A New Normal - A New Lent

Three days before Ash Wednesday 2017, there was a change that happened. It came without fanfare, without pomp and circumstance.  It would forever impact my life, my family, and my heart, but it was disguised as ordinary life.  On that day, February 26, 2017, Mom was admitted to the hospital, never to return home.  While this moment was unexpected and alarming, I did not anticipate the path we were on, and where it would lead.  Life became Lent, and Lent became my life, although I wouldn't truly recognize this until much later.    

A New Normal - 200 Days

200 days.  An eternity or a moment?  I guess it comes down to perspective.

• 66 days to create a habit 
• 100 days into a pregnancy means your baby is the size of a grapefruit
• 107 working days (on average) are required to pay your income tax each year (29% of income)
• 120 days to train for a marathon
• 200 days into a pregnancy means your baby is the size of an eggplant
• 200 days is over 1/2 of a year, or 6.575 months, or 28.5 weeks, or 4800 hours

October 28 marks 200 days of my new normal.  It seems a moment AND an eternity.  I thought the 100 day mark (July 21) would feel momentous, or maybe sad. The reality was, it was just another day in my new normal,  a typical day.  Today feels a bit more . . . something. I haven't pinpointed my exact emotions as I think it will be better not to dissect it, but rather to simply live it.

Today is extra special because I was sent a note that my mom wrote, something she copied from one of her favorite inspirational writers, Helen Steiner Rice. Opening that card today, and seeing her handwriting made the sentiment even more impactful.

The Light of Faith 

No matter how small

The light of faith

To God it's like a flame

For if you can pray

You'll find there's a way, 

You need only whisper His name. 

No matter how small

Faith's candle burns, 

It's glow cannot deceive 

For the smallest of light

Will burn the most bright

When it's shining because you believe. 

And all the people said "Amen"

Fr. Harry Kurtenbach is now preaching in Heaven, but, boy, we are going to miss him here.

During my college years, I had the privilege of experiencing Mass with Fr. Harry, and I do mean experience. A quiet,  shy person, such as myself, was taken aback when,  during a homily,  Fr. Harry encouraged congregation participation by his trademark "Amen?" which demanded an answering (and enthusiastic ) "Amen" in response. And if the congregation "Amen" wasn't to Fr. Harry's standards, we had to try again.  People quickly realized that it was better for all involved if we immediately chanted a loud, resolute response the first time!  And thus, my world was impacted by Fr. Harry.  I was drawn in by his passion for and genuine love of Jesus Christ. I think it was the first time I connected heartfelt emotion with my faith.  Little did I know that this was just the beginning.

I am sad to have lost such a great man, but I can just imagine the chorus of wildly enthusiastic "Amen's" in eternity.  Now Fr. Harry is really 'preaching to the choir'!

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord,  and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace. Amen.

And from now on, when I hear Matt Maher's song, I will smile and think of Fr. Harry.

http://www.curranfuneralchapel.com/obituary/rev-harold-kurtenbach

A New Normal - one day at a time

Today is Mom's birthday.  She would have been 85.  I'm not sure whether this day will be a day of sadness or a day of grace.  Probably both.  Part of me wants to celebrate her life, and the other part wants June 26 to start immediately.  I guess I'm a little gun-shy after the experience of Mother's Day.


Mother's Day.


Who knew such a beautiful holiday could magnify my grief?

Thankful Thursday - A New Normal

One month,

Thirty days,

Seven hundred twenty hours,

Four hundred thirty-two thousand minutes,

Two million, five hundred ninety-two thousand seconds,

Since life entered a new normal.

But who's counting?

Thankful Thursday - One day more

Today is my niece's birthday, and she's celebrating it in Heaven. She would be 23 years old. I think one of the best gifts she ever gave me was her example of fully living in the moment. I think of her and am reminded how I want to live my days to the fullest.

I sometimes wonder, when I think about her and my other beloved dead, especially those who died suddenly, if they would have lived differently, had they known when their lives were ending.  None of us have a crystal ball, nor should we, in my opinion.   Yet, it is incumbent upon us to live our lives in such a way that we have no fear of death.  

