Life stories

My sister and I used to have an expression for times when the world was crashing in on us and we couldn’t catch a break. We’d say that the devil was after us with a pitchfork. I don’t know if the phrase originated with us or if it was passed down by my grandmother, who very likely would have said it. We have gotten many such gems from her. This might have been one of them.

The metaphor of a curve ball entered my mind last night as yet another potential disastrous plague was upon us (this time my husband and me). In sports there are many balls: baseballs, footballs, soccer balls, tennis balls, golf balls and basketballs. The curve ball comes from baseball and is named thus as it comes at the batter on his side rather than in a straight line. Unexpected, disconcerting, requires adjustment.

As humans we are hit by many curve balls in the course of a lifetime. Some are not too bad. We can push through them handily, no big deal. Others knock us off our foundation, rattling us beyond our comfort levels, bringing the fairness of one’s life into question.

My sister’s passing was one such curve ball that I not only did not expect but was betting on the opposite result, in this case life. We were all certain she would keep going and even get better. It was not in the cards. My husband’s recent gallstone catastrophe was another one, curve ball that is. The gallstone found its way to a bile duct, sufficiently blocking it allowing the bacteria to spread into his blood causing sepsis. Never in the many times he has had gallstones (at least 3 or 4, all of which passed on their own) did we imagine this time to be any different or to suddenly become life threatening. But it did. Curve ball.

He has been home recovering for just over a month and we are now faced with yet another of those pesky balls. A situation that could mean one of about five different things, the scariest of which being cancer. The “C” word that speaks dread into the heart of anyone who hears it, especially the patient.

After my sister passed I was on edge and out of sorts for several weeks. Weeks turned into months and I began to regain my equilibrium. I got to sail along for a few weeks until the gallstone incident. Now I have been recouping from that until we got the news last night about the new issue. I am keeping it together by telling myself that it is most likely one of the other four diagnoses. It doesn’t have to be the worst one. I am sure many of you can relate.

What is my point in telling you about my personal trials? Because we are human, living in this world of trouble, we are going to be thrown curve balls (and other such nasty objects) as long as we are breathing air. Life is not fair. Life can involve suffering, heartache, pain and any number of horrible events that touch us and pierce us to our very core. It is unavoidable. How do we cope?

I personally could not navigate this life without my family, but even more than that, without God. He is a constant companion, in the good times and especially during the bad. After my sister passed I relied on him greatly, on his comfort, on his love and on the moments of peace he would generously give to me. Invaluable. I know, beyond any questioning, that he will always be with me and will always get me through it, whatever “it” is. He never disappoints nor will he will ever let me down. He will never walk away. He is my Savior, 24/7/365. My heart breaks for anyone who does not know him, who feels alone in their pain and suffering. It doesn’t have to be that way. In absolutely every difficult time in my life he has been there for me, giving me comfort and guiding me to my next steps.

I pray that you know his peace, that you openly and often pray to him, talk to him, experience his great love for you. I hope you are in a relationship with him, because there is no one on this planet who doesn’t need him. Trust me. God bless.

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Last night my husband and I celebrated the day we met, 20 years ago. I couldn’t wear the outfit to dinner that I wore for our first meeting because I only had part of it, so… I had recently tried on a sexy jersey sundress that I wore for the last time maybe 13 years ago, i.e., my body was much younger. It shows considerably more cleavage than I normally wear in public. Probably why I haven’t worn it for so long.

I tried it on the other day and was taken aback. It not only fit but looked good! Oh my goodness! I thought to myself. I don’t look half bad. Let me rephrase that, I look damn good! Shocker. Seriously, shocker. Could it be a magical mirror in front of me?

I tried it on for my husband and he loved it. I can always count on his honest opinion (He’s not good at lying when it comes to those things.) Maybe I’ll wear it out to dinner on Tuesday, I said with trepidation. I was thinking, Oh I definitely should not do that! Great! was his short reply.

