If Only You Knew

Below are two different writings - one of the author Vincent Gallagher, and one taken directly from my own musings and journal kept during my first Guatemalan mission trip. If only you knew how others lived in this world – in your own country, or your very own city, would you still be concerned about having a ‘bad day’?  If you lived for only one hour the way some do for days on end and many for a lifetime, would you still have your cable TV, expensive car, and overpriced home?  Or would you be grateful that you had running water for a shower and your laundry, plenty of healthy food to consume at a whim, and medical care on every corner.  Many wonder why I do not have an iPhone, cable TV, or subscribe to the daily paper.  Those are niceties, not necessities.  Read on, and put your face in these stories, or transcribe your son or daughter into the plot line.  Imagine your mother, or brother, or best friend.  If that was your father in the stories below, how important would your steak dinner seem then?  If only you knew how it is, if only you knew….

When I was hungry, I know you would have fed me if you knew where I was. But you didn't know me. How could you know me? You never held and fed a baby like me before. You never held a baby too hungry to cry.

When I was lonely, you didn't know where I was. I lived in a dangerous place. I know you are afraid to go where I live. It's not safe where I live.

When I was sick, you thought the doctors and hospitals wouldn't turn me away. How could you know?

When I was homeless, you gave me some money, and I felt your prayers. But you couldn't have known the terror in that shelter and why I stayed on the streets. You didn't know that I was sick - that I saw demons but they were real. How could you know? We never talked.

When I lost my little girl because we had no money for medicine, you didn't know what I needed. You didn't know where we were. We lived so far from you. They call it the Third World..

When I sent my boy to sell lotery tickets, you didn't know us. You didn't know I wanted him to go to school but I needed his earnings for food. We were so far away from you. We spoke in a foreign tongue. How could you know us?

You didn't know why my boy didn't come home that night. We knew. His father took his money and bought alcohol and beat him so many times. He stayed in the streets and never came back to me. How could you have known he didn't come home?

You didn't know how the kids live on the street - and what the older ones and the men do to the little ones. And you didn't know about the drugs. How could you? You didn't know that I am with those boys too, and they do it to me. But how could you know?

When I pleaded for fair wages, they tortured me. We made your clothes. But you didn't know who we were. You didn't know what they did to those of us who spoke for fair wages and safe conditions. How could you know how far they'd go?

When I gathered your food and got sick from the chemicals, you couldn't know. You didn't know what the chemicals did to our children. You didn't know the nightmares they caused. How could you know? You never gathered foods from the fields. You never touched or smelled the chemicals.

Did you know that my children work in the garbage? They collect paper and bottles and cans. And they sell them so we can eat. It's so dangerous there. Surely you don't know of the dangers - of the gas explosions and fires, of the chemicals and disease. But what can I do? I have no other way to feed my children. But you didn't know.

When we spoke for our land, our ancestors' land, they slaughtered us. They mutilated and tortured me so many times in so many ways. They smashed my children against rocks. They raped and killed my wife and daughters. They did it for the land owners who sell you your food. They did it to me. But how could you know what they did? It wasn't on the news. None of your friends could tell you. We live so far from you.

You were so busy. You had your children. You rocked them and sang to them and helped them with their homework and read them stories and tucked them in and taught them to pray. You took them to soccer practice and baseball games, to dance classes and music lessons. You were so busy.

You worshiped me often. You met with your friends and talked of your love for me. I heard your love songs. And I heard your praise and thanks. You thought I was in heaven. That's what they told you. You just didn't know.

You worked so hard. I know it wasn't easy. They'd fire you so quickly. So you had to work hard to provide for your family. I know you were afraid.

But you shouldn't have feared. I sent you food from the fields so you wouldn't go hungry. I sent you clothes, and I sent you my love. Even when you didn't know it or believe it, I loved you always.

When you smashed my baby against the rocks, you didn't know it was me. You were so afraid of the sergeant. You didn't know what to do. You didn't want to kill me. He said he'd kill you if you didn't do it. You were so afraid.

When you took my money for alcohol and beat me, you didn't know that I'd go to the streets and never come home. You didn't know what they'd do to me. I know you loved me. You just didn't know how much I loved you.

And when I needed money for my daughter's medicine, I know you would have bought it for her, if only you knew where we were.

I loved you when I was hungry and you had extra food. I know you would have fed me if you could - if you saw me, if you held me. I'm sure you wouldn't have left me to starve, if you knew who I was.

If only you knew. I come to you through the children. I come a million times a day. But look what is done to me. I'm hungry and sick, beaten and abandoned. I'm tortured and mutilated, abused and battered.

I'm waiting in the children. Can you hear me? Listen. I'm in your heart - your Sacred Heart. And you are always in my heart.

Come to me. Come to the children. Don't be afraid. I'll mend your heart.

Can you hear me? I love you. I love you. I love you. If only you knew.

 

The above excerpt is from the book True Cost of Low Prices by Vincent A Gallagher. Coming from two years experience in the mission field in Gualan, Zacapa, Guatemala, this speaks very highly to me, as it should to every American. Unfortunately, most of us are so involved in our lives, we never stop to consider that our 'hard' days are nothing compared to our brothers and sisters across the globe.

 

I have been home now from my second mission trip for over two years, and I still find it very difficult to express what I experienced during those two and half weeks. Due to the intensity of the time spent there, I feel words can not express, can not do justice to what truly occurred while I was away. The people I met, the villages I saw, the life changing transformations, the concentration of emotions – those things can not be simply put into a simple account. I do want to share, feel the overwhelming need to share what I learned and what I experienced, but I want to do so in a way that will express what the country of Guatemala truly means to me. I have decided to somewhat transcribe my journals that I actively kept during those two and have weeks. Some items I will elaborate on, some instances I will completely leave out as I wish to keep certain aspects of my journey personal.
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Day 1, Friday June 12, 2009

Long trip + long bus ride = arrival. I have bonded quickly with a small group here – Angela Manuel (my roommate), as well as with Jody Crawhorn, Jack Cox, and Steve Sampson who are in the hut directly across from ours. The Hotel Atlantico is very nice, even without hot water and unsafe drinking water!


