Ken’s financial recommendation had made perfectly good sense to me, so I decided to exchange just 160 American dollars for Australian cash at the Los Angeles airport before I caught my flight to Brisbane.  At the time, I had felt secure about following Ken’s advice but now going into the second week of my expedition, I wasn’t as confident.  I really felt that I had to watch every dollar (American and Australian) for the rest of my journey.  So leaving behind the bottles of water at 2 dollars each and packages of cookies for 3 dollars each seemed like a really big deal to me.

Everyone in Cairnes, Australia, had been so incredibly sweet and friendly that I was sure the hotel staff would let me back into my room if I told them that I had forgotten something.  But now, it was too late.  The driver had stopped the van directly in front of me and was climbing out from behind the wheel.  As the man walked over to me, I whispered a good morning and was surprised to receive only a rushed and hushed grunt in reply.  I decided not to say anything more as I settled into the back seat and fastened my seat belt.  The driver quickly stowed my luggage into the back compartment of the van, and effectively slammed the door before walking around to the driver’s seat and climbing in behind the wheel.  He silently started the engine and drove away from the hotel.

As the man maneuvered the van onto the highway, I quickly reached into my purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill.  I wanted to make sure I was ready to tip the driver as soon as we arrived at the airport.  I knew it was customary to tip my private drivers but I had made an embarrassingly bad mistake on my first day in Australia.  On August 26^th, I had arrived in Brisbane, which was my first stop in Australia before I traveled onto Cairnes, Alice Springs, and Sydney.  I felt like I was in a movie as I walked off the plane, and there was my driver holding up an ipad with my name flashing across the screen.  That driver had been incredibly polite and informative as he drove me around the city to the Hotel Meridian.  As we wove in and out of traffic, the man told me about his trips to America and pointed out all of the amazing Brisbane sites.  The drive was enjoyable and comfortable until we arrived at the hotel.  The driver had stopped the car, opened my door, and then pulled my suitcase out of the trunk.  Then he stood on the sidewalk with me for a few minutes as he pointed out the different shops and restaurants that were located close to the hotel.  It suddenly dawned on me that he was waiting for a tip, but I had one small problem.  I had received only 20-dollar bills when I exchanged money in LA and then had walked right off the plane and into the waiting car with my driver when I had arrived in Brisbane.  I had no available change on me to tip the driver and I didn’t think it was polite to ask for money back on a tip.  So, I just awkwardly stood on the sidewalk outside the Hotel Meridian and responded with “Wow,” and “That’s great” as my private driver kindly continued to act as my personal tour guide, too.  Finally, he must have realized that there was no tip forthcoming and yet he continued to behave kindly towards me.  He shook my hand and wished me a great trip while I profusely thanked him for his kindness…but I still felt terrible!  The man had been so nice to me, and I had stiffed him on a tip.  I swore then that I would never allow that situation to happen again.  I told myself that I would kindly give to the drivers and all of the people who were helping to make my Australian journey a once in a lifetime experience.

And now, here I was on my way to the airport for my early morning flight contemplating whether I should give my current driver any money.  I didn’t want to be inconsiderate and yet at the same time, the man was somewhat rude as he continued to drive in silence and blatantly ignored me.  Of course, I wasn’t upset about the initial service.  The man had only been hired by my travel agent to get me to the airport and that was exactly what he was doing.  I was grateful for his assistance, so he did deserve the tip in that regard.  However, I just wasn’t sure at this point how to approach the man.  He wasn’t friendly.  He really didn’t seem to want anything to do with me.  Would it be awkward for both of us if I tried to give him a tip?  I had kept the five-dollar bill gripped in my hand as I contemplated the issue on the drive to the airport.  I had finally made up my mind that when we arrived at our destination, I would say a polite thank you, but not push the issue any further.

I was just about to shove the money back into my overstuffed bag when the van suddenly came to an abrupt stop.  I leaned forward and gazed out the large, clean window.  After a tense journey, we had arrived at the domestic flight terminal of the Cairnes airport.  The driver exited the vehicle, walked around the side of the van, and swung open the door by my seat.  Then, as I unhooked my seat belt and climbed out, the driver walked around to the back of the van, and retrieved my luggage for me.  He walked towards me and placed the suitcase down by my feet.  I said, “Thank you” as the driver nodded his head but didn’t say a word.

And then, before I realized what was happening, and without thought, I raised my right arm and held out my hand.  And suddenly the man’s hand was brushing against mine as I pushed the five-dollar bill towards him.  I hadn’t planned to do this, but for some reason, in the moment, I felt a sudden need and urgency to give him the tip.

Then, the driver stared directly into my eyes as he held onto the cash and, by chance, my hand as well.  I suddenly felt as if, in the pale darkness, I could clearly see him.  He was an older man, probably in his mid-60s.  He was very tall and so thin that his crisp, white, button-down shirt and black slacks seemed too big for his slight build.  The driver had a skinny, white mustache that lined his upper lip.  Both of his hands suddenly wrapped around my fingers as I stared into his eyes and noticed the deep, sad lines that were etched into the rough skin of his face.  I noticed the thin, gray wisp of hair that rested across his forehead.  Then I suddenly saw into this man’s soul as he said to me in the softest of voices, “Oh, no, you don’t really need to do this.”

“No, please,” I answered, “it’s okay.  Please, take it.  I want you to have it.”

And suddenly, as the day was slowly beginning to brighten with the sunrise, I could see the tears coming into the man’s eyes as he whispered to me, “Are you sure?  Are you sure you want to give this to me?”

And of that moment, I was absolutely positive about the situation.  “Yes,” I honestly told him, “I really want you to have the money.”

“Thank you,” he whispered as he gave my hand a gentle squeeze and tears started to careen in crooked lines down his face, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” I answered.  “Thank you for the ride.”