I had chosen two possible outfits for consideration when the day arrived. The sexy dress or a pair of black skinny jeans and the red silk blouse I wore when we first met. 180 degree difference, trust me. I tried on the dress convinced that I would be taking it off right away and going with the slacks. I looked into that magic mirror in my bathroom and there I was again, rocking it in that stupid dress! Again I showed my husband. Do I look like a floozy in this? No! Of course not! You look great! Wear it! Okay, I said, walking away, still thinking I probably look like an old lady who tries too hard, but oh well. I’ll be bold this time and not care what anyone thinks. Yeah, right.

Before we left I wanted my husband to take a picture of me so I could send it to my two much younger daughters in law. To show off a little, I guess. He showed me picture number 1. I was horrified! I look terrible! I said cursing that stupid magic mirror. I needed to carry it around with me, obviously. Picture number 2, equally bad. My face looks old, my arms look old! Ugh! I think we settled on picture number 4 or 5, after I successfully dimmed all the lights. (good idea, right?) That picture, although nothing like my magic mirror, was text worthy for two women. (Two women who love me, I should add.)

I sent it to them. Here’s your old but still hot mother in law! Probably should not wear this dress out in public but tonight, because it’s a special occasion and my husband gave me the green light I’m going to be bold. Probably will never wear it again tho….. One came back right away and said I looked beautiful; the other soon followed with Ooh la la! You look gorgeous! That gave me just enough courage to walk out the front door.

As it turned out I did not cause a riot at the restaurant, nor was I thrown out for indecent exposure. I even caught the eye of a much younger man on the way out… Bonus. It made me think. The difference between the way I see me and the way others see me is night and day. Magic mirrors aside, I was aghast at the pictures of me, deeming myself unworthy of that sexy dress. No one else was, including my husband whose opinion outweighs everyone else’s. We are so critical of our bodies, especially as we age. I can honestly tell you that I notice everything. My poor body must have a complex.

Find a magic mirror in your house. If you don’t have one, buy one. The one that makes you look younger and perfectly beautiful, no matter what you are wearing. And then only look in that one when you go out somewhere. Trust me, you are the one who needs to be reminded of how beautiful you are. And you are. God bless.

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Losses come in all shapes and sizes as well as degree of impact on our lives. As humans we experience loss regularly, most with little to no affect. However, the big losses come eventually, and we have to be able to deal with them. As you know, I recently lost my sister, a big loss for me as she was not only my only sibling but my best friend and confidante. She knew things about me that no one else knew. That’s a big deal.

I have been doing alright lately but I’ve noticed that I still have moments of great sadness. It comes out of nowhere. If I’m telling someone about her or something in my day reminds me of her, the pain arrives, I get choked up and my eyes fill with tears. Normal. But recently it looked like a similar loss was coming and for awhile I felt overwhelmed. Someone else in my family had a serious accident and I thought it might be the end, again. I could feel myself returning to the horrific panic, dread and fear that comes when you believe you might be losing someone. I told God, “No! no more losses right now! I can’t handle it! Please make everything okay again!” Fortunately all resolved and my biggest fears were not realized. It made me aware that our capacity for loss is only so big and if too much comes at us we become overwhelmed which can lead to various types of unhealthy behavior, depending on the person.

I knew a person a couple of years ago who lost her beloved horse and then a few months later her husband passed away followed soon after by her dog. All within a year’s time. This woman, who I shall classify as remarkable, is not only coping with all of these losses, she is thriving as a human. She has taken such good care of herself as well as continued to grow and give to others. Extraordinary human being. I am in awe of her inner strength. This is not the norm.

I have had other big losses in my life but I feel like I have been able to cope pretty well. This last one, however, my sister, has been harder than anything I have dealt with previously. I bought this amazing book on dealing with grief that has helped me so much. It outlines the five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Thinking about these stages the other day I asked myself which stage did I think I was in currently. I tested out each one and came back with a strange answer. I’m a little bit in each one of them! I still have moments of denial, anger, bargaining (if only moments), depression and acceptance. Maybe that will never go away. I will float around on all of them for the rest of my life and that;’s okay. It is what it is, right?