Day 2, Saturday June 13, 2009

Today we took food to the dump. (As a side note, there is a village in the dump. People literally live in the landfill – literally sleep in trash). I handed out suckers down the line. I was pretty quiet as it was my first experience with the people. I did fine until I came to a child with Downs Syndrome. (Later I learned there are only two centers in the entire country for the mentally challenged). As I handed her the sucker, I had my first realization of what life is like here. My first reaction was shock, followed by sadness and nervousness. Nervousness because I did not know how to act or react, and also due to the language barrier. With my fondness for Downs Syndrome children, I was already emotionally spent, and it is only my first day.

Day 3, Sunday June 14, 2009

Today was our first work day at the Nutrition Center (Construction). Although we did work on building cribs, my most memorable experience was Oscar. Oscar is at the Nutrition Center (AKA Nut House for short) for malnutrition. As others went to work, I sat down and held Oscar. He curled into my arms, then sat up and looked at me, leaned in, and gave me three kisses on my check. I was taken aback, as here is a child (age 4) I had never met, that can show love and appreciation even through his difficult times. I was in shock for a moment, then leaned in and kissed him between the eyes. He then curled back in and placed his head on my chest. As I went outside later in the day and paused to reflect, I viewed the mountains in the distance – plush and green. (Mountains are prevalent here in Guatemala). As I stood, I came to realize just how blessed I am. And instead of being joyful, it made me sad. I ached inside thinking of the children, the elderly, the sick, the mentally challenged that are here in this beautiful land without even a hope of betterment. Yet they are so joyful with nothing – how can I be so empty with all I have? How can I go home to a six figure salary, a “mansion”, food, clothing, and all the amenities when there are children here literally struggling to survive?

Day 4, Monday June 15, 2009

Our first VBS was this morning, and then Eric and I began to tear down an old shed at the Nut House. At VBS while making bead bracelets with the children, a little girl came up to me and placed her hand on my knee. I made her a bracelet, and afterwards I opened my arms for a hug. She squeezed and squeezed. Neither of us could seem to let go. As we sat clinging, I began to tear up. Here is a child in a village so poor, yet she is so loving and appreciative. Once we arrived back at the Nut House, I was glad to be able to do manual work on tearing down the shed. It was as if I was trying to take out my aggression on the demo. Aggression for the situation so many of these children are put in. Put in not by choice, but by fate. I felt so helpless today like I wasn’t doing enough – like I couldn’t even begin to do enough for this community. I am overwhelmed daily by what I see in every village. Not only does it make me sad and overwhelmed, but I feel angry and helpless and powerless. I look around at my ‘family’ here, and know we are all here for a reason. I see Eric – big, tall, beefy Eric – stopping work to pick up a child and hug and cuddle. Or Katie making kids laugh. Or Jody making paper frogs and seeing the children giggle when they jump, and I see the good that is being done. But for me it is frustrating because it is not enough in a country that has people that so need more.

Day 5, Tuesday June 16, 2009

Oh….my…..gosh……finished tearing down the shed, cut foam for baby mattresses, cut rebar, moved floor tiles. All outside in the sun except for the foam cutting. My red shoulders show it! Today some of the village children attempted to teach me Spanish. One taught me a Spanish finger game; another taught me that dormille is sleepy. A third taught me the word for sunglasses, which of course I’ve already forgotten.

Day 6, Wednesday June 17, 2009

Of all the days I’ve been here, today has been the hardest, physically and emotionally. By the time I hit the bus ride home, I was gutted. Varnished beds in the hot sun and moved rocks in the rain. Steve and Jody and I were talking yesterday. Steve said the people here are happy because they don’t know any different, and Jody stated that it is much easier to be born into nothing than to have everything and go into experiencing nothing. But at home I have way more than I should, than I really need. I don’t need all of those things. None of us do. I am very bothered with the mentality I entertained at home. From my clothes and materialistic possessions, down to my hair and makeup. None of those things are really me. Why do I try and keep up a certain persona, look a certain way? That doesn’t make me, me. Yet I still put on my makeup every morning, even here. (As a side note, the day after this one, I stopped with the makeup. It all ran off in the sun anyways). How do I return home and try to integrate what I have experienced here into my life, into the lives of my family? How do I reconcile what I have seen and experienced with the gobs of money we have coming in? How do you balance that? I feel as if there is a giant chasm building from what I came here as, and what I will go home like. It is as if this country and these experiences are chiseling away at me, at who I am, and every day a bigger chunk gets discarded. But what does that leave me with? What kind of ‘me’ will be left at the end? I came down here to cause change, and I am the one being changed. I feel the deep awakening, yet it is not an awakening I can yet understand or grasp. And as I feel this change within, I feel guilty as this trip was meant to be for others, not myself.

Day 7, Thursday June 18, 2009

Moved wood, picked up trash, power sanded and used a power drill. I can go home and build a bench. Not really…

Had somewhat of a lengthy conversation with Tom Bergamini today and then with Katie in the bus. We were talking about societies and how this trip can change you. One thing that stuck with me is Katie quoting Gayle – “Life is too short to read bad books”. And I do that – I try and finish bad books, both literally and otherwise. There are only so many God given days. It makes no sense to waste them away. At the fiesta last night Erin (from Washington) said that for her this week consisted of a bunch of little miracles, and when she put them together it made one big amazing thing. I have had a lot of small miracles. The children of course, and this village, and the work we’ve done, but I’ve also had many other small miracles – victories – that have awakened within me. I am so glad we have another week, because I can’t go home yet. I am grateful for my new family – Steve, Jack, Jody, and Angela. I feel as if these people really know me simply because of what we have experienced here together.

Day 8, Friday June 19, 2009

A day off. With one group leaving and another arriving, those of us staying the entire two weeks sat around the pool all day. It was good to have a lethargic day – it was needed after the week of physical and emotional labor.

