Month: September 2018

A Written Word: Seven Days of Inspiration and Comfort

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“A Bundle of Notes” from colleagues and students

It’s okay. It’s okay to bleed a while. –from a note written by Linda W.

In the quiet of night, after I’ve stirred restlessly and aimlessly all day, I find calm and peace as I unfold a note or open a card written to carry me through this difficult period in my life. The note Silke sent five years ago, which I’ve read and shared dozens of times, is read repeatedly again.

As I work through my grief, I’m moved by my friends, penfriends, colleagues, and students who put pen to paper to offer words of comfort and encouragement. There’s something sacred in those notes, in individuals’ choosing to take part in someone else’s pain and loss.

Often, people can’t find the words to say or they speak one sentence more than they should, but somehow, the pen helps them find words that possess power to soothe and heal.

The precious words offer the humanity I need when so much of my grief is trapped in an aching silence.

Someone else needs these words, so I’ve decided to share some of the beautiful, inspiring, comforting words on the blog this week–sometimes, an image and a quote, sometimes an excerpt from a card or note, sometimes a reflection.

Always in the evening…when I have a moment to “just be.”

This evening’s quote comes from the note written by a new friend who suffered her own loss not so long ago. It’s a reminder that it’s okay to be “not okay,” and ultimately, we pay the price for pretending we are.

#ThursdayTreeLove | “Yet the Winds Whispered Hope”

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Today’s #ThursdayTreeLove post is dedicated to those who are nurturing a dream that seemingly never materializes.

Learn to plant a dream.
Learn to do the daily things that make it a reality.
Learn to ignore those who say it can’t happen.
Learn to push past your own fear and doubt and keep taking action.
Learn to have faith when there is no reason to have faith.  –from “The Chinese Bamboo Story”

Entrance to the “Bamboo Garden,” part of the Children’s Garden at the Huntsville Botanical Garden

The bamboo trees in this post are from the Huntsville Botanical Garden (HBG). My guys and I visited the Garden about a month ago, courtesy of the HBG–in honor of my son’s placing in Botany category at the Alabama State Science and Engineering Fair last spring [Go V!].

Bamboo in the Huntsville Botanical Garden

My son has been growing his own bamboo plant since second grade (Thanks, Mrs. Crarey!) and I’ve been noticing its strength, resistance, and resilience. I couldn’t help but seek the bamboo trees when we were in the Garden last month. I saw them there six years ago, shortly after we moved to the area. I was thoroughly impressed then.

My Little One in the Bamboo, Huntsville, Alabama, September 25, 2012. #throwback

I am no less impressed now.

We have much to learn from the long, strong, and flexible tree. I especially appreciate its lesson in patience, so instead of a pithy quote, I decided to share “The Chinese Bamboo Story.” May you be inspired to patiently work your dreams:

I am joining Parul Thakur every second and fourth Thursday for #ThursdayTreeLove. If you would like to play along, post a picture of a tree on your blog and link it back to her latest #treelove post.

Light and Miracles

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My friend Kemi gave me a handout on navigating grief written by Chrystal Evans Hurst. One of the tips is to “keep going;” another is “get to work,” to keep doing life. Although it seems easier to curl into a ball and hide under the covers till the worst of the grief passes, the reality is the longer I stay down, the more difficult it will be for me to get up. Besides, too much life requires my actual presence. In an effort to “keep doing,” I’m at work seeing students and working on a report that’s due in less than a week.

In that same effort, I’m blogging today because “Microblog Mondays” are part of my normal, and writing and blogging provide healing and escape, when necessary.

As part of our “Brothers’ and Sisters’ Tribute” at my sister’s “Celebration of Life” service, I read an excerpt from e.e. cummings’ poem, ‘i carry your heart with me’ and a brief “statement” about Lori’s gift. Many people asked for a copy, so I decided to share here so that they–and any others–can read it whenever they wish to do so.

Photo by Soorelis

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;

[…]

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) –e.e. cummings

After I told Ramona, one of my colleagues, about Lori’s being moved to hospice and my utter despair that her situation had so progressed, she suggested that I focus on the gift Lori gave. That instead of focusing on the possibility of her end, I hone in on the gift she gave me.

This was apropos because Lori loved giving gifts. She was particularly tickled by finding unique sister gifts. But, of course, I was to look for Lori’s intangible gift to me and to the world. As I contemplated Lori’s gift, I came face to face with it during our last visit with her, mere days before she expired. Lori’s cancer had metastasized and covered 90% of her brain, but there was so much light emanating from her that it gave me pause.

Throughout her entire ordeal, Lori kept her mind stayed on Christ. There were times when I’d check in on her and she’d tell me she’d just had a high time in praise and worship.