Jesus lived that way.  He knew what was to come, still went forward. Into the pain and suffering willingly. If we knew what tomorrow held, would we still embrace it, bumps and all? Or are we too busy thinking about what could happen, so we forget to live in the present? Or conversely we focus on what didn't go the way we wanted, and we are mired in the past, failing to live fully? Ultimately, we have one true call, to live now, loving and serving God and our neighbor.

 How will you live that call?

Remember

December 15, 1990.

The day Donny died.

It was one of my first experiences with the sudden loss of someone close to me.  We were neighbors and friends.  We rode the same bus, and played together at each other's homes.  I was devastated by the sense of loss and the sheer emotion that poured out of me.  

That particular grief has lessened over the years.  Time softens the sadness, while still allowing the memories to remain.  I don't remember when I stopped asking why it happened.  I don't think any answer will suffice this side of Heaven.  Yet I can look back now and instead of wonder what might have been, I can appreciate what was.  My reminiscing isn't motivated by regret, rather, it is a strong reminder that even after so many years, my memories can be a gift.  

As I have more recently experienced the death of my niece, I know that it is a gift to have others share their memories of her.  This sharing can lessen the sting of the loss because it unites those left behind. These shared experiences are a gift given to those who grieve.  To me, it says that you recognize my loss, my suffering, and my sadness.  You give me the gift of remembering.  It doesn't really matter if you knew her or not, because when you honor her memory, you honor me.  

Happy Birthday

22.  We would be celebrating your 22nd birthday.  It's a bittersweet time.  The sadness is still there, some days more than others.  It's almost funny how you can randomly come to mind.  I guess that's one way to get me to say a prayer :)  Seeing any redheaded is guaranteed to remind me of you.  But there are other things.  Good drumming.  An irrepressible spirit.  Memories.  Yet, the part that continues to give me the most comfort can be found at Mass.  

There are 2 times when you especially come to mind:  during the Nicene Creed and during the Preface.  When we recite, ". . . and I look forward to the resurrection of the dead."  I think of you.  For that will be a time of rejoicing, when we are reunited.  And again, during the Preface, when the priest speaks of the choirs of angels joining with our song of "Holy".  Heaven and earth are united, and we are as close as we can be.  

You are always present to me, and I love you so dearly.  I thank God for the gift of your life and my small part in it.  Until we are on the same side of eternity, I will keep praying for you.  Please do the same for me.

A new view of Palm Sunday - Part 4

First view of the dome of the Church of the

Holy Sepulchure

Continued from Part 3.

Calvary.  I don't know what I expected, exactly.  A desolate mountain or a lonely hill.  Something separated from reality, I guess.  The Church of the Holy Sepulchure contains both the locations of Jesus' death on the cross and His Resurrection.  I had not realized how closely situated these places really are.

A new view of Palm Sunday - Part 3

Continued from Part 2.

Branch from a thorn plant, similar to which would have
been used for Jesus' crown of thorns.  Ouch!

I have never enjoyed playing the part of the Crowd when we read the Passion of Our Lord.  "Crucify Him, Crucify Him!"  I don't want those words to come out of my mouth.  Yet, how easily I forget.  When I gossip or make a hurtful comment, I am crucifying Jesus.  When I desire something that isn't mine or I act with greed, I am nailing Him to the cross.  If only I could wrap my brain around the idea that my actions are screaming, "Crucify Him!" when I choose sin.

Thankful Thursday 2/12/15

I am thankful for a life well-lived.  I'm not talking about myself.  Rather, I wish to honor a memory.  Today is the 1-year anniversary of Leo Miller's death.  I did not know him as well as I might have liked, but what I did know, I learned from his kids and daughter-in-law.  I think that is a testament to Leo's life.

In my limited experience with loss and death, I know the best gift I can give is time.  At least for me, those who take time to remember my loved ones help my healing.  That may be time with those who grieve, taking time to remember the person who died, or making time to tell those left behind, 'I will not forget him; his memory lives on.'  Therefore, I would like to share my thoughts of Leo and his legacy.

Thankful Thursday 11/13/14 - Emmalyn

I'm posting this early, because I wanted to share a connection that has been instrumental in my life.  Today I learned that my very first piano teacher died.  Emmalyn was a dear soul.  I don't remember a lot of details from my first piano lessons with her, but there are a few things that stick out.