He smiled at me then as he wished me a good flight.  He let go of my hand and I watched as he walked around the van and got back into the driver’s seat.  As he drove away from the curb, I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and walked into the terminal with my mind and heart full of gratitude.  I was so thankful to be in Australia.  I was so happy to be going to see Ayer’s Rock.  I was so grateful to the driver who got me to the airport on time.  And I was so thankful that I had followed my heart and gave the man the five dollars.  I don’t really know what had prompted me to offer the tip to the driver.  I usually tended to shy away from people who are difficult or intimidating.  But there was something about this man that even in his quiet irritation was good and kind.

I thought of the way the man had held my hand with tears gleaming in his eyes as he accepted such a small, simple token of my gratitude.  It was five dollars…just five dollars…and yet it had made such a big difference to another person.  For some reason, that small gesture had completely changed the man’s attitude.  I guess it is true that no one ever knows the private battles other people are facing.  We never really know what another person is going through.  It’s sad sometimes that we just always respond to the current moment.  We get angry if we think someone has been rude to us.  We forget that sometimes people are rude because they have just lost a job or a loved one; maybe they haven’t had a chance to sleep, or eat, or they haven’t been feeling well.  Our minds sometimes don’t always stretch to think about what another person is going through.  If we all could just touch one person in some small way when the opportunity arises, especially when we have the chance to offer hope to someone who may be suffering in some way we don’t understand, what a great world this would be.

This man was a good soul and maybe he was just having a bad morning.  That doesn’t make him a bad person.  In my mind, I know, my silent driver deserved to be treated with respect regardless of his initial attitude.  Hopefully, my simple gesture of gratitude had helped turn his day around.  It amazing how we have the power to affect each other in a good and blessed way just by being kind.

After checking in at the counter and receiving my boarding pass, I walked over to the food court to buy breakfast and some coffee.  I no longer worried about spending money.  I felt so blessed as I thought about the man and the five dollars I had given him.  As I sipped my coffee, I smiled.  That tip was the best five dollars I had ever spent.

 

 

The Climb

 

I carefully raised the paper towel up off of my foot and peeked underneath.  Damn!  The wounds on the top of my right foot were still bleeding.  I had similar marks on my left, but they did not seem as deep and, thankfully, were not bleeding.  I pushed the towel back down again over my foot with the hope that direct pressure would stop the blood flow.  It didn’t help.  Blood continued to flow from the cuts.  While tending to my feet, I cursed myself for doing something so stupid.  In the weeks leading up to this adventure, I had envisioned myself walking on sunny beaches and kicking off my shoes to dig my toes into warm sand.  With this image in mind, I had bought a new pair of flip-flops to specifically wear on my vacation in Australia.

However, there was one problem.  I didn’t even try on the shoes before leaving America.  And, now, the pink plastic straps on the top of the flip-flops had pulled so tightly that before I had realized it my feet were cut deep enough to bleed.  I knew that this certainly was not a medical emergency and I would heal in time without any scars.  However, I was concerned because of an event that was scheduled for the next day.  I wasn’t quite sure what to expect since tomorrow’s activity had been suggested by my travel agent, Ken.

When I originally discussed my Australian trip with the agent, Ken asked me what events I was interested in and what I wanted to see.  Of course, I mentioned the most obvious tourist sites.  I wanted to see the Australian Zoo.  I wanted to tour the Sydney Opera House.  I wanted to visit Ayer’s Rock.

Ken had a lot of other great ideas: camel rides into the outback to see the sunset, hiking the gorge into Kata Jyata…and, hey, what about the Sydney Bridge Climb?

I had never heard of the bridge climb before and Ken was more than happy to enlighten me.  He had participated in this activity several times and was very enthusiastic about the climb up the Harbor Bridge.  “Sure,” I told him, “sign me up.”

Hhhmmm….I should have done a little research.

The Sydney Bridge Climb consists of 1332 steps up 445 feet above the Sydney Harbor.  From the top of the bridge, there is a full 360 degree view of Sydney, Australia.

But right then, speaking with Ken, I thought it sounded like a great adventure.

But now, here I was sitting in my hotel room the night before the bridge climb carefully wiping away blood from the cuts on the top of my feet.  When the bleeding began to ease, I covered the wounds with the only medicinal product I had with me.  I smeared Vaseline over the top of my feet and prayed that I would be healed and ready for the bridge climb the next day.

The morning of the climb, I woke up and looked immediately at my feet.  The Vaseline had served as a temporary seal over the cuts and the bleeding had stopped.  Now, completely excited, I quickly showered, dressed, and walked out of my hotel.  Once outside, I looked over the map I had picked up the day before at the tourist information center.  The attendants at the center had been nice enough to sketch out the route I needed to walk to get to the office of the Sydney Bridge Climb.  I sighed and then balanced myself carefully as I alternately rotated my ankles around in circles.  Though my feet felt slightly achy, I was ready for the long walk, which would give me the chance to take a good long look at the city of Sydney.

I walked around Darling Harbor to Bathurst Street and then strolled confidently down George Street.  I tried not to look like a tourist but I couldn’t help staring wide -eyed and snapping pictures as I walked passed amazing cathedrals and government buildings.  I walked passed malls, a large 3-story book store, and high priced specialty shops.  I walked passed crowds of people hurriedly walking down the street or sitting comfortably in small cafes.  I marveled at the old artistic architecture that prominently stood out against the strong backdrop of modern skyscrapers.

Then, I quickly climbed the two concrete staircases that lead up to the overpass of Cumberland Street where the Bridge Climb Office was located.  I easily find the office but there was one problem.  I was several hours early.  I honestly didn’t know where I was going and I didn’t want to be late, so I had left the hotel at 10 am in order to get to the right location in time for my 2:15 pm appointment.