Day 9, Saturday June 20, 2009

Today Oscar fell asleep in my arms at the Nut House. We then went to a village. It had been rebuilt on land the government had given the people after a hurricane wiped out their original dwellings. Although there were houses there, calling it a house is not the adequate term. Shacks would be too eloquent. Many had tin sides. Some just had blankets for walls, a few just sticks. Our vans pulled up to where the people were gathered. So many children. Many young; some mere babies. We spent some time there. As we pulled away, there was a child – one, maybe two. His stomach pouched out. Not a good sign. Next house down was an elderly man. He was so skinny that his clothes hung, limp. He was digging on the ground filling his truck. Filling it with what I do not know. All afternoon and into the evening I remained in a haze. Part sadness, part shock, part disbelief. I called Kevin hoping to find some respite, but as I began to talk all I could do was weep. No words can explain the experience, the journey. As I looked through the village, talked with the people, hugged the children, I could not completely grasp the enormity of the situation. I remember seeing the dwellings, but what stuck with me was the amount of children – all living in this village. So many kids whose world is sticks, hunger, isolation. Bits and pieces are the memories. Instead of a whole picture, I have vivid details pieced together. The frayed hem of a skirt. A dirty dress. Sticks stuck in the ground marking territory. A territory of a house. I am overwhelmed with sadness, with compassion, with pain. My heart aches for each person in this village. I left the village with a heaviness. A heaviness I will carry with me always. Jody said to me tonight what can you do? Nothing. Yet although I see his point, I am not at the point of accepting it. I have never seen, never experienced such a desolate setting. These people have nothing, absolutely nothing, so how can I sit back and do nothing? Doing nothing accomplishes more of the same – nothing. Here were God’s people, starving – starving for food, starving for adequate shelter. At one point on the ride back I questioned God. Questioned how He could let this happen. How so many people could be cloistered into such a realm of poverty and desolation. The shacks were almost hollow, empty – even though the village was filled with people. It was if the heaviness of the situation was echoing through each and every dwelling. And yet as I sit here writing, I wonder if the echo was nothing more than a whisper in my own heart, a short verse in my own head, trying to grasp the entirety of it all. I ache for these people, for their village. My heart hurts for them, for what they endure. As dire as their situation is, I do not see them as minimal. I look at them, and I love them. I hurt for them, in hopes that it may take away some of their pain. In reality, I know that not to be the case. God gives each of us our own challenges, our own paths. I have mine, they have theirs. Yet I do not deem it fair that their challenges are so great. I am no more important than them. I am their equal and they are mine.

Day 10, Sunday June 21, 2009

Church service day at the waterfall, then to Senior Center, followed by the Nut House for the orphanage dedication. We finished off with rocks, rocks, and more rocks.

Day 11, Monday June 22, 2009

Woke up to journal and my mind still feels very complacent. Sensory overload. It is all still very surreal, yet amazing how quickly this has become my life. I can’t imagine right now arriving back in Louisville and trying to integrate back into society.

The semi arrived today, which we unloaded – tons of medical supplies. Also rearranged the clinic and the office at the Nut House. Ate dinner at the Hearts in Motion House (AKA HIM house), played euchre at home, then watched Jack discover fake crap (beans) in the bathroom lovingly placed there by Jody and Steve.

This trip was definitely a God thing, because I was beginning to lose the true essence of self. Guatemala has caused a realization of how far I had gotten from the inner matters of my own heart. I had been hiding away, slowly changing into someone that looking back on, I was not very proud of. Who I was becoming was not the true me, not a person I would have wanted to become. It had been a slow progression, and it will be a slow progression to get back to where I need to be.

Day 12, Tuesday June 23, 2009

Power sanded a bit, varnished a bit, watched while they attempted to pour concrete. It was way too wet and not a smooth finish at all. I walked away so as not to open my mouth and insult someone. This morning we did the feeding for the village (fed 90 kids lunch) and then had VBS at the Nut House. I held Oscar all during VBS. He sang, or attempted to sing, Father Abraham, and halfway through the story of Jonas and the whale, he fell asleep again in my arms. During the craft time, I went under a shade tree and laid down on my back with him sleeping on my chest and stomach. It was…..perfect. We laid there for about 20 minutes, and for the first time in a week and a half, I got the true desire to take a little one home, preferably Oscar. Knowing his mother is still a semi active participant, I knew the only thing I could do is pray. As I laid there with my hand resting on Oscar’s back, I prayed. Prayed for his health, his safety, his family, and that he would know the love of God. Later in the afternoon I returned to the same spot and sat down and cried. Cried for what Oscar already has had to endure at only four years of age.

Day 13, Wednesday June 24, 2009

I woke up happy, energized, and ready to go. Unusual for me! Got up early to get coffee and journal, and started thinking about just how happy I have been here. As I sit here with my feet up, I notice that my feet never seem to stay clean here. Random. Dirty feet and all, I am blessed. My heart is truly happy. It is an inner peace, a resolution that I have needed for quite some time. I had forgotten what it was like to have such a peaceful inner self. Yesterday at the Nut House I sanded and varnished a large bookshelf. Sanding was cathartic. It is taking something rough and unfinished and turning it into something smooth and finished. Kind of like life. At many times life is rough. Some patches of life are rougher than others, and you have to work harder and longer to make them smooth. When I return home, I have a very, very large bookshelf to sand, in so many ways. I am worried about returning home to a lifestyle I no longer want; to responsibilities I no longer care to keep up with. I am unclear of how to integrate myself back into society, as here I have chosen to strip away so many unneeded ideals and unnecessary items. I have not worn make up in a week, and I am fine with that. But at home these things are expected. How long can I fight that? American society does not grasp many of the concepts I have come to recognize here. I will be outnumbered at home. I will be outnumbered in my own house. I can not force it. Each person must come to terms with their own issues; a true change of heart can only come from within. America is not Guatemala; Americans are spoiled, selfish, and greedy. The best I can do is to openly share, in hopes that it is comprehended. The best I can do is to be an example both in words and actions, and maintain a heart of love. I pray that I can continue this at home, and that my example of love at least causes someone to stop and ponder, if not completely change.

Day 14, Thursday June 25, 2009

Last day of work at the Nut House construction site. Didn’t do much. Had VBS in the morning, and Oscar was not feeling well so I did not get to spend much time with him. When we were ready to leave, Oscar was asleep in Jim’s arms. I kissed him on his forehead. Jim said I could take him but I declined. It was easier for me to not prolong the unavoidable. If I held him, I would have wanted to keep on holding him, carry him out and remove him from his hardships. I kissed him again, and walked out the front door. If possible, Oscar would have been the child I would adopt. For two weeks, I grew accustomed to his ‘Hola!’, followed by the characteristic Oscar smile. I walked towards the van and began to tear up. As I stopped, I knew the situation was not something I could change. Taking a deep breath, I took a look around, gathering in as many details as I could, and then climbed into the van. That part, is finished.