Her house had a beautiful sun room, and I loved to peek in after my lesson was
finished.  I sometimes got to wait in there for my mom to pick me up.  I remember working in my very first piano books that had the funny songs and drawings to help me learn my lessons.  She always had a sweet treat for after the lesson, but it wasn't a bribe or reward for doing well; she simply had the gift of hospitality.  I liked her, even as a young child.  I've had teachers who intimidated me, but Emmalyn was a welcoming presence.  She loved music and teaching, which was evident.

I don't recall when I stopped taking lessons from her, but living in a small town meant our lives intersected many more times.  Over the course of my grade school, high school, and college years I took some more music lessons, but none of my teachers had a cool sun room or cookies after lessons :)  My technique improved, and my love of music grew.  Over the years I played for many, many church services, school Masses, and even, on occasion, just for fun.  I dabbled in teaching my own students, minus a cool sun room, and truly enjoyed helping students grow and learn.

Thankful Thursday 9/11/14 - never forget

This post is overdue, I know.  There are so many things for which to be thankful, but 9/11 reminds me of the value of life.  I need to live each day completely, as I may not be here tomorrow.  I also need to live each day ready to die.  That means my soul needs to be prepared, and my actions should reflect the state of my soul.  I'm not trying to be dramatic or induce a panic.  The reality is we don't know when we will die.  Sure, we have life-expectancies, and many of us will meet or exceed them.  However, there are accidents, and misfortunes, and evil that is a part of our world as well.

We probably all know the story of someone who was in the towers, or was supposed to be in the towers.  Life is fleeting.  9/11 makes me want to simultaneously collect all of my friends and family and hug them like I'll never see them again, and go out and live life fully, pushing the boundaries of what I thought I could do.  Confusing?  Yep.  The emotional response to such a tragic event is both the need to hold on to what we have, sometimes too tightly, and to throw caution to the wind.  I think of it as a see-saw, trying to balance what we think we can control and also doing something that takes away our control.  Like stock-piling food to prepare for the worst and then going sky-diving to feel really alive.

Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross

http://usccb.org/bible/readings/091414.cfm

Quick recap:

1st Reading - The people of Israel were saved when the looked at the bronze serpent mounted on a pole.

Psalm 78 - Do not forget the works of the Lord!

Epistle - Phil 2 - Jesus emptied himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross

Gospel - John 3 - Salvation through Jesus because of God's love for us.

This is an exciting day - this feast day falls on a Sunday! Great! So, what's the big deal? Well, there's a lot of interesting things to keep in mind. I'm not a scholar, but here's what I've picked up:

1 - Historically, September 14, 320 is the date when the empress Helena (Constantine's mother) reportedly found the true cross (Living Liturgy 2014). That's exciting stuff.

2 - While Good Friday is the more well-known feast of the cross, both days can and should remind us of the life-giving qualities of the cross.

Works of God

The blessings continue!  Dad has been released from the hospital today.  It's hard to believe that last week at this time he was taken to the doctor with extreme pain, and ended up in emergency surgery.  For a while it looked bleak.  I think we can all agree that the power of prayer was at work.  I'm not only referring to the prayers that asked for Dad's healing and recovery, but the prayers of love, support, and strength for myself and my family.  You prayed when we couldn't, whether due to sadness, fear, anger, or lack of sleep.  It was your prayers that carried us through this valley.

I think of Ephesians 2:10, "For we are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."  Dad's work is not yet finished, and neither is our work.  Since we do not know the day or time of our death, we must live each moment completely, as Christ to the world.  There are times when this seems impossible, but thankfully we have support in the Body of Christ.  Those brothers and sisters who can and will lift us when we stumble and love us no matter what.  Your work is important, your prayers are vital, and your gifts are needed.  Do the work you have been called to do.

One day at a time.  Love never fails. Still sinking in.  Works of God.

Amen!

Still sinking in

I had a brief conversation on death and dying today.  We were talking about my Dad and his health, and I made the remark, "Why do our bodies have to deteriorate?"  I got the response, "Because we are only meant to be here for a short time, and some even shorter than others."  How true that is.  We are not meant for this world.  This is our boarding call, preparation for the biggest trip we're ever going to take.  Some get on sooner, some have to be carried on, and most leave before we are ready to let go.