I sighed and told myself there was no problem.  I at least knew where the office was now and could relax with a quick lunch and a cup of tea before the climb started.  I turned around, walked back down the two staircases and strolled back down the busy streets as I searched for a comfortable place to rest.  I kept telling myself that I needed to sit down and relax somewhere.  I had been walking for over an hour on wounded feet that would soon be climbing 1332 steps into the air.

But I just kept walking.  There was too much to see to settle down in any one place.  Most people who know me would tell you that’s how I live my life, too!  But finally, when my feet began to protest by throbbing heatedly, I entered a small coffee shop and relaxed with a sandwich and hot tea before starting on my way back to Cumberland Street.

When I left the café, however, I still had an hour before my climb, so I decided to go down to the harbor for a while and take a few pictures of the ferries, the ships, the bridges, the people, the water, and the seagulls.  I quickly fell into step with a small group of people who were moving towards the harbor.  I felt happy and relaxed as I stepped down off a curb and, then suddenly, to my totally surprise, my right foot slipped out from under me and…

Wait!  What?!  I’m falling!?  I’M FALLING!

And before another thought could go through my head, I found myself sprawled on the ground after landing heavily on my right hip.  A sharp pain speared down my right leg and my right wrist throbbed from trying to stupidly use my right hand to break my fall.  I sat on the ground for a moment until a group of four elderly citizens kindly stopped to help me up off the ground.

“Are you alright?!”  I nodded my head yes as I forced a smile though tears that stung my eyes.

“Are you hurt?”  I coughed out a no as I assured them I didn’t break my leg or wrist.

“Do you have everything? Did you drop your wallet?”  I assured them that it didn’t matter because I didn’t have any money anyway.  This made them laugh which helped ease the tension.

I sincerely thanked this group of kind seniors as they gave me one more quick brush off and then slowly walked away.

I took a deep breath and steadied myself against the pain in my right hip before walking down to the harbor.  I felt better when I was by the water, even though my right hip and leg continued to throb.  I stood very still for a moment as I realized that in half an hour, oh my gosh, I would be climbing 1332 steps!

I took several deep breaths and walked away from the harbor.  I walked stiffly down the street and stood at the bottom of the concrete staircases leading up to Cumberland Street.  I took a deep breath and forced my aching body up the steps.  As I half walked and half limped into the Bridge Climb office, I hoped that a bright smile on my face would disguise the dull pain I was experiencing in my hip, my wrist, and my feet.

I walked up to the reception desk and spoke to a young woman who sat at the computer.  The woman was friendly with a bright, happy smile and a warm, welcoming demeanor.

“Hi,” I said, “I’m Jamie Zunick.  I’m scheduled for the bridge climb at 2:15.”

The woman looked at her computer screen for a moment and then stated, “Oh, yes, Jamie.  I see your reservation right here.  First, I need you to read and respond to this statement.”

The woman handed me a small laminated paper and I quickly read that I was to report any health problems I was currently experiencing.  Hhhmmm…

The card read, “Do you currently have…” which was followed by a double list of health problems.  I read through the conditions quickly and then handed the paper back to the woman.

“I don’t see clumsiness listed here, so I guess I’m okay,” I told her.

The woman looked at me for a moment and then gleefully laughed out loud.

She thought I was joking.

Then the clerk handed me a ticket and told me to enjoy my climb.  As instructed, I turned to the right and pulled myself up the stairs to wait with several other people for the 2:15 pm climb.

Then, right at the appointed moment, there was a sudden flurry of activity.  The climbers were asked to fill out health forms, permission slips, and emergency contact information sheets.  We watched a video on bridge safety and were given breathalyzers.  We were issued jumpsuits to pull on over our clothing and ushered into changing rooms.  We placed our personal items in lockers and walked through a metal detector.  Our tour guide, Leah, got us all situated in our security belts and cables.  She then placed radios, earphones, cables, hats, and jackets on our bodies.  Leah gave us final instructions and guided us up and down the stimulation ladders to practice safety climbing.

And somewhere, within all of this activity, my right hip and leg stopped throbbing.  My right wrist could easily rotate.  My feet no longer hurt.  Somewhere in the excitement of the moment, the adventure had grown bigger than the pain.

Then, with Leah enthusiastically guiding us, my team of eight tourists were walking through the tunnel that lead from the building to the bridge itself.  With that first step out onto the steel beams of the bridge, my heart began to exhilarate.  But it was a fast beating that pumped not just blood but life and energy to all areas of my body and spirit.

I followed immediately behind Leah when the other members in our group suggested I go first.  How did that happen!?  It wasn’t like I asked to be in that position!  But now, I was thrilled to be the first in my group to find myself on the bridge as I listened to Leah describe the history and construction of the structure.  Leah was incredibly knowledgeable about the bridge and I was thrilled to hear her stories.  Listen to the guide’s information, I eagerly followed along behind her wanting more of everything.  More information, more knowledge, more steps, more adventure, more thrill, more life.  We climbed a series of metal staircases and ladders.  And then we were stepping onto the arch of the bridge.  Even with the wind whipping viciously around us as we climbed, I didn’t feel any fear.  I usually experience anxiety in different situations.  Panic attacks run in my family, especially among the females.

But here, right now, as I climbed, I not only let go of pain, but of fear, too.  Though I was tethered to the bridge by a hook connected to a steel cable, I had never felt so free.

And then, there I was at the summit.  I stood beside the Australian flag and knew I had found my “happy place.”  I was in heaven 445 feet up above Sydney, Australia.  I stood there at the summit as the wind pushed against my body, rocking me furiously back and forth.  I stood there looking down 360 degrees around beautiful Sydney.  I stared down at the harbor, down at the city, down at the Sydney Opera House, down at the highway, down at the cars and trains that rumbled below us on the very bridge where we stood up in the sky.  This had to be heaven because there was no pain, no fear, no anxiety, no depression, no worries…all of those things that hold me back while I am on earth.