Tonight was the fiesta. I was able to pull out a few salsa dances, and I also danced by myself in the rain, which is something I’ve always wanted to do. It was a perfect end to my two weeks here. I have gained so much, learned so much, and changed so much. I am now a girl who salsas in the rain, who can go without makeup, and can brush my teeth with the tap water and still not get sick. I am leaving Guatemala with a heart full f love, compassion, and hope.

Day 15, Friday June 26, 2009

Travelled to Antigua today. The hotel is not what I expected. It is very neat, but very noisy. An older building in a Spanish style, it is very cold and damp. We went to the market today – just me, Ang, Jack, and Jody and spent some good quality family time together. This evening we went out to a nice dinner, got all dressed up, and took a ‘family’ photo. It is going to be weird at home not being able to talk to Ang whenever, or just walk across to get to Jack, Jody, and Steve. We all bonded so quickly and for two and a half weeks we shared everything. It will be weird to go home without them.

Day 16, Saturday June 27, 2009

Today Ang, Jody, and I hung out all day as Jack was looking for schools and Steve was taking his sister in law and nephew around the city. We stopped at a local bakery for breakfast, hit Mass, found a dog and named her Daisy who subsequently followed us around for the next hour and a half, toured the old nunnery, found the rest of our group and ate lunch with them, then split off again and went to Maya’s silver shop, went to the market, went to the bakery (again), came back to the hotel to shower and change then went out to eat dinner.

Day 17, Sunday June 28, 2009

Going home. Don’t want to. Stayed up as late as possible last night to prolong the unavoidable. I miss my family, but I will miss my life, my family, my time here. I will not forget, can not forget, all I have gained here. Memories have been imprinted on my heart which have changed me forever. I am a better person because of seventeen days in a country ravaged by poverty. I am a stronger person because of the experiences I have had. My inner soul has been filled with love, peace, compassion, clarity, relationships, and understanding.

On the plane ride returning from Guatemala, I sit here intermittingly reading and watching the sunset and the city lights appearing below in vivid color. I can not help but openly smile with the promise of what is to come. No matter what will happen in the future, I am assured of so many things. Love. Friends. Faith. Compassion. Hope. And when times get tough, I need to remember these promises; the promises I see being held in the sunset, in the lights of a city, in the smiles and embraces of my new family, the promises being held in a plane ride into my final destination. As I watch the lights of Louisville appear, I know I am home. Apprehensive, yes, but home nonetheless. No matter what happens, I will survive, because I know there is promise.

A Road Called Memory

I was browsing through some old photos of myself tonight, and it struck me how different life is now.  It’s not my looks that have really changed throughout the years.  I’ve changed my hair color, as women are apt to do, but otherwise a lot is the same – including my weight (thank the Lord for small victories!).  What struck me is how utterly old I feel now.  And, I guess in some ways the mountains I have successfully climbed in life have aged my soul even if they have not aged my body.  I have started to further comprehend the ‘with age comes wisdom’ quote, though at times I would gladly trade back some of the “wisdom” I have learned the hard way through life’s many trials in order to return to the innocent freedom of youth. 

As my mind continually veered back through the years I came to rest on my first crush in junior high.  My 12 year old is going through some similar life events and first ‘loves’ (and I use the term “love” loosely here) that I did at his age.  Seventh grade was such a magical year, when I look back on it now.  Actually being in the seventh grade however was very, very difficult as my body rushed to catch up with the emotional advances that changed and fluctuated daily.  My feelings about Austin, though, never wavered the entire time I was in middle school.  Thinking of it now, I giggle out loud.   Little Austin.  And I do mean little.  I was the shortest girl in my class.  He was shorter than I was.  But boy what he lacked in height he sure made up for in cuteness!  The pure infatuation I had with that boy…I still remember how he used to flip his straight, brown hair and roll his pants legs.  (This was the 90’s, okay?  We ALL used to roll our jeans.  You always had to buy them longer, so you could flip one side over the other and then fold them up twice.  Gave them this nice little skinny leg appeal.  Even the boys did it.)  Although one of the most popular kids in school (if not THE most popular boy), Austin still had this home town charm and offered a politeness to everyone he met – all the way from the future prom queen down to the band geeks.  And yes, I am proud to admit it – in school I fell into the latter category instead of the former. 

How things change as we age!  I came into a beauty all my own the summer between high school and college, and Austin was long since forgotten.  Surprisingly though, the lesson of that first love never did leave.  The innocence of childhood does still remain such a powerful force deep within our hearts.  Sometimes all it needs is a little nudge to come forth into reality.  As I find myself an older woman, single again, I seem to travel back to those gentler days with more and more frequency as I remember the incorruptibility and the longing of things yet to come.  I can still taste the promise of so many open opportunities that were to lie ahead of me, and those past memories are juxtaposed with the harsh reality I have already come to know so closely and deeply.  As I begin to step a toe out into the dating world, testing the water to see if it is in fact warm enough to jump into, I think back to little Austin.  Those magical feelings I would so innocently experience as my heart would skip that beat when he’d walk by in the hall still brings a flutter to my stomach.  And really now is no different than seventh grade; I look forward to the flutter and tickle of things unknown that have yet to pass.

I looked back through those photos yet again, and although my body as well as my mind has certainly aged, I looked close – peered in – and I did see it.  The shimmer and glistening in my eyes of those things hoped for but not yet come to fruition.  I began to rethink the ‘with age comes wisdom’ quote.  Maybe wisdom is nothing more than adding the innocence of childhood to the experience of today – the joining of the optimism from yesterday and the joy of the present together in order to experience a hope for tomorrow.  Who knows, maybe my ‘Austin’ is still out there….