She was so filled with the light of Christ that I firmly believe that though we didn’t get the miracle we prayed for, we received a miracle of light. It was no less than divine intervention that allowed her to have such peace throughout her trial, no less than a miracle that she clung so fiercely to Christ, no less than a miracle that she trusted His Sovereignty above all else. No less than a miracle that with only 10% of her brain spared this dreaded disease she recognized us, acknowledged our presence, and responded with the little physical strength she had. No less than a miracle that as the life was waning from her body, she still reflected light. She still reflected Christ.

Lori’s gift was her light. She taught us how to walk in light through impenetrable darkness.

See You “in the Morning,” Sister-Girl

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Lori Ann by Tapman Media

My guys and I traveled to New Orleans the weekend before last–to lay eyes on and touch my sister Lori, to love on her and pray over her. Even though she could not verbally communicate with us, she was responsive. She even opened her eyes briefly. In our prayers for a mighty miracle, we also submitted to Divine Wisdom. There was so much light in her, still so much fight that we walked away, hopeful that we’d see her again the following weekend.

That was not to be.

My sister, Lori, took her last breath a few days after our return, Wednesday night, September 12, just before midnight. And now, I feel like I’m holding my own breath…again.

I am angry. Disappointed. Hurt. Grieving miserably. I wish I could sit this one out and not go through it at all. I draw parallels between Grendel, the monster of the Anglo-Saxon epic Beowulf, and cancer, a horrible night-crawler that catches us unaware and snuffs out lives. Jealous over our happiness, our relationships. Our very humanity. And that horrible beast took Lori from us, like it took Karlette five and a half years ago.

One of my nieces texted me yesterday expressing her utter disappointment and anger about Lori’s passing. We were all praying that her desperate situation could become an incredible story of Divine intervention. I assured her that I share her feelings, and encouraged her to give full vent of her anger to God. He can handle it. Furthermore, He’s well acquainted with our grief and He’s just as hurt and angry as we are that we are going through this…AGAIN.

I read and reread the following quote almost daily for several weeks and finally shared it with my mom and sister:

God didn’t set this journey in motion. He’s just as angry as you are that you have to walk this road. But He promises you this: He will walk this road with you. And He will be there for you when you reach the end of it. God loves you.  –from the television series Touched by an Angel

God is a compassionate, loving Father, cradling us and weeping with us. His amazing grace, the blessed hope of Christ’s return to take us Home, preparation for the biggest family reunion ever, and a heavenly future without the suffering and pain of illness and death rescue me from the darkest depths of despair.

I already miss Lori like crazy. She was a good person, who welcomed all into her life and loved them deeply. She loved giving gifts, finding just the right thing. Like Karlette, she loved beautifying her spaces. She spent so much time babysitting many of the nieces and nephews that we can claim she “half raised” them. Her guys and two little girls (her granddaughters) were her heart, but there was so much room for many more.

Though I grieve over the loss of her, I do so with an unshakeable hope, rooted in Christ:

Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord’s word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words. –I Thessalonians 4:13-18

“Lavender Tulips for Lori,” by Tapman Media

Sometimes All You Can Do…

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Casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.  –1 Peter 5:7

It was such a pleasant surprise to find a card from my little “sister” Brittany in my mailbox when I returned from work today.

Photo/Scrapbook Page by Maggie Mae Sharp, Maggie’s Quill, Inc.

Sometimes all you can do…is bow your head and pray.

Brittany wrote that she thought about me when she saw and purchased this card almost four months ago. Sending it was delayed, but it arrived right on time–just when I need prayer and a good chuckle.

Brittany could have sent her loving message via text message, but I ❤ that she wrote it in a cute card and sent it via snail mail. I can tuck it in my planner or a journal and read it again and again.

Someone you know needs to know that you’re thinking about them, so grab a card and write a note. A couple of sentences go a long way to lift someone’s spirits.

Thanks for the prayers and the love, Brit!

Note about the card: The card comes from “Maggie Mae’s Scrapbook.” The back of the card gives a little history about the company: For many years, Maggie Mae Sharp has kept her favorite memories of family and friends in a scrapbook, combining nostalgic charm of antique photography with the wit and wisdom of treasured family jokes, quotes, scriptures, and common sense adages. Today, she brings some of her favorite combinations of pictures and words in greeting card form. Maggie Mae says, “I hope you will enjoy sharing some of my scrapbook memories with the special people God has placed inyour life.”

Praying in the Garden

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I found a pleasant surprise as I glanced at my phone just before ending my last class for the week (woohoo!)–a simple, heartwarming message from Kim B, my newest Love Notes pal:

I was praying for you and your sister in my garden.

She enclosed photos of her gorgeous sunflowers (click an image for a closer look]:

The red one!!! Heavenly!

According to a note she sent in July, Kim planted the seeds a little late this year, but as you can see, they’re blooming beautifully. At the end of this emotionally exhausting week they’re my brilliant reminders to continue “facing the sun”.