And I realized then that that is the heart of Australia, the heart of Sydney, the heart of all people, the heart of the earth…and maybe, just maybe, the very heart of me.

We bleed, we hurt, we cry…

And then we brush off the dust and the dirt and the tears…

And we climb 445 feet up a damn bridge!    I climbed it!

My Perfect Roses

Last Sunday, my thoughts were just as drab and boring as the world I had been walking through.  I felt trapped as I made my way down the main aisle of the backroom of my workplace.  I was surrounded on all sides by dull, concrete floors, light gray steel beams, and plain brown cardboard boxes.  But then just like in the Wizard of Oz when black and white scenes suddenly blossom into brilliant color, I noticed something crimson red shining just to my left side.  I turned around and gasped as I caught my breath.

“Oh, those are beautiful!”  I sighed as I came to a complete dreamlike stop.  I suddenly forgot why I had been in such a hurry as I focused on the long stem roses that were lying in a blue basket.  The black handle of the square basket was resting across Bernard’s left arm.

“Do you want a rose?” the assistant manager asked me.

“Really,” I smiled.  “I can have one?”

“Of course, you can,” he answered as he offered the basket out to me.  I thanked him profusely and grabbed the stem of a large blooming red rose.  I pulled the luscious flower from the basket and held it up to my face to breath in the delicious scent of the petals.  “Okay,” Bernard said after I had been completely intoxicated with the sweet aroma.  “You have to let me take your picture now.”

That’s when I noticed that Bernard was holding a digital camera in his opposite hand.  I’ve always been very uncomfortable in front of cameras.  So, now, I shook my head.  “No, thanks,” I told him.  “I’ll have to give you the rose back.”  I started to place the beautiful, perfect creation back into the basket.  Refusing the picture was actually a graceful way out for me because I had suddenly realized that the roses actually had a special purpose.  The flowers were for Mommas.  I had completely forgotten through the course of my busy workday that it was Mother’s Day.  I don’t have children of my own and my mother had passed on seven years ago.  So, of course, I don’t really have a reason or a right to celebrate Mother’s Day and, honestly, it is a holiday that makes me really sad.  I sighed wistfully as I placed the rose back into the basket.

“No, it’s okay,” Bernard told me.  “You can have a rose.  Go ahead and keep it…and I won’t force you to have your picture taken either.”

I just shook my head no and slowly began to back away.  I didn’t deserve the flower.  “Thank you, Bernard,” I told him.  “I do appreciate it but I’m not a mother.  I don’t have any children.  These roses should go to mothers today.

Bernard just laughed then and said, “It doesn’t matter.  You can have a rose, too, if it makes you happy.  Come on.  Take one.”  He held the basket out to me again.

I couldn’t stop smiling now as I grabbed hold of the stem of the flower I had just returned and pulled it back out of the basket.  “Thank you,” I told him.

“That’s fine,” Bernard answered.  “Just enjoy it.

And I did.  Holding the rose and running my fingers over the red, feather soft petals made my day a little brighter.  I was really missing my mother and the rose made me think of her.  I thought about the rose bush my mother had planted and carefully nurtured in the corner of our backyard when I was a child.  But then, thinking about my mother who had sacrificed so much for me, I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty.  I wondered if I had taken a rose away from a woman who was much more deserving than I could ever be.  Did I just steal a rose from one of the many gracious women who went through the pain of childbirth and suffered sleepless nights taking care of sick children?

Honestly, I would have loved to have been one of those women.  But certain life situations and health problems such as ovarian cysts and uterine tumors prevented me from feeling worthy of a rose.  But I also had to admit that the flower and Bernard’s kindness, the way he included me in this simple tribute, made me smile and brightened my day.

A week later, Sunday, May 20, 2017, I was back at work and having a rather bad day.  I kept repeating to myself New Age affirmations to help me make it through my work hours.  “A good or bad day is just my perception.”  “I can use my power of positive thinking to make this a better day.”  But nothing seemed to help.  I spent the day struggling with even the most minor tasks.  I just couldn’t seem to adjust to the stress of the day and my frustration was pushing me to the point of tears.

As I struggled to pull myself together that afternoon, I suddenly heard someone calling out to me.  I turned around to see  Charles standing behind me.  “Here, this is for you, Jamie,” he said as he held out his hand to me.  “Take this and hold onto it until your day becomes better.”  I stared down at the small, red rose resting in his palm, and my heart suddenly filled with hope and gratitude.  I was so touched by Charles’s sweet gesture.  “Thank you so much,” I answered.  “That’s so sweet of you.”   I reached out and took the rose from his hand.  As Charles walked away , I pinned the rose to my shirt and immediately began to feel much better.  What an amazing blessing that gift was!  And now, after all of the positive thinking I tried to force on myself, that simple rose made me feel so much better.

I thought now about both roses I had received over the last two Sundays and I realized something.  Though I regret not being a mother, though I am ashamed of myself for not handling my frustration better, people still cared about me.  I don’t have to be anything in particular or do anything special for people to think of me.  I had no reason to feel inadequate or ashamed or lacking in my life.  I don’t have to have a great job or a lot of money.  Instead, all I had to do was be kind and have a good heart and there will always be people to support and help me.

My coworker’s kindnesses reminded me of the love Jesus Christ holds for all of us.  He knows our regrets and our failings and yet He continues to love and support us anyway.  He continues to help us grow strong and beautiful and blossom into special spirits….just like my beautiful perfect roses.  I am so blessed!