Life is precious. Our loved ones are only here for a time so we must make the best of it. Being aware of that should help us be more present with them, more loving and forgiving. One day they will not be here, or we will not be here so don’t miss out on the time you have left. Appreciate them, care for them and love them deeply. Not only will it feed your soul and theirs, but it will bring you great comfort one day when the memory is all you have left. God bless.

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When someone close to you passes away they leave a hole in your heart. Our question then becomes, how do you fill it? I don’t like that empty feeling, never have been a fan. So what am I filling that hole in my own heart with? My imagination. And that’s all I will say about that here. Suffice it to say, it is not real and inevitably (at least once a day) I retreat there only to remember at some point that it’s not my real life and then I get depressed. Well, that defeated the whole purpose, didn’t it?

The problem with filling that empty space with anything, be it imagination, or something unhealthy or downright toxic is that it’s a quick fix that will either end in your despair, illness or even death. So what should we fill that hole in your heart with? How about love for others, the ones who remain, love for strangers, people less fortunate, people who are in greater need than you are? This reminds me of a time when I was 17 and “lost.” In desperation I sought out the wisdom of my father. (My parents were divorced and I was living with my father and his new wife and kids.) His sage advice was that I should help others and in so doing I would find myself. Be of service to those in need and then you will figure out who are. Wise words even today.

What are some other healthy ways to fill the void? Music, art, books, movies, lunches with friends, planning a trip with someone, volunteer at an animal shelter, exercise, walking, riding your horse, etc. Will any of these activities bring back your loved one? No, but they probably will help you feel better, which is the goal here. This is all I want right now since I lost my sister in April. To feel better.

Don’t bury your feelings. Don’t stuff them down inside yourself. Someone said that would be like trying to hold beach balls under water. Eventually they pop up over the surface. You can’t hold them down for very long. I have a tendency to do that. It’s not healthy. Feel them, cry – it’s a wonderful release. Get the feelings out where you can deal with them. It puts you more in control, which, when grieving, you have very little of.

The warning I would give here is not to let busyness take over. People grieving tend to keep busy so they don’t have to feel the pain. Guilty. Eventually, and when you least expect it, the feelings come out, unbidden, unwanted and you have to face them. Even closing your eyes doesn’t help. Feel the feelings, cry, then take a step forward. Do something practical. Make your bed, do the dishes (or just one dish), finish a small project, go grocery shopping (ugh), call a friend. In other words, complete a task, something you would normally do. It will give you back some control over your life and will improve your outlook.

As I said in an earlier blog, grieving is not for sissies. Indeed. But it is survivable, even thrivable, (made up a word) given time, patience and self-care (which should include grace). You will get to a better place. You will smile and sometimes even laugh when you think of a memory with that person. You will smile more than cry. Be patient with yourself. Here’s to feeling okay again. God bless.

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My sister passed away a month ago today. I say that out loud and my body goes numb. I think I am still in the denial stage, which comes naturally because she lived a thousand miles away from me so unless I called her, I was not in touch.

This is the first time in my life that I have grieved and I will tell you it is not for sissies. It is hard. And I am just at the beginning of it! How long does it last? You won’t like the answer. As long as it lasts. Everyone is different. Everyone grieves in their own way. That doesn’t help me. I like to be in control. Guess what? You don’t get to be. Not this time.

Two weeks after she passed my husband and I drove down to Southern California to my sister’s house to go through her things and “take whatever you want” per my brother-in-law. We got there about 6:30pm. I walked into the house with a smile, trying to pretend it was a happy visit. Within minutes I was hit in the chest by a boulder. The air around me became oppressive and I found it hard to breathe. I wanted to run but knew I couldn’t do that. I went into their family room and sat on a chair. I let the memories crash around me like waves. I started sobbing. Why did this happen? Is there anything I can do to bring her back? NO.

