Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Christmas Letter #2

Sometimes you just need to write another Christmas Letter.

I've been protected all my life.  Protected from abuse and anxiety and ugliness.

I think that's just being lucky.

I have friends who have not been so lucky and it's a bit difficult to get a grip on how God passes that around.

Christmas is more than lights and jingle and joy.  It, for me, is a time to think about stuff, reflect, A time to remember and plan for the future magic that the season can bring.  A time to believe that there is an Almighty God who gives a rip.

But, keeping spirits high in the midst of pain and anxiety?  I know too many people who are struggling. Struggling with children, struggling with memories, with health, tragic loss of friends, with finances and relationships.  These people are good and loving people.  Where does Christmas come in with them?  How can I jingle, jingle, jingle when there's so much pain? How can I spout my belief in the promise of Baby Jesus when I see so much that brings me to disbelief?

My teacher friend always asks me to help with her children's Christmas program.  I practice with them a few times and then we perform.  They always do more for me than I for them.  Their sweet faces and grand efforts at doing what I ask to make their performance great always touches me.

It's somewhere between living life daily and the magic that comes with moments with children that the light comes on.  Moments with children.  Here we go again,,,that does it for me.

It's the kids.  We do it for the kids.  And. when we do it for the kids, we do it for ourselves.  So, get around some kids and make some magic for them.  Music, gifts, kindness.  Make some joy.  You will find yourself full.  Full of joy and full of gratitude that life has promise and you can be a part of making that happen.

We are the modern Magi.  We are the ones who bring the gifts to the Christ Child.  And the Christ Child is everywhere;  the homeless, the helpless, the needy, the challenged, the grieving and the protected.  Even the protected need the Christ Child for without the promise of something better, where would we be?

Friday, December 2, 2016

My Christmas Letter

This is my Christmas letter.  Today I sold a nativity set at the shop.  She also bought a Santa.  Sweet woman.  She shopped carefully for a Santa that was smiling.

 We have no idea how our actions affect the ones around us.  This shopper made an impact on me.  I carefully wrapped each piece of the nativity making sure not to break the fine fingers of the porcelain figures, and gently placed baby Jesus on the very top.  We both agreed that was where He belonged.  And then she left with her bag.  Almost gone, she turned around and said, "I would like that Santa.  He's smiling."  Once again, I wrapped her purchase carefully and she tucked him in her nativity bag.
That's it for me.  Carefully selected, carefully wrapped and tucked in with a smiling Santa.  It just does it for me.  Get God first, make sure He's protected in your heart and then gather whimsy and joy and make merry.

Dad would go out in the pasture and chop down a small cedar, bring it in the house and we'd call it Christmas.  How simple life once was.  A little ole pasture tree, some home strung popcorn and a few songs on the piano.  But, just like the bag that walked out of the shop today, along with it was Baby Jesus and a smiling Santa.

I need to remind myself daily, hourly, moment by moment, that life is as good and as simple as I choose to make it.  Reflecting on my blessings I almost burst.  Looking at my dreams, I almost explode, and believing that I can tuck it all away in a small red bag with a smiling Santa nestled in with the Almighty God Himself just makes me melt in a puddle of Christmas joy.

I have friends in great need, struggling to make sense of burdens put upon them, I myself am struggling with major decisions, the stuff of life has piled high in places I would never have believed, but as I go through this next phase of the life I have been given, I will remind my self that I can make it simple for myself and those I love.  Joy comes when I least expect it, with the Almighty God always with me, a smile and a simple pasture tree.  Christmas is in the knowing.