Thank you so much, Bernard and Charles, for your kindness…and my roses!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thunderstorms and Fridays

Today, I was wide awake and feeling happy and peaceful as I drove to work.  It didn’t matter that it was 3:00 am.  I could feel my heart beating rhythmically and energy was buzzing through my body making me feel very alive and aware.  Though I always enjoy driving in the early morning darkness, I’m normally not this awake and alert. But today…today was very different.

I drove down Highway 435 with a smile on my face as I sang along to the songs that were streaming out of my stereo.  About twenty minutes later, I turned into the lot and parked the car.  I didn’t get out of my car immediately.  I sat in silence for a few minutes as I contemplated the day ahead of me.  Suddenly, I heard a beating and pounding cadence against my car.  Rain!  I sighed excitedly.  I love rain, especially when it is accompanied by thunder and lightning.  Now, I was happy to just sit still and listen to the rain beating against the roof and windshield of the car as a thunderstorm began to brew all around me.  I have never been afraid of thunderstorms.  I love hearing the thunder clattering around me.  The sizzle of lightning crackling across the sky always electrifies me.  Thunderstorms always make me feel that there is something more, that there is something bigger than what we are in this world.  I like to be reminded that there is a powerful universe all around us that supercharges our very beings and creates our destinies.  Thunderstorms also remind us that we are stronger and more powerful than we have ever imagined.  It’s empowering to know that we can weather the storms.

This morning, while I sat in quiet contemplation listening to the rain, I remember something that my mother had told me when I was about five-years-old.  When I was a child, my mother told me that whenever a storm occurred on Good Friday, it was God crying out and raging over the death of his son, Jesus Christ, who had been crucified on that day.  And it seems, ever since my mother told me this, there has been a storm on every Good Friday I have spent in my hometown of Kansas City, Kansas.  I used to love lying on the floor of our family home, staring out the large picture window in the front room as a powerful storm brewed outside on Good Friday.   I love feeling, with every slap of thunder and crack of lightning, that God is all around me.  I love to think that I can witness the complex emotions of an almighty God in every thunderstorm on a Good Friday.    I am fascinated that God can be so hurt and so angry over a moment that held such great meaning for him.  If God could rage over the memory of his son’s death, I surmise, then how incredibly great his passion must be.  I love knowing a God that is emotional and impassioned.  I love knowing a God that can care so deeply about his people that he can display all levels of emotion.

So ever since my childhood, I anxiously look forward to thunderstorms on Good Friday.  And so, today, Good Friday, April 14, 2017, I was sitting in my car in the middle of a thunderous downpour.  As the storm raged all around me, I said several words of gratitude to God and Jesus Christ for their many sacrifices to save their people.

Finally, my prayer completed, I opened my car door.  It was going to be a long run to the building because I had to park at the back of the lot.  I took a deep breath and got out of the car.  I took my first  few steps forward and suddenly  I felt overwhelmed.  The rain bouncing onto the earth released an amazing aroma that made my heart swell.  For me, the smell of rain on earth is completely intoxicating.

I didn’t want to run now.  I wanted to walk slowly in the rain and breathe in the earth.  I wanted to glory in the feel of the rain against my skin and enjoy the wonders of the universe and the dramatic emotions of a passionate God.

Finally, I walked into building and was relieved to realize that I could still hear the rain against the roof as I went about my work.  I worked hard throughout the day, but I did stop every few minutes to listen to the rain and pray as I tried to stay in a state of grace during a workday that can be usually be frustrating.  To keep myself in a sacred space, every now and then, I would wonder over to the back doors and stare outside to watch the rain fall over the ground.  On this holy day, the day of Christ’s crucifixion, the thunder, lightning, and rain kept me in a pure state of being.  Eventually, I got caught up in my work and had to stop wandering off.  But I still remained at peace

Finally, my workday ended.  I walked outside…and immediately smiled.  The afternoon was flooded with bright glorious sunshine.  Brilliant golden rays sparked out between the clouds and warmed my skin.  The rays shined down on me as if I had been kissed by angels.  And I knew that God loved the world so immensely he had given his only son, Jesus Christ, to die for our sins.  And now, the glorious sunshine let me know that he had forgiven his people.  God above all knows unconditional love.  No matter what we do he will never forsake us.  The occasion reminded me of God’s great passion and love for his people.  God rages and then forgives…and always, above all, he forever loves.  This is what the entire season of Easter is all about.   Sacrifice, rain, fear, storms, guilt, lightning, sunshine, love, warmth, peace…forgiveness.  God’s emotions are on display.  He is one of us—dramatic and emotional and passionate.  But so far above us with his kindness, forgiveness, and compassion.  And above all, God’s storms continually demonstrate his immense love for his people even though we are far from perfect.  We are forever in his grace.

This is why I love thunderstorms…especially on Good Friday.

 

 

Never-ending

I had gone to bed very early and was asleep by 9 pm.  Yes, it was New Year’s Eve, but that didn’t matter when I was scheduled to work at 6 the next morning.  I only slept for about three hours when I was awakened around midnight by the sound of fireworks going off all around me.  New Years—2017, I thought as I continued to lie in my bed.  I didn’t want to get up.  Besides, there was no one in the house to celebrate with except the dogs.  And they weren’t a whole lot of fun as they cowered and whimpered and yelped as the loud booming raged on outside the house.

I didn’t mind being alone that night.  I didn’t mind not celebrating.  New Year’s Day isn’t a holiday I observe anyway.  Just putting a shared “Happy New Year” post on Facebook is basically as much acknowledgement as I give the occasion.  I don’t write blogs about it (hhmmm…guess that’s kind of a lie now!).  I don’t sip champagne.  I don’t sit in front of the television watching the ball drop in New York City.  And I don’t kiss or embrace anyone at midnight.