After a while I got up, telling my husband I was going to take a shower and go to bed. He wanted to sit with me for comfort but I wouldn’t have it. I wanted to be alone with my pain.

The next day I felt much better. Okay, I thought, I can do this. It wasn’t long before some memory hit me in the face and the tears came. Oh, I thought, this is what it’s going to be like. FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. Because she will never be not dead. This is my future, I told myself. Get used to it.

A week and a half later we were back home. I felt confident that being home would be easier, maybe even bring this whole grieving thing to an end. Nope. Dead wrong. My first day back was awful. Easter Sunday was a black cloud that never left. How am I supposed to deal with this?

I realized that there are tools. I looked up grief counseling. I booked a Zoom meeting with a counselor. I had the meeting yesterday. I have scheduled another session with her for this Friday. I have figured out so much about my own grieving journey that most of what she said I already knew and was already doing. Like self care. I learned early on that I needed to protect myself by keeping away from certain people and situations that made me feel worse. I cancelled lunches, stopped going to a weekly meeting at my church that left me feeling empty and sad and listened to my body for what it wanted, be it food or rest. That was a major tool that nurtured me rather than starved.

I found a book online that had many good reviews so I bought it. “Fuck Death” by Steve Case. I started reading it and found it most helpful. Not the right book for everyone. But it you want to cut out the flowery words, phrases and cliches and just get to the core issues that you are dealing with, I would recommend it. There is foul language though, so be forewarned.

I learned early on that crying helps. Kind of like throwing up when you are sick that leaves you feeling better after you do it. Crying during grief is like that. The problem is I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to lose control and feel the pain. It makes everything more real. I want to pretend. Yes, that’s where I am at now. Denial. But it doesn’t make you feel better because you soon realize denying it does not make it go away. It is your new reality.

I firmly believe that one day I will be able to remember my sister and smile instead of cry. I will think of all the wonderful memories and they will not make me sad. I will laugh at the funny ones and tell her how much I miss her and that one day I will see her again. She is in Heaven with my mom and dad and they are having a wonderful time up there. I will live out my best life, enjoying the gift that it is. And then one day we will be together again.

If it weren’t for my belief and my relationship with God/Jesus, my grief journey would be so much harder. God has been there for me throughout and will continue to be my comfort and strength. My prayer is that if you ever have to go through this, you will find solace and peace in him as well. God bless.

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My sister Wendy passed away two days ago. She had been struggling with health issues for about a year, in and out of hospitals, in and out of pain, discouragement, frustration, anger and sometimes hopefulness. I don’t even know everything she experienced except I know she wanted out. She was bedridden the last several months, subject to humiliating and miserable conditions that none of us could change. Her husband of thirty plus years cared for her day and night, running himself ragged quickly becoming her one and only hero. She counted on him for everything but her breath, and weeks before she died, except for her times in the hospital, she counted on him even for that.

Her daughter, who lives out of state, went to see her a few weeks ago. She’s still there now. I went for a week and just came back on Friday, three days before she passed. I visited her in the hospital daily. The first time I saw her all I could think was, this is not my sister! Not the sister I remember. It made me so sad to see her that way. Most of the time she was lucid then she would come up with a bizarre statement like, “You know the clock on the wall? (the one in her hospital room) Do you know that it has daytime numbers and nighttime numbers? They move around.” I smiled and told her maybe it was just that clock.

We reminisced as much as we could given her occasional lack of lucidity, or just her need for sleep. The last visit I had with her we all said our usual goodbyes and I love yous because we fully expected to see her again. When I was just outside her door she yelled, “I love you, Bara Boo!” That was her nickname for me but she had not called me that during the whole time I was down there. Her voice was different as she said it. She sounded just like her old self, strong and healthy. Something inside me stirred. I had an uneasy feeling that it was the last time we would speak. It was.

My niece called me as my sister was passing and allowed me to speak to her one last time. She could not answer me but my niece said she could tell that my sister heard and understood what I was saying. It was a hard day for all of us.