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

Thanksgiving 2016

Thanksgiving 2016

Thanksgiving is my holiday.  It was Thanksgiving when my dying mother sat up and had dinner with the family while we all cautiously put utensil to mouth in disbelief that she sat at the table and acted normal.   It was Thanksgiving when my brothers and I brought out families to the farm and wallowed in the comfort that it was there and we were who we are.  It was Thanksgiving when we hunted pheasants in the draws and loaded our shotguns with self made bullets.  It was Thanksgiving when we loaded our families onto a wagon, babies, mothers, grandmothers, and great grandmother, while my dad did his best with the tractor of, "over the river and through the woods...."   It was Thanksgiving when all the cousins sat around a galvanized tub and decobbed the corn for hours with conversation and pleasure.  It was Thanksgiving when my father borrowed animals from his farmer friend to make sure his "city" grand kids had the farm experience.  It was Thanksgiving when we accepted, in our own way, that there would be no more magical Thanksgivings of a family intact.  It was Thanksgiving when our mother died.  Almost, give a few days.  It was Thanksgiving when we knew how unbelievably blessed we were to have lived the lives we lived.

I'm getting in my truck and driving to my daughter's home because it's Thanksgiving.  I have memories to share and memories to make.  It's me now.  I'm the grandpa with the tractor albeit a grandma in a truck, but I'm the magic maker and I will do my part.

Thanksgiving.  Thank God for a day when we can reflect, remember and do our part.  

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Vessle of Hope

How I ended up on a bus in the desert with people from all over the world following their dreams is another story, but there I was, reluctant and unknowing.  They just kept coming, And then it was full. Full of stories and determination albiet their canes and grays.  It was tagged, The Desert Trip, and I would never have gone were it not for a dear friend who led me along the path.  And then, as will happen to plans, her family needed her more than the desert, and she flew away leaving me to experience my own trip.

I cried as one after another boarded the bus. They came from all parts of the world.  They came for this experience.  Six great artists who gave us our own history converged on the desert for us to remember, believe in the impossible and breath our future. We all felt the energy of decades, the mistakes, the challenges, the pain and joy. And no one left without newly restored faith in the struggle.  It was all in a weekend capsule and decorated with dust, warm wind, the whiff of marijuana, a full moon and sound, beautiful, warm God given sound.

I heard some young radio announcers making fun of us after we'd all gone home.  They were making fun of us..."Oldchella" they called this experience because the artists were all in their 60's and thus so were many of us.  But it wasn't like that.  It wasn't a bunch of old people.  It was 150,000 young, and old dreamers and believers.  Some struggled to get there, but they were there.  Some had a bit too much joy prep and shouted a bit too loud or danced a bit wild, but they were there.  They've lived lives of pauper or power, but they were there.  It wasn't a gathering of old people.  It was a gathering of believers.  Believers that no matter where your journey has taken you, music can gather your soul in a vessle and give it hope.  

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

What Have I Learned?

Everybody says, "I don't know how you've done it, Sherry."  And, when I look back, I sometimes wonder too.  First Jed's fall into quadriplegia, the financial disaster that brought, years of care taking, sudden realization that cancer would steal Jed, becoming a widow and then getting breast cancer a few months after losing the love of my life.  That's enough for a while.  Six and a half years of education.  Can't say I'm glad it all happened, but I can say I'm a better person for taking the journey.

So what have I learned?  First and foremost, God is in control.  Makes no sense to fight it.  Peace may come slowly, but it comes sooner with the realization that you simply are not in charge.  Now, that doesn't mean sit around and do nothing.  It means take all the energy, anger, sadness, frustration and just plain disbelief and fight against everything of injustice while at the same time realizing it's God that giving you the ability to do it.

I've learned to accept help; from any and everybody!  From the very beginning I simply could not have managed without the hundreds of people who seemed to be there right when I needed them.  We were showered with food and carpentry and equipment and care.  We had debts forgiven and joy delivered.  We spent most of our lives together rather independent of others, but our journey changed all of that for my good.

I've learned that darkness doesn't hang around forever.  In the midst of some of the worst of it, I was sure we could not survive intact.  Survive seems the wrong word, since Jed has died, but survive we did, in multi-color.  Until cancer took him quickly we lived very joyfully, shockingly joyful. Laughter colored our days and filled our nights with silliness.  Even the dark and awful times of missing him have been painted over with lovely memories rather than sharp pain.  And, when I was challenged to my core with breast cancer I can now laugh at the fact that my dog used my prosthetic breast as a chew toy.  Darkness does not hang around forever, unless, of course you want it too.  You do have to be open to the small beam of light sneaking in the deepest, darkest corners of your shock and pain.