A Day in the Life of a Single Mother

• There will always be Cheerios hidden on the kitchen floor, dirty laundry in the hamper, and toys on the floor.  Always.  No matter how hard I try otherwise.
• I am always late.  No matter how early I wake up.  God has already given St. Peter at the gate notice that when I am called Home, he has time for a coffee break, because I will show up late.
• Silence and quiet are two things never in my house, at least not until both boys leave for college.  I have 17 more years to go, at which time I will probably have forgotten what silence and quiet are like and will go out of my mind attempting to make enough noise on my own to liven the house up a bit.
• A dinner is not always from a recipe, and sometimes not even from the oven.  In fact, suppers from a box or a McDonald’s happy meal does quantify dinner.  Gourmet suppers that take hours to prepare are a thing of the past.
• I never have enough time to get myself ready.  I just count my blessings that I manage to make it out of the house and remember to change from my slippers to actual shoes.  (As a side note, I actually got in the car one time still in my slippers.  Luckily, as I went to shift into reverse, I noticed and sped back in the house to change.)  My son is petrified I will show up at school unknowingly still in my pajamas.  I don’t promise him otherwise, as one day it might just happen.
• My house will never be clean.  Not completely.  Most days I have to dust the dust off of the Pledge before I can begin to clean.
• The days will always run together.  One evening I searched incessantly for a favorite television program.  Only after cursing the network for removing it did I realize that the TV show I was looking for is televised Monday nights.  Today was Friday, not Monday.  Somewhere I lost an entire weekend.
• On any given day, something is always missing, broken, or needing to be purchased. 
• I will always wake up exhausted, no matter how many hours of sleep I get.
• I will always second guess myself insofar as the decisions I make on my own that affect my boys and our future.
• ‘No’ is the most often used word in the English vocabulary, followed by stop and then sit.  At least in my vocabulary.
• Is single motherhood an Olympic sport?  It’s not?  It should be.
• I have resigned myself to never being able to go to the bathroom again in peace, and that I will not get a shower that is over five minutes for many years to come.
• Most men look at my life, smile, and keep going.  That’s okay.  It takes a strong person to wrap their arms around all the blessings I have.  I’m okay with waiting; my boys are too important to simply settle.
• Social life?  I’m sorry, what is that again?
• On any given day, my calendar and to do list have more items on them than the New York Stock exchange. 
• No matter how hard you try to explain it, people just can not visualize the life you lead and why walking around with dried baby milk on your shoulder just really isn’t a big deal, in the grand scheme of things.
• No matter how busy your day is, there is always room to dry tears, help with that really unbearable math problem, and tuck each little angel in at night.
• You will always forget something every time you leave the house.  As long as it’s not the children, it will be okay.
• ‘E’ doesn’t always mean empty on the gas tank.  Sometimes it stands for just ‘Enough’ gas to get the kids to school, drive through the bank to make a transfer, slide into the grocery to get more formula, before gently coasting to rest at the pump – with just enough room to get the nozzle in the tank.
• Although single motherhood was not my choice, I’ve come to embrace all that it offers.  What other life experience can cause you to grow in ways you never imagined and obtain strength when you thought yours was completely depleted?

The Uncommon Bond of Electricity, Coffee, and a Deep Freeze

This is what happens when you are a single mother and your daily things to do far outweigh the hours in the day…..

For several days now I have noticed a strange…..odor, shall we say…..throughout the house.  Having two cats, I made a mental note that I really needed to get upstairs to change their litter and completely clean out the boxes.  When I noticed the smell lingering in my bedroom last night, I began to think it may not be from the cats, but maybe a leftover from our old 18 year old pug who passed a month ago.  In the last weeks of his life he had uncontrollable issues with the eating and bathroom processes so natural to most of us.  Again, I made a mental note to clean my bedroom carpet, as I probably just did not thoroughly clean a prior area due to the overwhelming grief of losing our beloved dog.  I quickly put that painful memory aside and did not think again of the strange smell that seemed to randomly drift through the house.

This morning I was putting wash in the drier, and bent down to pick something off of the floor.  Noticing this ‘odor’ was slightly stronger in the laundry room, it made me pause.  The cat boxes are no where near my laundry room.  My bedroom is on the opposite side of the house.  Neither of my previous deductions would be the solution to the laundry room smell.  Being that the laundry room is more of a rectangle, and the washer and drier are right inside the door, I very rarely veer off to the left to the other side of the room. 

Early this morning making the veer to the left, I noticed the smell was more concentrated near the area by the deep freeze which sits behind the laundry room door.  It took me a moment to process.  I had not even finished one cup of coffee this morning, and was still not fully functioning.  I looked to the outlet – the plug on the deep freeze was dangling.  It took me a moment, but I did put two and two together, and sure enough it equaled four.  For at least a week if not longer, the food in the deep freeze has been left to its own devices.  Not thinking in my half comatose early morning state, I lifted the lid.  (Please let this be a warning to those of you with a deep freeze – should this ever happen to you – do NOT open the lid until you are ready with a mask and gloves to fully empty and clean out the remains.  And yes, I call them remains, because that is exactly what it smells like.)  Now my entire house smells like the inner most area of the rancid freezer. 

At this point I know you are probably calling me an idiot, and other not so nice terms, but may I please digress so you understand the cause of the useless opening of the dead freezer door.  I awakened earlier than normal this morning to find the electricity off for no apparent reason.  Even first thing in the early morning the full impact of this hit me – no coffee.  That is emergency status in my house.  If there was a code red for coffee issues, this would be a flaming hot red code.  Standing in the center of the kitchen I calmly assess the dire situation.  We have several routes to take.  The no coffee route.  I quickly move on, as this is certainly not an option, and I would rather eat coffee grounds than to even remotely wander down this path.  This thought leads me to thought number two; if I use the filter basket and run what’s left of the hot water from the tap through it I wonder if I would at least get muddy water that has any slight resemblance to coffee.  Not plausible, but better than eating grounds.  Thought three is a wonderment of what may be in the back of my pantry, and by chance is there instant coffee or cappuccino mix buried from years past that I could use with my dwindling hot water supply.  This is the option I am deciding upon, but I realize that the baby may have to forego a warm bottle in order to squeak mom out one cup of old, stale coffee from a mix.  In the grand scheme of things, I am okay with this.  The baby will still have his milk, albeit not warm, and I’ll still have semi-coffee.  It’s all about sacrifice, you know.