I lay awake for a few minutes as I thought about what makes up a year.  Scientifically, a year is just the number of days it takes the earth to move around the sun.  But isn’t life about the journey, not the destination?  So, what difference does it make when the sun arrives back at its origin?  And where did it actually start anyway?  How do we know exactly where the expedition began?  All right, so maybe I was giving this moment more existential thought than it really deserved.  But some people rejoice with dancing and drinking; I rejoice with reflection and deep thoughts.  Both celebrations, I guess, are ways of moving forward into new experiences.  And I think many people were ready to move on.

2016 was difficult for a lot of people.  It will probably be remembered as a time of death, loss, violence, and hardship.  But is that going to stop just because the clock struck midnight on December 31st?  Why do we think we can lock adversity into a Pandora’s Box marked 2016 and pray it will not be opened again.  We always tend to use years, or months, or days as a way to compartmentalize and contain life situations.

But that’s just an illusion; life doesn’t happen in sections because time actually doesn’t exist.  Time is just a manmade tool that allows us to track our days and put life into some controllable perspective.  Time is just a mechanism that helps us organize our days, like knowing I have to be at work at six in the morning.

But there is no such thing as time and space in heaven.  And if there are no limitations and no boundaries, how can death even be real?  Death is not even a concept because life is continuous.  The human concepts of space, time, and death don’t exist.  I remind myself of this because there are so many things I still want to accomplish.  But in order to reach all of my goals, to complete my life purpose, I cannot let myself be bound by the number of my days on earth or the physical walls that close in around me.  I have to believe I can do anything at any time that I please.  I have to believe I can be anywhere that I choose to be.  I have to shake off my shackles of time and space and fears, especially of death.

Now, as I write this, we have completed the first week of what we consider 2017 and already my life has changed.  I finished writing a new short story; I’m starting a new job; I‘ve have new opportunities to teach at Kansas City Community College, and I will be participating in some upcoming seminars.  Do I owe my sudden good fortune to 2017?  Do I thank the earth for starting a new journey around the sun?  No, I just thank God for all of the many blessings I have received continually in life.

So now, I smile and know that life goes on and that all those things I thought we all lost in 2016 still remain.  Nothing is ever lost in a life with no limits and no boundaries.  Nothing is ever a challenge in a life with no concept of time or space.

And now, I sit here in front of my computer and wonder how in the world I am going to end this essay.  I paced around for a while, took a shower, made a cup of tea…

And then, I smile as I realize…

…There is no end.  Nothing ever really ends….

Definitely to be continued…

 

No Angel

For the last 25 years, I have celebrated a minimalist Christmas.  I don’t set up a Christmas tree.  I don’t put out any decorations.  I buy a few presents, but don’t expect any in return.  I don’t watch any Christmas specials.  I don’t set up my native scene.  My small plaster figurines of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the angels are safely wrapped up and tucked away in storage.  I usually spend every Christmas alone.

I wasn’t raised this way.  My mother loved Christmas.  It was one of the few holidays she continued to celebrate even after her children were grown.  Mom always decorated a Christmas tree using ornaments she had collected throughout the years.  Most of the decorations consisted of cotton ball snowmen, clothes pin reindeers, and clay handprints Mom’s children made in elementary school.  Mom always loved these awkward, lopsided, misshapen ornaments the most.  Every year, Mom also set up a native scene, though she always had to stop my sisters and me from playing with the Jesus figure as if he was our very own baby doll.  She would put vines of holly around every door and trays of candy on every table.  Mom always said that Christmas is a time for miracles.  That idea is the only tradition of Christmas that I carry with me from my childhood.

While so many people celebrate the holiday with the traditional tinsel and glimmer, Christmas for me is always a time of quiet reflection.  I always spend Christmas day in prayer, meditation, contemplation, and silent worship of Christ.  I want this one special day to be 100% God-focused.  I don’t want presents, or trees, or wreaths to distract me from my communion with Christ.  Even though I celebrate a modest holiday, it is continually filled with peace and elation.  The feeling is so blissful, I always pledge every Christmas that I will make this joy last all year long.  I’m always determined that I will continue to hold Jesus in my soul.  I want to get to know Christ more; I want to carry him within my heart and not let minor things of this world bother me and cause me to lose my focus.  I want to maintain Christmas joy for the rest of the year.

Unfortunately, this year, I didn’t even make it a week….

Christmas was on Sunday, December 25^th, of course.  For the next few days, I was happy, and peaceful.  I felt grateful and blessed.  All my good intentions, however, crashed down around me by Thursday, December 29.  Yes, Thursday…just four days later!

That morning, I woke up at 2:30 to get to work by 4.  I started the day off well.  I said my daily prayers before I walked out the door.  The drive to work in the morning darkness was enchanting and thought-provoking.  I thought about life and God and everything in the universe.  Twice that morning, on two separate occasions, two of my co-workers talked about God with me.  To my surprise, they just randomly began to discuss God’s graciousness, his goodness, and his love for all of his children.  Their conversation made me smile.  Their words just enhanced the bliss I was already feeling.

A little later that morning, the computer I was using suddenly froze.  I tried everything I could think of to get the computer running again.  I turned it off and on; I punched control-alt-delete several times.  All the quick fixes I could think of failed me.  The computer remained frozen on a bright blue background with the computer logo flashing across the screen.  I told myself not to panic.  I took a deep breath and remembered that Archangel Michael was the angel to call on to fix appliances.  So I placed both of my hands on the monitor and started to pray:’

“Archangel Michael, please help me.  I have a lot of work I need to complete and the computer won’t work.  I need your help to fix my computer so I can finish my assignments.”

Suddenly, I heard a beep and saw a flash out of the corner of my eye.  In the midst of my prayer, the computer came flickering back to life.  I thanked Archangel Michael for us assistance and was able to get all of my work done on time.