Not having any other siblings and having lost both parents, I am now the sole survivor of my immediate family. It feels strange and sad. I can no longer talk to anyone about the good old days or ask family questions.

My sister was my best friend. She knew me better than anyone. She accepted me for who I was and loved me dearly. When we were young, I wanted to be just like her. I tried to dress like her, despite our eight year age gap. I idolized her. Every so often she would clean out her jewelry box or closet and I would get her hand me downs. I remember trying on her fancy dresses and stuffing the strapless gowns with tissue where normal breasts would go. I loved playing dress up in her clothes.

After I graduated from High School and started working I went to visit her in Florida. She was going through a rough divorce at the time so I went down there to babysit her kids for the summer while she worked. Soon we were both working. For fun we would go out dancing together. We started going out 3-4 times per week, coming home late then getting up early to go to work. The routine would start over come nighttime. Once at our usual dance club, a young man asked me to dance. He asked my name and when I told him he said he had just been in the men’s room and some guy had walked in and with great enthusiasm said, “Guess what? Wendy and Sarah are here!” So many memories. So many stories.

In a couple of weeks I am going down there to help go through all of her stuff: jewelry, clothing, books, pictures in frames, and lots and lots of photo albums. It will be hard to do but a necessary part of the process.

My sister was my confidant, she knew things no one else every knew or will know. She always gave me the best advice but only if I asked for it. There were so many traditions between us over the years. That will be hard to give up but good to remember.

Wendy was smart but also wise. She was funny, caring, loving and special, very very special, to all of us, particularly her husband. If you have a sibling, tell them you love them often. If you are estranged, maybe reaching out is what you need to do. My husband reached out to his older brother after 40 years. His brother was overjoyed. We saw him and his wife maybe four times before he died. It was a blessing.

Thank you for listening to my story. My sister was on the email list to get my blogs. She always told me how much she enjoyed them. Hope she liked this one, too. God bless.

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TMI? Sorry, but it flows well. Months ago I knew we were scheduled to attend two destination weddings, one in Washington state and the other in Bend, Oregon (3 1/2 hours from here). The first wedding was for my great nephew whom I’ve watched grow up.  Their wedding was going to be outside, a spectacular setting at a lodge on the Columbia River Gorge.  There was a strong chance of rain and cooler temperatures so deciding what to wear would be important. Since it was only 1 1/2 hours from home we planned to drive up the afternoon of the wedding and drive back after.  My niece would be there (groom’s mother with whom I am fairly close) as well as her daughter (my great niece) and the great niece’s husband. It is nice to go to a wedding where you have family around you.  Especially when it is family you enjoy being around.

Although chilly, it did not rain during the ceremony which is good because it was completely out in the open. The reception was under a cover but open on all sides. They had heaters strategically placed around the area which gave off great warmth and came in handy when the wind started to blow light rain.  Fortunately that only lasted about an hour then the winds calmed down and the rain stopped. You never know about the weather here in the Pacific Northwest.  You’ve no doubt heard the expression, “If you don’t like the weather, wait ten minutes.” I’m sure we don’t have a monopoly on that phrase but it is definitely true up here.

After the obligatory first dances, dinner, toasts and cake cutting, the dance floor was open to everyone. I love to dance. My husband does as well. Unfortunately the shoes he wore to the wedding were pinching his feet so he never made it to the dance floor. That didn’t stop me! After a couple glasses of wine I’ll dance alone if I have to! (Well, as long as the floor is crowded. I’m not going to make a spectacle of myself, especially at my age.)  The music that the DJ played was pretty good. I had to ask him and my niece asked him separately to play one of my favorite dance songs, “Mustang Sally”. He said he would play it later and he did! I danced with my great niece’s husband and then it morphed into four of us, my niece, great niece and her hubby. So much fun!