Her written message telling of praying in the garden has me singing a favorite hymn, “In the Garden.”

I come to the garden alone,
While the dew is still on the roses:
And the voice I hear falling on my ear,
The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

The Queen of Gospel, Mahalia Jackson, offers a powerful rendition that deserves a listen:

Be sure to take some time to pray and meditate in the garden this weekend. You’ll experience amazing joy and peace.

Let’s Take a Drive (or a swim?)

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I’m back with more happy mail! This time, I’m sharing the photos Gale D (grstamping) shot for the “Take a Walk” photo series hosted in the A Thousand Words Group on swap-bot.

Gale’s July “walk” took her to the Canadian Automotive Museum in Oshawa, Ontario where she has been asked to photograph exhibits to make cards for the museum gift shop. While there, she takes her time noting the details of each object, as you will see from the photos in this post.

“Car Lamp” by Gale D.

I don’t know much about old cars, but I’m drawn to them, especially the vintage elements and features like the lamp (above) and the steering wheel (below).

“Steering Wheel” by Gale D.

Here’s a fun “don’t touch me” sign sitting on a car seat.

“Don’t Touch Me” by Gale D

And what would a photo walk through an automobile museum be without a whole car?

“Amphibious Car” by Gale D.

According to Gale, this amphibious car has never “seen water. The collector kept it dry and clean.” She did a little work in Lightroom on this one to give it an [even more] vintage feel.

Wouldn’t you like to learn more about this car and see it on water? Thanks to YouTube, you can!

I ❤ museums and museum shops, so it’s nice to take a brief “walk through the museum” and find the cards I would have purchased in my mailbox! Thanks, Gale! 🙂

Enjoy your ride!

Escape to the Sea with Janet Bell

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Thanks to the cheerful postcards featuring the seaside paintings of Janet Bell, I spent a few much-needed moments at the sea today.

Both came from Love Notes pals who live on the other side of the pond.

Litsa sent my sister Lori the card below with a sweet message of time spent at the beach. I don’t have the actual postcard, but I ran across a scan of it while looking through my camera roll.

“Seaside Days: Pink Flowers” by Janet Bell

Although the artwork is entitled “Pink Flowers,” the flowers are actually purple–Lori’s favorite color [too]–which I’m sure is the reason Litsa selected the postcard.

Jacki sent a fun beach scene with a quote:

“Kites at the Beach” by Janet Bell

Every second brings a new beginning.
Every hour holds a new promise.
Every night our deams can bring hope.
And every day is what you choose to make it. –Unknown

Janet Bell is a popular contemporary artist who has her own gallery by the sea in Beaumaris, Anglesey. Her style is characterized by bright colors and cheerful scenes of lighthouse, boats, and seaside views. You can see more of her work by visiting her site: Janet Bell Gallery.

With so much heaviness on my mind these days, this week’s blog posts will provide a brief escape into the lighthearted and fun. I’ll be contemplating the pretty and catching up on some of the happy mail in my “to be blogged” bin. I look forward to seeing you here!

I Breathe. Hope.

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Hope is a midwife, helping us breathe. Out with the pain. In with the Spirit. Repeat as often as necessary. And again and again. There’s no shortage of oxygen. No shortage of God.  —Jennifer Dukes Lee

I wrote the quote above in my Bible Study journal nearly three years ago. I can’t remember the specific reason why it spoke to me then, but at this moment, I am breathing hope.

We learned that my sister’s cancer metastasized to her brain two weeks ago. Radiation was stopped after a week because it was not preventing the spread of the disease and was only making her weaker. Two days ago, the doctor told her husband, my parents, and my baby sister, “There is no hope for recovery.” Plain and simple. To the point. Not what we want to hear, but the candor we need to activate hope and faith.

The late, great evangelist E.E. Cleveland, in expounding on Hebrews 11:1, told our class of wide-eyed college students many years ago that “faith is belief in the absence of evidence and in the face of contrary evidence.” I’ve never forgotten those words. They are ingrained in my spirit.

So now the faithwork intensifies. Now, we pool our faith and hope and pray and fast and plead for the miracle we know God can perform, if it is His will to do so. Because we cannot just lie down and accept that this is our story…again. We cannot simply accept that this is sweet Lori’s story. Lori with the heart of gold. Lori who has been unflappable. Lori who has found a way to praise God through mind-numbing, excruciating pain. Lori whose faith has been rock-solid, unwavering throughout this entire ordeal.

The doctor did his job. Now, we wait in hope for God to do His.

How can I have such audacious faith that GOD CAN HEAL even metastatic cancer after I’ve already lost one sister to cancer? I believe in miracles and divine interventions. I serve the Most High God who still performs divine acts in the face of human impossibilities.

So I lay all of it on the altar and praise God for what He will do, and if He allows another outcome, He is still God.

I breathe hope.