So, the day was going well with many opportunities to remain God-focused even during my hectic working day.

So why did I suddenly lose my faith that afternoon?

I had been working hard.  I had multiple assignments and was doing my best to complete additional jobs for a few people who had called in sick.  I thought I had followed all assignments correctly.  I thought I was doing very well and remained in a state of grace…for a while…

Only when I believed I was being unfairly criticized by my supervisor for a miscommunication did my faith and my peace desert me.  When I felt unnecessarily attacked in front of my peers, my focus suddenly shifted away from God.  I had given into my ego.  I had given into my fears.  Why didn’t I just continue to trust in God and know that this moment would pass, too?  Why didn’t I remind myself that God still loved me and he would not forsake me even when I felt humiliated and disrespected?  Instead of just nodding my head and correcting the situation, I argued back that the directions I had been given were not clear.  I demonstrated to my supervisor that I had done the work according to her plan.  I continued defending myself by reminding her that I had checked in an hour ago to explain what I was doing with the assignment and my supervisor had told me I was correct.

But as I argued my point, I didn’t feel vindicated or victorious.  I felt horrified, sad, and embarrassed by my behavior.  I was ashamed of myself for not just letting the perceived injustice go.  I responded to the stress of the moment with more stress.  I responded to negativity with negativity.  I made a bad situation worse.

For just that moment that Thursday afternoon after Christmas, I had slipped away from God.  I remind myself that I am only human; I am by no means an angel.  I am here on earth now to learn and to grow and to change and to better my soul the same way I must do in every lifetime.  I just have to accept that there will be times when I will fall from grace, and I must keep the faith that God is still there for me even in those moments.  I have to remember that God will always be by my side even when I am far from perfect.

I still feel angry with myself now that, for a brief moment, I lost sight of what was really important in this world.  Now, I search for God once more.  I open my heart and my soul again to accept Lord Jesus Christ.  And I must remember even when I have my bad moments, I am still one of God’s children.  I am one of his lesser angels…and he still loves me all the same…He will guide me to heaven even in those moments when I do not think I am worth the effort.  He has come to save my soul from my own ego and insecurities….

In Christ, I am continually reborn….

And maybe, just maybe, that is the true meaning of Christmas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

My Vegas

About three weeks ago, I was in Las Vegas again.  Yes, again.  It was possibly my twelfth visit to Nevada.  For several years, I lived in Southern California which was just four hours southwest of Las Vegas.  The fantasy city became my weekend get-away destination.  I would make the long, joyful drive through the shockingly beautiful desert on Friday mornings and spend the weekend exploring the strip and surrounding territories.  I would attend concerts and go to special events.  I would sip iced teas while watching all of the colorful people on the streets.  Vegas is the most amazing place to people watch.  Colorful, dressed-up characters, beautiful showgirls, amusing musicians, creative dancers, and aggressive vendors decorate the strip in all kinds of surprisingly bizarre and fascinating manners.  There’s always something to watch, to see, to do, to enjoy in Vegas.

Over the years, I have grown so comfortable with the city, I have no fear of walking the strip by myself at night.  I am careful.  I take precautions.  I do things such as leaving my purse in the hotel room and dressing down so I don’t bring attention to myself.  I walk confidently down the street as if I always know where I’m going and what I’m doing, even though in reality, I’m just roaming around completely dazzled by all of the lights, colors, and designs of the hotels and casinos.  My favorite time to wander is in the early mornings.  I casually stroll down the strip as I watch the sun rising up over the Eiffel Tower at the Paris Hotel and glowing  through the spokes of the High Roller, the large Ferris wheel that is located between the Flamingo and Linq hotels.

I know I am bragging about my Vegas vacations.  I always boast about Vegas.  I happily post many pictures of Nevada on my Facebook page; I share copies of my Vegas travel journals; I talk continually about my adventures in the bright city.  I don’t smoke or drink or gamble, but that doesn’t make any difference.  Filled with amazing attractions and interesting experiences, Vegas is still a wonderland to me.  Not only is the city so interesting, but Vegas is so central to other amazing attractions as well.  My trips to Nevada have also included walking across the Hoover Dam, sailing around Lake Mead, touring the Colorado River, and exploring the red cliffs of St. George, Utah.

Vegas is one of my absolute favorite places on earth.  That revelation surprises a lot of people, though.  I always get questioned about that statement.  I usually get asked by someone, “How can you possibly love Vegas after you have been to so many other beautiful places?”  Other questions have been, “Yuck! How can you stand the kitschiness of Vegas?” “How could you possible enjoy Vegas after you just returned from Alaska (which just happened this year)?”

All right, I will clarify.  First of all, I stated that Las Vegas is ONE of my favorite places.  The city is one of hundreds of favorite places I have seen on this earth.  I have been very fortunate to have traveled so extensively.  I have driven through all fifty states, lived in England, journeyed through Europe, briefly visited Thailand, and backpacked across Malaysia.  I have amazing memories and favorite places through all of my journeys.  Vegas is on my list of favorite places though the ranking constantly changes with each new travel experience I have.

Usually, when I am asked why I love Vegas, I respond with an answer that lives deep in my soul.  I usually say, “Life is good.  Life is so good!”  There are so many wonderful things in life.  I never understood why anyone would pick to live or to do or  to read or to listen to or to see or  to be just one thing.  I want it all.  I want all that life has to offer.  I don’t want to choose just one type of book or music or movie or religion or drink or food or people to enjoy.  I want to see the sunrise over the High Roller as much as I want to see the sunrise over the Rocky Mountains.  I want to see the lights glittering over Las Vegas in the middle of the night in the same way that I saw the casinos of Monte Carlo glistening in the distant darkness as my friends and I stood on top of a cliff overlooking Monaco.  It doesn’t matter; it’s all life and it’s all beautiful to me.