I've learned to really see people.  Every day new people walk into my life in the shop; some of them crazy, some of them thieves, some of them pitiful, some in great pain, and some not affected by life's cruel stories.  Most are just down to earth honest people spending a little of their time with me.  Some know my story and tell me they've been praying, most are just looking for something to brighten their day.  But they all like being treated with a bit of kindness and a smile, and they all love to share their story.  Just this week I talked with a young girl who was so happy to get a pair of boots that actually worked for her prosthetic foot.  She shared her story of the car accident and the pain that she lives with still after many years.  She left with a pair of boots that Angie no longer needed and we were both filled with the awareness that it's good to really see people.

I probably always knew this, being raised a farm girl and all, but it's been reinforced these past few years.  It's okay to cuss and cry and drink and scream, even to doubt and hate.  It's not all about praise and thankfulness and giving into the spirit.  God knows it takes time.

And so, now what's next?  That takes me back to #1, God's in control.  Some people say, "you're so strong..." or many forms of that message.  Bottom line is, just like the young girl with the new boots said as she told her story, "It's not like I had a choice about it."  The only thing I have a choice about is what I take from it.  My heart is full.  My memories are beautiful, and tomorrow will be better because of what I've learned today, and if I can help someone else on their journey then I was there for them when they needed me.  Life is pretty simple.  Like my daily prayer, "help me be kind and make good decisions.  Amen 

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

One Year of Cancer

It was a year ago that my doctor shook me out of my denial by saying, "what you have is real."  I was trying to convince him that I just needed to lose some weight and the stress of the past few years had taken it's tole.  While both of those are true, I had breast cancer and I now am a one breasted woman. When I look back at this year, all I see is blur.  "It wasn't so bad," is what I told my daughter and she reminded me that indeed, mom, it was.  Four surgeries.  Chemotherapy.  Baldness.  Prosthetic.  Bed, bed, bed.  Blur.  Foggy memories.  Pain.  Marijuana to help.  But now I feel good.  I wish I had my breast, but it's a long scar instead.  I wish I had my husband, but that's not to be.  I wish, I wish, I wish.  But what I have is simple joy.  The misery and pain is in the past.  Memories of adventures with Jed are warm and fulfilling.  My energy is back and the future is there for the living.  Decisions are possible.  New adventures are too.  I can't say that I'm glad I had cancer, but cancer has given me a gift of discernment.  Been there.  Done that.  Moving on with thankfulness.  

Thursday, February 5, 2015

My Journey

"It's my journey, and I'm going to take it!"  That's been my power speech for the last few weeks.  It gives me some "umph" when I say it. and it makes people laugh, so I think I'll stick with it.  Today I got word from the doctor that I am "triple negative."  That has nothing to do with my look on life or my general nature.  It does, however. tell me that my cancer is aggressive and illusive and must be treated with respect.  It indeed has a life of it's own and is taking hold in my body.  Correction, wants to take hold in my body.  I, however, have power over those little shitty cells and the war begins. 

The fence jumping, hog feeding farm girl in me tends to believe that everything can be managed by just being a bit more tough, but I think this one got me straddled over the fence.  My journey has left the farm and moved on to the simple drips of the poison that will soon flow through my veins in a barbaric attempt to kill the bad stuff.  Chemotherapy lurks in my journey's future. 

So how do I put this into some kind on sense?  Best I can come up with is, "there is no sense, and that's that."  Struggle as I might with why, and all the mind meanderings of who, why, where, what and when, I come up only with, "because."

I'm a little more than a month past my mastectomy, and was prepared to hear the doctor say, "Looks like we got it all," when I get the news of my new journey.  My faith is no less strong.  My eyes are a little bit more open.  So, "It's my journey, and I'm going to take it!," seems to be working for me.