We left at nine for the long drive home. All in all it was a great wedding and we were glad we went.  Now on to the next one. Did I mention that it was two days later?  TWO DAYS!  It would require an overnight stay which I booked weeks in advance. Prior to attending either of these weddings I had been recovering from some kind of bug, a weird one, achey throat, headache and lethargic. No, it wasn’t Covid. But I was still sick. I loaded up on Airborne and Zinc, drank lots of liquids and slept a lot. By the time the first wedding came around I was back to normal, but it was a close one.

The second wedding was for the son of my best friend of many years. Most of her family would be there, all of whom I’ve known for just as long. We took off the day of the wedding on the long drive East, the majority through beautiful countryside.  Lovely drive, albeit tiring. We went straight to our hotel, changed into our pretty clothes and left for the wedding, trying not to be late. The venue was the Seventh Mountain Resort, gorgeous setting. The ceremony was outside followed by an indoor reception.  Cocktails, appetizers and great conversations. Lots of catching up. Dinner was served followed by the first dances. The bride was stunning, the groom was handsome. Fairy tale atmosphere.

Soon the dance floor was open to all and guess what I asked the DJ to play? You guessed it – “Mustang Sally!”  When it played I started out dancing with some ladies and then surprise! My husband showed up so I danced to a few songs with him. I definitely had too much wine that night – I’m a lightweight now – so it was good that we left when we did. I think it was around 9. Most of the family had left before us so I didn’t mind heading out.  All in all a great night with good friends.

Are you ready for the next story? No, I don’t think so. Let’s just say I prepared, I went to the surgical center, had the procedure and came home. The worst part about that test for me is not eating. I don’t do well. For anyone who cares, the preparation drink is much better now.

In less than seven days we attended two out of town weddings and I had a medical procedure. Whew! My social calendar has not been that full in a long time. It was mostly worth it. God bless.

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I remember when I realized that my marriage was over. One of my first thoughts was ” We can’t get divorced! Friday night is our taco night!” Now obviously I knew that was not a reason to stay together but it felt compelling at the time. Taco night. How can we have our tacos if we are not together?

Familiarity. Familiar experiences. Routines. Rituals. These are things that make us comfortable. And who wants to get rid of comfortable? There are exceptions, of course. Not everything familiar is desirable or comfortable. A man who beats his wife every night has certainly set a pattern, but the wife will hardly find this familiar routine comfortable. For today, I am speaking about familiarity that brings comfort. Sometimes we want to hold on to the comfortable even when, as in the case of my marriage, it was time to let  go. The unknown that loomed in front of me as a 20 something woman was far more frightening than staying where I was, even though at a very deep level I knew it was not going to work.

Fear of the unknown keeps many people from changing. I had never lived alone before and now I had a small child to care for. What was that going to be like? How do I do this? A very good friend of my sister’s told me to open the scary door to the future and jump! I remember keeping that image in my mind for a long time, until I actually did what she said. I survived the jump which allowed me to move forward into an unknown future that felt less and less scary as time went on.

But I digress. The other day driving out of my neighborhood I noticed the trash cans neatly standing in front of everyone’s home, like sentries protecting the residents. I said aloud, “Friday is trash day.” That started me thinking about routines and how comfortable they can become in our lives. Taco nights, gym days, going to church,. Then smaller routines, like how my husband comes upstairs with me every night when I am going to bed. We turn down the bed together then he sets our clock so that it projects onto the ceiling in the right place and turns on the tv so I can watch it for a bit before going to sleep. I am in the bathroom washing up and brushing my teeth. He is not ready to go to bed himself but insists on coming up with me to help me in the process. Before going downstairs he gives me a hug and a quick kiss. This has become very familiar and yes, very comforting. How sad it would be if he were not here anymore and it was time for bed? I suppose I would create a new routine. That’s what we do. We generate new routines to replace the old so we can feel comfortable again. It is even comforting knowing that we have the ability to do that.