Though I am currently planning trips to Australia and other countries, I will always return to Vegas.  Yes, there are times when Vegas can get a little rough.  I have seen things like people drunk in the streets and  showgirls who display a little more of their “belongings” than I really care to see.  But it doesn’t matter.  I don’t get involved or worry about the negative.  I know that I will continue to stand mesmerized in front of the dancing waters of the Bellagio and thrill over the dolphins of the Mirage no matter how many times I have already experienced those things in the past.

I think everyone needs to experience Las Vegas at least once in his or her life.  Vegas is one of the most iconic American cities that is consistently depicted in TV shows, movies, books, and magazines.  Media cannot capture the full ambiance and pageantry of the city.  It is a surreal fantasyland that is set in beautiful contrast to the glaciers in Alaska, the mountains in Colorado, and the oceans of California.  It is the quintessential yin and yang of life, which all needs to be experienced and explored.

Since I moved to Kansas last year, getting to Vegas is a little more complicated for me.  The journey now includes a plane ride, but that’s all right.  It’s all part of the adventure.  And that’s exactly what life is…an endless adventure.  Vegas is just one of the many amazing stops I have made on the incredible journey of life.

Alaska

Yugen

1. Important concept in traditional Japanese aesthetics. “Dim,” “Deep,” or “Mysterious”
2. Awareness of the universe that triggers emotional responses too deep and mysterious for words.

In 1996, Jon Krakauer, the author of Into Thin Air, published an amazing, thoughtful book entitled Into the Wild.  This book tells the true story of Christopher Johnson McCandless who, after graduating from college, spurned his former affluent life and the bright, comfortable future ahead of him.  Motivated by books he read by Jack London and John Muir, McCandless dedicated himself to a personal vision quest that began in the western and southwestern regions of America.  Changing his name to Alexander Supertramp, McCandless gave his savings of  $25,000 to charity, abandoned all his possessions, left his car in the Mojave Desert, and burned all of his cash to ensure that nothing would hold him back from his journey.  Looking for his own personal paradise on this earth, McCandless even threw away all of his maps and traveled only by his intuition.  In April 1992, McCandless hitchhiked into Alaska and walked into the vast cold wilderness north of Mount McKinley.  For a while, McCandless found shelter in an abandoned old school bus.  Four months later, however, his body was found by a moose hunter.

No one knows what ultimately motivated McCandless’s careless journey.  Questions still remain about a young man’s need to walk away from a rich and promising future to live homeless and starving  in the barren wildness of Alaska.  Some people claim that McCandless had a death wish and a need for self-destruction.    Others just dismiss McCandless’s actions as foolish and innocently reckless.

Well, I guess I am foolish and reckless too….

I don’t claim to know what was in McCandless’s head or why he choose his particular lifestyle, but there is a core element inside of me that feels so connected to his story.  In response to Krakauer’s consistent questions in the book about McCandless’s journey, I think I understand.

There are so many of us on this earth who don’t always feel that we belong in a world that overwhelms us with violent, materialistic, opportunistic situations.  Some of us who struggle to cope, do not medicate ourselves from the stress with alcohol, food, cigarettes, sex, gambling, or prescription drugs, but we do experience a deep and compelling lust all the same.  Wanderlust and the need to move, to travel, to create a universe of our own existence is a hunger that is rarely satisfied.

Restless, never able to settle down, I constantly look for opportunities to escape my existence.  I have no intention of doing this through self-harm.  I just have a relentless need to be lost.  When I travel, I rarely call or text anyone.  I love driving alone down deserted highways  without a single person knowing where I am in that exact moment.  I enjoy the solitude, the drifting away from my reality.  This has been my lifestyle for the last thirty years.

In July, 2016, I finally had the opportunity to realize a lifelong dream.  I spent time this summer exploring Alaska.  This was an amazing turning point for me.  I had made a vow to myself that I would drive through every state in America.  Alaska was the last state I needed to visit in order to satisfy this goal.  However, I refused to celebrate this accomplishment.  I didn’t post notices about it on Facebook.  I didn’t write blogs about my experience.  I just didn’t feel the need.

While I was in Alaska, I felt inspired to go completely off the grid.  I wanted desperately to be lost.  I wanted to cut off all communication to my former life.  I didn’t call or text anyone.  I only posted a few pictures on Facebook when I felt overwhelmed by the incredible scenery of glaciers, waterfalls, mountains, and animals.  But I only posted about 20 of the 350 photos I took.  I haven’t posted any more pictures or information about Alaska since I returned to Kansas.  There is a deep part of me that just needs to keep it quiet and hidden.  To experience so much of God’s amazing wilderness was so profound and awe-inspiring there was no way of putting it into words.  Even the beautiful pictures I have seem bleak when compared to the Alaskan landscape itself.  To this day, two months later, I have no desire to tell people about all of the amazing things that happened to me in Alaska.

However…

I think constantly of running away again to the “last frontier.”  I want to hide in her vast beauty and get lost in her majestic environment.  I want to run with her wilderness and dissolve into her endless splendor.

My life’s purpose was  redefined in Alaska.  I came into contact with who God intended me to be.  I was never meant to have the things of an ordinary life.  I was not meant to have a great job, or a wonderful marriage, or an incredible home.  My only life’s purpose is to grow closer to God.  To know him by his world, by the beauty that surrounds me.  I don’t have to be anything…in Alaska, I can just be…

I don’t care about success, or a home, or money.  Just knowing in my heart and soul that I can move and explore and witness God’s glory is enough for me in this lifetime.

I don’t know Christopher McCandless’s motivation for his journey.

I didn’t travel from this life as far as Christopher did.

But there are times I really wish I had followed him.