My sister and I were talking tonight, and she reminded me of a comment Dad once made.  He said, "Sorrow is the result of a change for which you were not prepared."  I was not prepared to say goodbye to my dad in this life last weekend.  I'm not sure that I will ever really be prepared for that.  However, I feel that our recent experience and brush with death has brought this reality closer.

Things are still sinking in for me, and I have been spending a great deal of time pondering all of it.  Life, death, suffering, meaning, purpose.  Heavy stuff.  Interesting stuff.  Life-altering stuff.  But what really brought it home for me is the realization that my favorite guy to chat with, the one I could call any time - to keep me awake while I'm driving or keep me motivated when working through my to-do list - isn't always going to be there to answer my call.  That's going to be tough.  I'm not trying to take on tomorrow's burden today, but I realized that it is a change for which I am not prepared.  Like Dad said, a sorrow.

What is life?  Constant change.  So, in some ways, that seems to equate with constant sorrow, right?  I disagree.  There are moments of emotion, sadness, and realization that so many things are beyond my control, but there are also opportunities for growth, embracing change, and trust.  I may not be able to prepare for every change (thus avoiding sorrow), but I can cling to something solid while the change swirls around me.  Faith is the answer.  Not always easy, and not a fix-it cure, but a deep-down knowledge that despite the chaos that exists, faith trumps sorrow.

One day at a time.  Still sinking in.

"And now these three remain:  faith, hope, and love.  But the greatest of these is love."  ~1 Corinthians 13:13

One day at a time

I've just returned from a scary trip.  No haunted houses or dangerous roads.  Something much more personal and challenging - the uncertain health of a loved one.  In this case it was my dad.  He is 87 1/2 years old now, and his appendix ruptured last week.  Unfortunately, it wasn't caught until Friday, when he had unbearable pain and finally asked to go to the doctor.  Talk about tough (ahem, stubborn) farmers.  They thought they were operating to remove his appendix, but after going in, they learned that it had already burst.  Dad was a lifelong smoker, and I remember begging him to quit when I was a little girl.  All of those years of damage have taken their toll, and he is on oxygen full-time.  So, add some COPD lungs to a ruptured appendix, and you have a medical situation that would be a challenge for a healthy young adult, let alone my tenacious father.

The surgeon suggested that family be called, because things looked pretty serious.  Siblings arrived as soon as they could and everyone wondered if the worst might become reality.  Talk about tiring.  I continued my plea for prayers and begged God for a miracle.  Saturday morning brought some progress.  We were still very cautious, because anything could happen.  My sleepless night caught up and I desperately needed some rest.  Mom and I took a break while some of my other siblings stayed at the hospital.  We continued our waiting, seeming to hold our breath for 'the other shoe' to drop.  Dad was moved out of ICU, which was amazing.

Sunday had even more positive moments.  The surgeon was amazed by Dad's progress, and I couldn't hold back my tears when I shared the news via text and phone.  As one friend stated, he may not be out of the woods yet, but we are definitely witnessing the power of prayer.  Exhausted, emotionally worn out, and still in shock was my day.  I trekked back to my home that evening after attending Mass, and I pondered all that had transpired.

On Friday, before things had progressed to a concerning stage, I had already requested prayers from a few folks.  As the situation became more grave, I doubled my efforts.  I was surprised by the response.  I find it interesting that my first action was asking for prayers for my Dad, but yet I was surprised when my prayers were answered.  "Ask and you shall receive . . . "  I know prayer requests are rarely so straightforward, but here I have just witnessed an amazing change and I have to ask myself why I was ever worried.  Laugh if you want, but I can't have it both ways.  I can't say I trust in God's plan and then worry myself sick with what-ifs.  Well, actually, I can because I am a human being.  We tend to be a little backwards about these things sometimes.

