A post about the friend who knew...

Somewhere along the road of grief there is an expectation that you will just "get over it" and move on. It's not that people think you have to forget that you have lost someone, but that grief has a time limit. Once you have hit the time limit, then they move on...and so should you.

I was blessed to have a friend who knew, from her own experience, that grief did not have a time limit. We met for dinner once every other month and those dinners were a lifeline for me. We would talk about grief, work, church and politics...a lot of politics...and pretty much anything that was on our hearts at the moment. Two hours would pass in an instant and I would leave knowing, once again, I was not alone in the world. My friend never once told me to "get over it" or served up platitudes about grief. She allowed me to be me, without judgement or expectation.

We met up in September for dinner. It had been a lot longer between dinners, as she was now fighting her own battle with cancer. We laughed and talked about everything we could possibly jam into two hours. It was so, so lovely. The next day a text arrived from her son, she had been hospitalized with pneumonia. For the next couple of months there would be an update every few weeks with glimmers of hope for healing and more dinners together, but in my heart I knew the ending to the story. She died on Christmas Eve.

So grief began anew. Only this time, the person who I could rely on to understand that grief never ended was the one I was grieving.

In my email inbox are pages of emails from my friend. Many are about her cancer fight but tucked in among those are emails of understanding, commiseration and hope. I delete emails all around them, but all of her emails remain. They bring me comfort, as well as tears of grief. I'm not ready to let go of them...and I know she understands.

I miss my friend.

A post about stories

I am the keeper of stories. Stories that are not my own. Stories of friends, of family members, of strangers. Stories that are shared with me in moments of quiet, of vulnerability, of need to just.tell.someone!

I am the keeper of stories. Some stories are ones that have been told before but just need one more telling.  They aren't so secret, more pressing on the conscience of the story teller. These stories usually require a response to help ease the mind of the story teller or refocus the direction. I take on the roll of mentor or guidance counselor, offering words of assurance, encouragement and sometimes gentle rebuke.

I am the keeper of stories. Other stories have been held close the heart of the story teller.  The stories are looking to be told but only to one who is safe.  Who won't share those stories again.  They don't need words of advice or wisdom or direction.  They are stories that simply need to be heard, without judgment.

I am the keeper of stories. With each story I sit in awe and wonder that for some reason this person chose me to share their stories. Honored at the trust and mindful of that trust as well.

I am the keeper of stories. Stories that I will never share because they aren't my own. Stories of sorrow, pain, anger, joy, fear, hope, grief, hurt and more. Stories that remind me of the vulnerability in even the strongest of souls. Stories that remind me that behind every face is a story just waiting to be told.

I am the keeper of the stories of others...and stories of my own. I wouldn't have it any other way.

IT'SNOTOKAY

My friend Nancy and I have dinner or coffee together once every six weeks or so.  I cherish these meet-ups for so many reasons but mainly because I leave our time together once again reassured that I am not the "only one thinks that way".  Our views on theology and politics line up very nicely.  We don't agree on everything.  But we listen to each other, challenge each other to view the world through a wider lens and urge each other on to do good in the world.  Nancy once mentioned that she was encouraged I had done some in depth research and soul searching on a Biblical topic, to which I responded, "well, see, you are my friend and your views on that subject made me curious.  So I did my own research, explored the subject deeper and came to a similar conclusion...it's really your fault."

A few weeks ago we had dinner together.  Dinner started out with Nancy sharing about a book she was reading (I won't read it for awhile, but she highly recommends "When Breath Becomes Air".  Once you read the description, if you know my family history the last two years, you won't be surprised if I skip that book for awhile) and then moved onto politics.  Politics moved into hash tags - which cracked me up - and hence, here I am writing a blog post.

Nancy and I are both worried, concerned, sick, can't believe we have gotten to this place, I think you get the picture, about our country.  We talked a lot about the potential for violence and the insanity that seems to take over whenever politics are involved.  Nancy was speechless when I told her that I know people who will be voting for Trump.  I can't believe it either, but there it is.  We pondered how the "evangelical church" would stand behind Trump, when so many of the things Trump says flies in the face of what Jesus stands for.  (I put evangelical church in quotes because I strongly dislike that one group of followers of Jesus have taken over a word that literally means "sharing the good news" and made it into something that feels shameful and dirty to me.)

We talked about my experience in Oklahoma a few years ago, an open carry state, where many people came into church with their guns on their hips, and marveled how foreign that seemed to us.  While I respect others rights to feel differently, I don't like guns and don't believe guns are solving any problems in our society.  We talked about statistics showing that open carry states have a higher crime rate than those states that don't have open carry laws.  I'm still looking into those statistics.

We both know we are privileged, white women, who haven't really experienced discrimination.  We know we can't fully understand discrimination and know we have, in ways we didn't mean or fully comprehend, have been guilty of discriminating against others.  It bothers us deeply.  We don't know what to do about it, other than continuing to educate ourselves and speak up when we recognize discrimination around us.

Since that conversation, I've become even more alarmed at things that have been said and done in politics, as well as things said and done during the Olympics.  It alarms me that a young, black woman was so harshly criticized and taken to task for not putting her hand over her heart during the National Anthem during the Olympics.  Nights later I turned on the TV to see two white males standing on the Olympic podium while the National Anthem was played and neither one of them had a hand over their hearts.  I saw NOTHING about that on the Internet, heard NOTHING on the news making a big deal about their negligence to follow a flag protocol.  Nor did I hear anything about them taking a stand in solidarity with the young, black woman a few nights earlier.  I actually had to google flag protocol to see if there was actually something to the complaints.  I never knew.  I can't tell you the number of times I have stood for the National Anthem and not placed my hand over my heart.  I simply didn't know that was protocol...and now that I do and such a stir has been caused about it, the rebel in me may just "forget" again. 

That night at dinner, Nancy decided our hash tag, should we ever use one, for all the subjects we talked about and more would simply say IT'SNOTOKAY.  (Especially when it comes to the things that come flying out of Mr. Trumps mouth - IT'SNOTOKAY.)  And though I don't use hash tags, now when I watch the news or read articles the phrase that continually runs through my mind is...IT'SNOTOKAY.  It's just not okay. 

A post about life these days

Someone recently made the comment to me, "I'm glad you're having the time of your life."  I sat there wondering what they were seeing in my life that I was not seeing.  I would not classify this period of time in my life as the "time of my life."  I'm not in the toughest season of life to-date but it is far from my happiest period of life.

I am busy. I have things happening but enthusiastic joy and happiness is not what I'm feeling these days.  In so many ways I wonder if I'm just letting life pass me by.  I'm wondering if maybe I missed some cue from God somewhere.  Maybe I'm waiting for God but God is waiting for me.  I can't say I'm unhappy.  I have a job, a place to live (thank you Mom and Dad), a car that works, friends and I have hope that there are many years ahead that will hold the time of my life.  Yeah, I'm not having the time of my life...at the moment.  

Another friend sat across the table from me recently and said "I want you to find time for some fun in your life."  I smiled and was grateful for a friend who reads between the lines and cares enough to challenge me.  Tomorrow I am going to the Zoo with two of my favorite guys (ages 7 & 5) and the fabulous, fantastic R-girl.  Fun is on the menu.  We will buy a zoo key, laugh at the gorillas, watch the lemurs antics (and probably sing "I like to move it, move it) and hope the grizzlies are playing in the water.  We might ride the train and maybe listen to the lions roar and yes, we will have fun!