It is at this point that God knows what is coming next, and He must have decided not to torment me any further, as the electricity resumes its powered state.  Praise God!  The first thing I head to is the coffee pot – I am not going to take the chance that the powers that be in the electrical world will turn off the power again, leaving me in the dark.  I then immediately turn to the washer, as I have a full load to get in and decide to do so while the electricity is still cracking.  And, with this load of laundry, we come full circle back to where I digressed, and you may now begin to understand why I opened the lid in the first place.  I awakened early only to stand in the dark, and was threatened with the prospect of no coffee.  In my early morning haze, I decide to try and beat the clock while the electrical is back on – because really, who knows when it will decide to cease its magical power – and in my pre-coffee, early morning haze, I follow my reaction to open the freezer door to see if indeed this is where the smell is coming from.  Had I been more in my right mind, I would have never even cracked that lid.

I still can’t figure out how that plug got pulled, but in reality it does not matter now.  I pulled up my to do list on the computer, and added fix freezer and buy bleach to the list.  This is going to be a very, very long day….

Heart Rays

Life is a funny, bizarre journey.  The days can seemingly run into one another with the mundane, yet each moment is a spectacle all of its own.  If one is not careful, one will miss the complex intricacies of everyday living.  There are moments where we know we never want to look back; we never want to experience anything remotely similar ever again.  There are also the moments you want to freeze; to never forget.  You stop and gather in every sense, just to try and keep hold of something that you know is fleeting.  Yet no matter how hard one tries, life moves on – through the good, through the bad, through the spectacular, through the ordinary.  A life well lived contains a litany of emotions from the surreal to the painful.  Life is not life unless you experience the emotions; the undercurrents that sweep you away before you even realize you’ve left.  Embrace the current of life, my dear friend, and keep hold for the years move fast even when we are moving slow.  As time passes you will come to realize that the days gone by just may be the best days of your life.  Do not miss those little shining crystals of brilliance hidden among your path and concealed in your own heart and soul.  We each can shine like the sun if only given the chance.  Let your soul shimmer; the rays of the heart are a beautiful and unique spectacle meant to be shared.  Nurture the crystals you call your own, polish them until they glimmer in even the faintest of light.  For even in the darkest of moments your own brilliance can carry you through in order to find the lighted path ahead.  That is the delight of heart rays; they are present in our life to guide us through even when we may not be available for ourselves.  Capture your own heart and hold tight – it will guide your journey of life and will take you places you never envisioned you would go.  And, if you let it, it will shine like the sun never letting your path dim.

The Bubble

I have created a perfect, happy little bubble in which I call my own. 

I exist inside this atmosphere content yet all alone. 

If and when I wander outside its mighty walls, 

I tread carefully to and fro so as to not induce a fall.

I seem to wander aimlessly when sent out on my way,

For to leave the bubble is to face the crowd and all they have to say.

At times this crowd hollers angrily, and their words do surely pound

And others walk right past me - as if I am invisible - without even a sound.

To feel the judgment on my face, or the quiet words unspoken

Cause silent tears to fall upon my heart and more memories to become broken.

So I run back to my bubble,

At peace amidst my own rubble.

For here I know at least I am protected,

Even though I am completely unconnected.

Many may wonder why I use the bubble as an excuse –

Try the years and years of prior abuse.

Having broken free from the pain,

I am tired of always having to explain.

Let me learn to be my own foundation

And to come away from the stagnation.

This bubble is what I call my own;

I am so happy to be home.

Heart Particles

Sometimes our biggest fear is the fear of fear itself.  As a survivor, I can recall countless times that I did not do something because of the fear of the unknown.  Even though the past is completed and behind me, I still hold remnants of trigger points that can send me spiraling back to a previous moment in time.  To continue my journey in life is to continue on into the unknown, which can ultimately be the scariest thing – survivor or not.  I am a broken individual, but to some extent, aren’t we all?  Each of us holds pieces of our hearts that at one point or another have been smashed into nothing more than mere dust particles that could be swept away with even the gentlest of breezes.  We hold onto these heart particles tightly, envelope them deep within our souls, and do not want to let go in trepidation of what may happen if we do release our grip.  For to release our grip is in essence to let go of the control we all so desperately want. 

I am no different.  I grip and I grasp those buried, minute pieces of my heart until the breath is ostensibly sucked right away from me and I am left gasping for air.  The after affects can be monumental as I look around bright eyed at the authenticity of what is before me, which is nothing like the reality I once knew so well.  The truth of the current day is a stark and drastic difference to the life I left behind.  I struggle to identify myself as I am now, compared to the “I” I once was.  To be able to recognize and classify myself now, I must learn to let go of the particles of the heart that have been crushed beyond devastation.

Those tiny particles will always be a part of me, but the remarkable thing about dust is that it only builds up if you let it.  So, at least for today, I take a deep breath, and I blow.  I propel the heart particles that have accumulated throughout the years out as far as my breath can take them.  I watch as they drift and soar and disperse.  I exhale, and feel the gentlest breeze begin to float through my heart.  And I know the “I” that I have been looking for so long to return is finally beginning to reappear.

Hurricanes and Ocean Waves

It has been way too long since I have set aside time just for me - time to nourish my own soul so that I am able to support those around me.  Working from home, I have been so busy growing my business, keeping sales up, and figuring out why sales just dropped while still raising the kids, playing with the animals, and trying to maintain the house that it had all consumed me from dawn till dusk.  It had enveloped me to the point that I didn’t realize how much it had encompassed me, until I broke down a few days ago in a scrambling mess of insanity.  I woke up from this bad dream called life to realize my house though still standing was a mess – there was stuff – everywhere.  Even in the bathroom.  How did random stuff get in the bathroom? 

I came back to reality and it hit me just how exhausted I was, both physically and emotionally.  The past few months I had not even taken a reprieve in the shower; I would rush in only to emerge a quick few moments later.  The goal was to get clean in as short of a time as possible, so I could get back to whatever it was I was doing before I had gotten wet.  And the time I had spent in the shower (outside of using soap) was used to think about how I could grow my business, how I could get my oldest son more stability in the midst of the chaos he experiences at his father’s house, or a good solution to get the baby to stop screaming immediately every time he needed or wanted something.  Although I constantly tell my children to have patience, that I am only one person, I forgot to repeat that mantra to myself.  I was trying to be all things to all people in all situations, except the only problem was that I forgot about myself in all of it. 