This experience isn't over, and one day it will end in death.  However, that death doesn't mean an end; rather it is a beginning of something bigger and better than we can imagine.  As I celebrated with my fellow Catholics at Mass tonight, I was struck by the beauty of faith.  Faith does not promise smooth sailing.  In fact, it seems like it's the opposite.  We face hardships, accidents, death, anger, hurt, and much, much more.  Faith doesn't prevent these things; it gives us comfort to survive them.  I think of it as the boat that carries me through the terrible storms in life.  I may not be able to avoid the storms, but I will get through them.  My prayer is that I will continue to remember this, not just when I am faced with challenge, but every moment of my life.  God is good, all the time.

My bladder has good ears

I've been delinquent in my posting, so I thought I'd get a quick post out.  Yes, my bladder has good ears.  How is that possible?  Well, it's the only logic I can derive from this morning's actions.  I am visiting friends, and I was sleeping very soundly this morning.  I woke up, and at first I wasn't sure why.  My brain was still fuzzy and my body liked the comfortable bed.  My bladder, however, had other plans.  Someone got up to use the bathroom, and as they went back to bed, I heard the door click.  I think my bladder seized that opportunity to get me up and moving (ready or not) to empty said bladder.  Mission accomplished, and all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed.  Unfortunately, my brain wasn't cooperating.  It started thinking about the opportunity for some quiet time, the noisy bird outside that probably would keep me awake anyway, and the chance to get a blog post up.  Before complete mutiny spread, I compromised and climbed into my comfy bed with my digital device to type this post.  After all, who wouldn't be intrigued by a post title such as this?

All kidding aside, I found some interesting parallels in this morning's events.  I had two valid options - go back to bed or get up and start my day (albeit earlier than I had planned).  I decided to take the route of unexpected gifts.  We heard a great homily yesterday, and it talked about our response to death.  More specifically, what we would do if we knew we would die in a few hours.  Ultimately, it was suggested that our lives should be lived in a way that if we knew our death was only a few hours away, we would continue with what we were doing.  Meaning, that ideally we would be living each day as if it were our last, so our knowledge of our death wouldn't change anything.  We would already be living and doing things that were important to us.  That really resonated with me.  I couldn't help but thinking about the song, "Live Like You Were Dying".  It helps me keep the minor frustrations and inconveniences that can overwhelm me in perspective.  Life is too short, too fleeting to get wrapped up in unimportant details.  My relationships, the health of my soul, and my ability to forgive should be much higher on my to-do list.  

Question:  What would you do if you found out you only had a few hours to live?  If you asked yourself this each day, how would your life change?

Prayer:  Lord, thank you for reminders to focus on the important things.  Help me to use these opportunities to grow closer to You.  

5th Sunday of Lent

http://usccb.org/bible/readings/040614.cfm 

Quick recap:

1st Reading - Ezekiel - I will open your graves

Psalm - With the Lord there is mercy and fullness of redemption

Epistle - Romans - If the Spirit of the Lord lives in us, we will not die

Gospel - John - death of Lazarus

Loss is painful. When we lose a loved one, family or friend, our world changes. Our grief can be overwhelming. Jesus has experienced loss, the death of his dear friend, Lazarus. I think one of the most powerful verses, as well as the shortest, is in this Gospel, "Jesus wept." Weeping is not an expression of a small sadness, it is a gut-wrenching emotion that can swallow us whole. What comfort can we take in the fact that Our Savior knows our grief? We are not alone. As we suffer, Jesus is with us, even in our weeping.

Best of all, death is not the end. As we prepare to celebrate the holiest of weeks, we are reminded that Jesus has conquered death. We proclaim a belief in life after death. We will be reunited with all of our beloved dead.

Connections

I just finished reading an inspiring book, "The First Phone Call From Heaven" by Mitch Albom.  Read my review here.  It was a neat book, and it brought to mind my recent experience at a funeral.

A friend lost a family member after battling chronic illness.  The death wasn't unexpected, but it was sudden.  The funeral service was on a weekend, and I was able to attend.  I didn't know the deceased, but I wanted to be there for my friend.  As the service began, the pastor spoke of Psalm 23, hope and healing, John 3:16, and many more verses of comfort.  It was an uplifting service, and it reminded me what a blessing it is to believe in Heaven.  My own experiences with death and loss are softened because I know this is not the end.  Grief is still present, and loss is very real, but hope outweighs all of it.