But perhaps I am speaking out of turn. Not everyone likes routine. Not everyone enjoys the familiar. These people are more spontaneous in their lives in general. Something I am not but certainly admire in others. Although my guess is that even spontaneous people enjoy familiarity, if only occasionally. Routine leads to familiarity which leads to comfort, generally speaking.  Habits can do the same. I am definitely a creature of habit. Doing things a certain way all the time gives us a sense of control. Growing up with a father who although loving was prone to wild mood swings, often made me feel out of contr0l. My structured lifestyle as an adult has given me the control back that I lost as a child.

I think that structured people such as myself need to feel in control of their lives and find comfort in the habits they form. Spontaneous, fly by the seat of their pants people don’t need that. They go with the flow, they adjust as needed. Experiences such as airplane rides probably don’t frighten them because they don’t need to feel in control. I don’t like flying but will not let that stop me from going somewhere I want to go. In other words, my need for control does not stop me from living my best life. It could but it doesn’t.

For most of us, familiarity makes us comfortable. When two people start dating they don’t really know each other. The longer they stay together the more familiar they become with one another and the more comfortable the relationship becomes. And if it doesn’t work out in the long term, the harder it is to say goodbye, at least for most of us.

Enjoy your routines. Appreciate how they make you feel comfortable. But be flexible and able to bend when life calls for it. Because life will call for it. God bless.

 

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1 John 2:15-17  Do not love this world nor the things it offers you, for when you love the world, you do not have the love of the Father in you.

John 17:14-16  …  (Jesus speaking) My prayer is not that you (God) take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one. They are not of the world, even as I am not of it.

Most of us have struggled this year, maybe all of us, with one thing or another. Sickness, death, lockdowns, depression, anxiety, frustration, worry, fear.  You name it, we have experienced it in 2020. Not to mention a contentious election, divisiveness, anger, rage, bitterness, anxiety, worry, fear. Many similar emotional reactions. Much as I have tried to avoid being caught up in either issue, I am a human who likes to control her environment and therefore have fallen prey to the ugliness and sadness that permeates our world today.  It has taken a toll on me. And I want it to stop…..now.

I remember that Jesus was aware of the pitfalls of humans getting too involved with the world and less with him. He knew we were “in” this world; it was where we lived. But he didn’t want us to be  “of” this world, i.e., not to get caught up in the world and its influence. This world is only temporary. As Christians, we must realize it is not our real home.  Our actual home awaits our passing. Putting too much stake in anything that goes on here is not for us. Ultimately God is in control. Sarah, definitely not.

Even if you are not a Christian, it helps to realize that leaders come and go. They are only human which means they are subject to the frailties, faults and “sins” of mankind. We are far from perfect, therefore do not expect perfection from anyone, especially our leaders. Our lifetimes, in the grand scheme of things, are fleeting. Twenty years from now will this matter?  Months ago my husband said to me “Thank God we are old. We won’t have to stick around long enough to watch our country go down the tubes.” You may find that a radical statement but the power wielded in our Capital and some of the radical ideas that people there can come up with and then implement can dramatically change our lives and our country. The thought of  putting up with the bs that comes from  those in charge for 20-30 more years depresses me greatly. We must stop believing that they have our best interests at heart. They don’t. They have their own interests at heart, their own agendas. Enough about that.

My dilemma has been how to get out of the mindset that this is all terribly important. It isn’t. I need to be less “of” the world and more a reflection of God, my eternal father. The perfect one. The only one who truly has my back. If you know me you know that this is not an easy thing for me to do.  I could stop watching the news, which many have advised me to do, but I am addicted to knowing what is going on. However, I have drastically reduced the amount of time I pay attention to it, on the tv or on my phone.  I delete messages from both sides before even reading them.  I look at Facebook less often and when I do, I go quickly past the political posts.  This is a real challenge for me but one I must meet. The times have reeked havoc on my sensibilities, on my heart and soul. This is not what God wants for me. This is not what I want for me. I literally have no control over the virus or Washington, D.C. (except to vote, which I do)  And the people in charge will do what the people in charge will do. Whatever works best for them. I will try to keep my head down and live my life, hopefully a meaningful one.  Many in charge will continue to give in to greed, power, control, narcissism, self-indulgence.  Now that I’ve bashed Washington, I want to add that not all leaders are “bad”. But all are human and therefore flawed.  Let’s see how the next four years go. Praying it goes well.  In the meantime, I’m going to read a good book. God bless.