The forgetting of self led to one late night where I literally stopped in the mass chaos of movement, looked at it all, thought about it all, dropped to my knees, and broke into tears.  The enormity of the situation and all I had to do completely overrode all I am and all I have to offer.  As the tears flowed freely, one of my cats carefully approached.  I grabbed that cat and hugged tight as tears dropped on to his back.  The poor thing was just dangling there – too afraid to move even though his back was drenched by this point.  Good for him, at least I taught him enough by this point for him to realize not to move in the midst of a crises.  After a few moments I let the cat go, not because I wanted to, but because I was getting tons of cat hair sticking to my tear stained face.  Even in a breakdown I did have some self respect.  Things probably looked bad enough without cat hair on the face.

As I began picking off the hair one by one, I knew something had to lighten up.  I just did not have the time to remove cat hair like that just because I had a breakdown.  Goodness, I had enough stuff to do that was actually important!  After the cat realized I had reached a plateau of being a bit more stabilized, he quickly (albeit calmly and quietly so as to not attract attention) slid into the other room.

Days later, I can now realize and point to the times during the past months when I should have stopped and taken a deep breath.  Even hurricanes have their down times in the ocean where they relax in order to pick up more speed to head back to land.  I am no different.  Just like a hurricane, I need time to step back and gain speed so I can conquer the land mass ahead of me.  Today is just as busy as last week, and there are still the same demands, but through my crises I did come to realize just how little time I was taking to recharge my own batteries.  The night I was crying on the poor cat I found my batteries to be dead.  No one – not even supermom – can function on a dying energy field.  So, just like a hurricane, the past few days I have found myself veering back out into the ocean to take some time to stop and gather energy from the waves around me.  Turning, I have headed back to land.  There are more land masses to conquer, and I need all the energy I can get!   

Secrets

"If we knew each other’s secrets, what comforts we would find."

An amazing quote from John Churton Collins, and utterly true. What we may think as private feelings or individual stories relative only to our own heart, are more than likely felt by someone else in close proximity to us, and they as well may also be keeping that same secret.

In the Stillness

I wrote the contemplation below on Thursday, April 29, 2010, but as I reread it, I realized the message is even more important today.

“Be still and know that I am God” Psalm 45. Be still….in this day and age all of us struggle with being still. How does one truly be still in order to hear the words of the Spirit whispering in our ear when we battle daily with the mundane tasks of life? Yet in essence this stillness is the most important, and could be the most powerful, part of our day if we allow God to work in us and through us. When we allow God to truly use us and guide us, miraculous things can occur. To truly be still and to truly quiet one’s heart to hear the voice of Our Lord is not an easy task. Life often gets in the way. We get caught up with our families, with our jobs, and with the never ending list of errands and tasks. This is not what we are called to do. Psalm 45 directs us to be still. Only in the stillness can we truly feel the love of God entering our hearts and calming our souls in order to then be gentle receivers and givers of God’s grace and mercy. This does not mean that we let our lives go by the wayside and just sit there waiting for the next directive from God. It does mean that we take at least a few minutes from every day to put the cares of the world on hold so we can spend quality time hearing from Our Lord and handing Him our cares. Jesus wants us to lay our burdens and our stress at His feet, so that He can help us to sustain, and so that we have the energy to be still in order to hear Him. This day, let us come to our Savior in prayer, so that the God-given stillness can immerse our hearts and our souls, allowing us to be peaceful servants in His world.

Our Father in Heaven,
We come to you with our burdens, our stress, and our busy lives. We ask you to help us lay those worldly things down, if even just for a bit, so that we can be still and hear your words that whisper through our hearts. Help us to be quiet so that we can feel your Presence, and to be aware that you are ever with us. In the stillness, please enter our heart and allow us to be your servants, ever guided by your unfailing love.
In Your Name we pray,
Amen

Agony statue at Abbey of Gethsemani, photo by Brother Paul Quenon

Exhale

Today was a beautiful day in Kentucky – fresh, crisp morning air, beautiful sunshine, and just that right amount of heat that can lend to taking off the long sleeves and sporting one of the first short sleeves of the season.  Driving to church this morning with the baby in the back, I had the windows rolled down and the radio tuned to an upbeat Christian station.  It was one of those mornings filled with promise, when you knew it could hold anything and everything you wanted it to and you felt as if you could conquer anything.  And then smack – it happened.  One of those moments where a memory of the past was triggered, joggled free from the brain bank, and the feelings and emotions of preceding times shot so strong through my being I felt as if I was back in that moment.  It rendered me speechless.  The entire switch of atmosphere was caused by…..a road sign.  Yes, I saw a road sign.  Advertising a bridal show.  The exact same bridal show in the exact same location that was pivotal in years past with my baby’s daddy.  And that one plain blue sign brought in a rush of emotions that caused my breath to suck, my heart to palpitate, and my brain to temporarily forget just where I was and what I was doing.  In just a few short seconds that felt as if they were a millennium, a cascade of emotions hit my soul.  From the euphoria felt at a new love, to the steady beat of the growing relationship, to the jolt of what happened and how it all ended.  In that short amount of time, the sun seemed to dim, the radio though playing could not be heard, and the road ahead of me seemed to blur into a colorless haze.

When I came out of the buzz of the past, my breath was shallow and my grip was locked on the steering wheel.  I had to force myself to concentrate on the roadway and the cars around me.  The sun, once warm on my cheeks, was blazingly bright.  I blinked, not only to take away the glare of the sun, but to take away the rushing, harsh emotions that had just radiated through my being.  I again heard the radio playing, and realized one of my favorite songs had turned into a commercial break.  I switched the channel to another Christian music broadcast to help bring me back into the present.  Still shaky, I realized I could let this throw me back into that time when things weren’t as bright or I could stand straight, pick myself up, and keep moving on.  Shaking the rocky breath out of me, I chose to conquer the past yet again.  Looking in the rear view mirror at the road behind me I realized it was just that – behind me – and as my gaze fell forwards I caught my baby in his car seat…and I smiled.  Focusing ahead, I was at peace. And I exhaled.