 

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I have been in the horse world for 13 years now. I’ve owned four horses. My last one, Ruby, I owned for 4 1/2 years. I brought her to Oregon in 2017 when we moved up here. I rode her in three dressage show events. We were a good team. Now she is a therapy horse at Healing Hearts Ranch in Olympia, WA and she’s killing it. She was born for this apparently. I am still grieving for her but I think I am at the same time grieving the possibility that I may not own a horse again or even ride!

I was thinking about it the other day. Initially after Ruby left I rode two horses belonging to my two trainers at the barn. I was doing well and thought I was going to sail on through the whole transition. Saving my money to buy a new horse at some point. Life was good! And then it hit me one morning, about three weeks after giving her up. I was in a state of deep depression. It came to me days later that I was grieving.  All of a sudden my future looked like a giant question mark. Would I ever own another horse? Am I just going to walk away from this lifestyle that has been more than just a hobby? That has been my identity?

I tried to force a decision and then decided not to decide, not yet anyway. I would allow myself time to grieve for Ruby and make a decision later. This is not only what I told myself but also my trainer. It seemed reasonable enough. But when do I actually decide? I have never liked living in limbo. But here I am.

There are logical reasons to quit now. I’m older, much older.   I have broken my arm, fractured a thumb which required surgery and most recently broke my foot after a fall that caused a concussion, something I have never had. I have also had bad falls that resulted in a black eye and a bruise on the side of my knee where it damaged a nerve leaving that part of my knee numb .

So why did I continue riding? Because when it was good, it was THAT good. It filled my heart. It was my passion. And I LOVE horses.

It’s expensive. VERY expensive. I am retired. It has never made me feel poor or broke but it takes at least a fourth of my total income every month and sometimes more. Good reason to quit? I don’t know.

But it’s who I am, right? I am a horse woman. I have always loved talking about my horse. I used to have a bumper sticker that said, “Ask me about my horse. Have you got all day?”

Now I have all this extra time,  3-4 days per week, with nothing scheduled. What to do? I’m back at the gym more often. That’s good, but then what?

Clearly at some point I will have to do something. Doing nothing is not an option. But life feels unsettling and uncomfortable. Most of my days have no control. Part of me wants to fill them up with horses again. Part of me doesn’t want to. Maybe God has a plan for me but I don’t know what it is. He may let me sit here in limbo for a while, being uncomfortable. Hmm.

Have you been there? I think of athletes who get injured and are told they can never compete again. That has to be devastating. I’m not even being told that. I am doing this to myself! Life happens. Change happens. We have to go with it because fighting it makes you crazy and miserable. I repeat, I am volunteering for this! Why? On some level I believe there is something else I am supposed to do now. But again, I have no idea what that looks like.

And so I wait, sans horses and sans a plan. In a weird way I am out of my comfort zone, even though I am in my own home.  I have heard it is good to learn how to live in the discomfort. Will it make me stronger? More prepared? Wiser? I haven’t a clue.  I just know I don’t like it here.

I remember being in Art Class in the fifth grade. The teacher gave us all a blank sheet of paper, put on a piece of music, probably classical, and told us to draw what came to mind. I remember feeling utterly lost. While others got right to it, I sat there without a clue. That’s kind of how I see the days ahead of me. Blank sheets of paper. Maybe if I surrender to the unknown. Give up the idea of filling up the days just to fill up the days. Maybe if I just relax and see what happens. Perhaps it will come to me when I am not desperate to fill that sheet of paper. That bloody, blank sheet of paper called my life. Stay tuned. God bless.

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