Not Strong Enough

Was up early on a Saturday for a track meet.  Gone are the days I can just hop in the shower and head out the door!  Just a few months ago I finally figured out how to add putting on makeup back into my routine.  I was tired of hearing my 12 year old tell me how ‘tired’ I look.  Now I still appear tired, but at least my face shows it with a rosy glow and lined eyes!

As I was rolling through my fog of having to function early Saturday morning, I began to ponder over the latest action news in my normally obsolete romantic life.  Understandably, I’m really not looking to date.  I’ve always said that if God wants me to have a man in my life, He’ll literally drop him in my life.  In January a guy asked me out…in church.  Considering the atmosphere I was in, I agreed. 

Very upfront about my situation, I gently informed this guy just how many things he’d have to wrap his arms around if he became a steady pillar in my life.  I hold firm that any man has to have a very big heart, and very large arms, to wrap around my life.  It’s not just me – but one pre-teen, one infant, two cats, one old blind deaf, dog, my mom who comes over practically everyday to help, a job that is worked from home, and a house that’s constantly a revolving mess.  That’s a lot to wrap around.  He seemed to envelop this, stating he commends me for working at home so as not to utilize day care and having someone else raise my kids, and that he’d worry if my house was neat as that would mean I wasn’t focusing on my family or my job.  Unreal, I thought.  Who is this man?  I was not used to the support and it seemed his values lined up exactly with mine. 

I’ll spare you the gory, mushy details.  Two months later after a bit of a slow run, I receive a phone call stating he wasn’t coming over as planned because “the guys” were at his house for a ball game.  He quickly transitioned into a very roundabout conversation that led me to wonder what had just happened when I had hung up the phone.  There was talk about it being slow (wasn’t that what we had agreed to do?  Move slow and get to know each other?).  That it is amazing because I am one of the greatest women he’s ever dated, and he just can’t say anything negative, but that I have ‘a lot going on’ (um, I know – didn’t I tell you that?).  At one point he even stated that he was glad we talked about this lull between us and we’ll see how it goes.  Then it quickly moved into the “I’m so glad we’re friends, and you can’t have too many good people surrounding you”, at which point his friends started getting louder and he said he better get to the game.  I hung up the phone and actually had to sit and translate what had just happened.  I came to the conclusion that he had just broken it off.  Yeah, go get your friends buddy.  And here’s a hint – if you don’t want to spend your next four decades single like you’ve spent your last four, don’t break up with a girl as your friends sit in the next room watching the game.  Be respectful enough to at least do it in person and plainly communicate through it!  I watched an interview with Aretha Franklin a few Sundays ago.  The host politely asked the famous singer about her love life – or the lack of it.  Smiling in her quiet fashion, she promptly responded that none are strong enough.  I double that, sister!

As the day winds down to a close and the once applied makeup wears off, I know I am strong enough, even if someone else is not.   It can get lonely being the strong one every day, all day, but I know my shoulders are strong, my heart is big, and my arms can wrap around this house and all those in it. 

One in Three

After doing some research on the internet, and finding an improptu show on KET addressing domestic violence during a flip through of the channels, I must amend my last blog.  The correct statistic is that 1 in 3 women will experience domestic violence.  The state of Kentucky holds a higher level than the national average for domestic violence.  One in three - and remember - domestic violence is the most UNDERREPORTED crime; my guess is you personally know someone who is a victim but you may not be aware they are experiencing this penetrating crime.  Two websites I have found to be of help are: www.kdva.org and www.marybyronproject.org.  Tons of helpful information, resources, and links.

Living with Integrity (and Laughter!)

Ahhh, you think I'd be used to this single mom thing by now. But, I have found every day is different, and each dawn comes with its own challenges. A wise woman once told me the best I can do is to live each day with integrity.  For me, it’s not living with integrity – it’s surviving with integrity.  And a survivor I am.  As my journey is revealed throughout these blog posts, it is my hope that my words may speak and come alive for another. 

I am one, but I no longer stand alone.  I know that now, but for many years I thought just the opposite.  One in four women throughout their lifetime will personally experience or be exposed to some degree of domestic abuse.  Feelings of isolation and seclusion were prominent; living with an abusive man can be a very solitary existence.  Masters of control and manipulation, they are very adept at pulling you away from every comfort you once knew – including your own self-confidence. 

Many who have witnessed or experienced abuse do not speak up, fearful of what may happen if they do.  Because of this understandable fear, the statistics on abused women are not concrete, and many court systems as well as counselors underestimate the unyielding power an abusive man holds.  In turn, many therapists, judges, and law enforcement officials often do not give the abused the help they so desperately need in times of crises.  I know all this not only because I have been down that muddled path, but because I have learned through self instruction and through counseling with a local crises center the tools and education I need to move on, and to move up.

Some days this blog will be about my struggle or my survival, some about my past or educational tools for the future.  Others will be about the mundane and sometimes overwhelming day to day tasks a single mother faces, or even just the silliness of having a twelve year old, a nine month old, two cats, and a fifteen year old blind, deaf dog – all in the same household -  with only one woman coordinating it all.  (To confirm the silliness – I must share with you the afternoon the rice fell off the top shelf of the pantry, scattering all over the floor, right after we came out of hiding in the closet from a tornado warning with the electricity being out.  This was shortly followed by my oldest son dropping a can of root beer which subsequently exploded all over the tile.  In the midst of it all, the poor old blind, deaf dog piddled on the kitchen floor in the confusion.  True story.  I kid you not.  Welcome to my world!)  I do not want my journey to only be about the heavy or the oppressive, because there is so much more to it than that.  There IS joy, and there IS hope, and I want to convey that.  And when it is all said and done, the dry rice on the floor which is absorbing the root beer in the dark which is being spread around by the dog wandering around really is funny, if you stop and think about it. 

If you are reading this and are in an abusive relationship yourself, please use caution if you are using your home computer.  An abuser will check your activity, whether it be via phone records, computer history, or travel itineraries.  Make sure at the least to clear your computer’s history, cache, and cookies, and for your own safety, use a public computer or go to a trusted friend or family member for the use of their PC.  Many cities have crises centers for domestic abuse; if you are ready to seek help please utilize the wonderful resources they offer, or go to a trusted friend or family member to have them help you institute your safety plan as leaving an abuser can be a potentially dangerous situation.