Lightning Bolts

The Help..

2011-08-13T09:35:00.013-04:00

Tony and I went to the movies last night to see "The Help". The movie was taken from a novel set in the 1960's in Jackson, Mississippi by the the same name. It was the story of several courageous women who braved going outside the law in order to tell the true story of black women who had spent their lives taking care of prominent southern families.

Having been born and raised in New York, I spent those years in integrated neighborhoods, having friends of all colors and backgrounds. We lived next door to the Flanagans who were a black family on one side and the Ross family who were Jewish on the other. We never hesitated to eat or visit together and remained friends long after we moved away. In fact, I went back numerous times for weekend visits with the Flanagans where I would watch Mama Mable in the kitchen while I played till bedtime with Sissy, my best friend.

I had heard of the prejudices in the south but never came face to face with them until I married my first husband. He was in the Navy and was being sent overseas two weeks after our wedding. I moved to Charleston to live with his parents. It was more than a culture shock to say the least. On my first trip to the commissary to do food shopping with my mother-in-law an old black man was bagging our groceries. I engaged him in a conversation asking about his day. I thought he was just being shy in the way he hung his head when answering my few questions. When we got in the car, my mother-in-law lit into me and told me in no uncertain terms that I was not in the north any longer, and I was not to speak to "colored" people who were there to serve us. This was 1971. This woman, although born and raised in South Carolina, had lived in New York for 8 years. What had I gotten myself into? Did I go through a time warp? I found that her attitude was one shared by many (even to this day) although few will admit it. I don't sit and judge them because this scenario was one of normalcy to them just as my tolerant background was one of normalcy to me. Since that time and through various circumstances, I found myself in a profession that took me throughout the south, including Jackson, Mississippi, serving diabetic footwear needs to thousands of elderly black women (and men).

As I sat this morning during my devotional time I could not get this movie out of my mind. I couldn't help but shed a few tears when I realized that many, if not most, of those wonderful, beautiful black feet that I touched had experienced the degradation and humiliation depicted in The Help. But the movie was a testament to the strength of these brave women and their ancestors who lived lives of servitude. I know that God did not mean this kind of servitude to fellow man!

I sat thanking God that he had placed me in a position where all of these people needed me and how grateful I was to be of service to them. Then I had an epiphany!! They didn't need me. I needed them! They taught me through their stories and their hardships who I was. More importantly, they taught me about who God is.

I thank each and every one of them.

My Father

2011-01-04T09:52:00.004-05:00

My father is amazing. Always has been. Sometimes we grow up not understanding the things that our father sacrificed for us to give us a better life. We think that he doesn't know what we need as much as we do. We rebel, we fight and we take way more than we give. Sometimes I remember Fred Sanford's line to his son Lamont "I brought you into this world and I can take you out!!". I guess that is actually true when you think about it.

I remember that although my dad was a stern taskmaster, with eyes in the back of his head which saw everything I did, he never made me do anything that was harmful to me or did not make me stronger as a person. Although he had other responsibilities, he always was there for me to teach me, guide me and discipline me when I needed it (which was more times than I care to count). Yet, his arms are always open to catch me when I fall, hold me when I am in pain or grieving a loss or to give me hugs and pats on the back when deserved. What a guy!

When we lost Diana, Bonny, Craig, Mom, Patti, Matt, Joey and other family members, as well as many friends, that is when my father really stepped up and got us all through it. None of us would have made it without his support and loving, caring nature, knowing what each of us needed and expressing it like nobody else could to help us carry on. And, there was nobody as excited and full of joy as he was during the birth of any child or cheering at any seemingly small accomplishment any of us would have. I guess that is what a dad is for. My father has done his job admirably and still does. He gives me a sense of belonging, a sense of security, a sense of safety and most of all, a sense of love and reminding me day after day whose I am.

You should meet him. He will change your life. You see, my earthly dad died when I was 5 years old, yet I have NEVER felt "fatherless". My father has always been there to meet my needs and I know He will always be there for me. My Father is actually "our" father. In fact, He is "Our Father who art in Heaven". He is there for you too.

Thanks daddy for ALWAYS being there.

One Nation Under God

2010-09-30T09:18:00.003-04:00

We are in discussions at our church regarding the placement of the American Flag. It now stands outside the door to the sanctuary, however, it has been suggested that it be moved into the sanctuary.

This has sparked much conversation among our church members, and my family and friends. This is a good thing in that the fundamental right to free speech is represented by our flag. I love our flag. It represents all that is right with our country as well as the right to express our opinions when we feel there are things wrong with the direction of our country. It represents the diversity of a country whose people have come from lands around the globe to find a home where freedom is not just a word, but a way of life. It is a beautiful reflection and reminder that our freedom has come at a cost, a high cost to those who miss or mourn those who so valiantly have fought for it. But where, in a church setting, does it belong?

The flag represents our freedom to worship in whatever form that takes. Whether Christian, Jew, Muslim, Buddist or any other religion, our flag guarantees us that we are free to honor and glorify our God. To have it outside the door to the sanctuary, guarding that freedom, I feel is the appropriate place. It guards all that is sacred and holy to us encompassed within the inner sanctum of our santuary.

Once we walk through the doors of the sanctuary, we are one family, one without regard to race, color, nationality, or any other title except Children of God. We get to celebrate a family holiday each and every Sunday. How wonderful is that!!! We are united in praise, worship and feast at the table of the Lord without regard for any outside manmade forces which tend to divide us.

As amazing as our flag is, and all the freedoms it affords, it also represents divisive wars, legislation that sometimes is opposite of our beliefs, laws that surpress the rights of minority groups and a vast array of things that come along with a free country. But that is the beauty of our country. We have a right to choose those who represent us and share our indivdual views. That being said, the democracy which we live in is second to none and I thank God every day that I was born an American.

But when I walk into the sanctuary, I belong to a completely different group. I walk into a group that is worldwide and open to all regardless of where you were born or to what social class, etc., you might belong to. We are not only "one nation under God", we are one WORLD under God. So, yes, please use the Flag to guard our freedom of religion outside the sanctuary door, but the only banner we should be flying once we enter the sanctuary is the banner written across our hearts as children of God.

As Dennis Miller would say, "this is just my opinion, I could be wrong....."

My Prodigal Son

2010-09-06T13:04:00.004-04:00

I haven't written for quite awhile, but unless I am moved there is no sense in it.

I was thinking about the journey that my son Josh and I have made together the past 34 years of his life. We've been through so many transitions, disappointments, joys and sorrows together that we can read each other well.

I was a single mother for much of his life and so we have always been closer than most out of necessity. We overcame so many obstacles it seemed like it was always us against the world. I made the mistake of including him in most of my thought processes through my own trials and tribulations, rather than shielding him from my own misgivings. I should have let him be a child for longer than I did. For that I am sorry. He had to grow up faster than he should have.

When I moved back to South Carolina to marry Tony, he stayed behind in Port St Lucie for a while which was hard. He moved here for a little while, but then went on his way to Oregon for four long years. I thought I would crumble into nothingness. The year before he was born, I lost his sister as an infant on July 4th, the only day of her life I dared to be away from her. As a divorced mom, when Josh would go to visit his dad by airplane or car, I would have to run into the closest bathroom and was physically ill. The separation anxiety was overwhelming and although I can now leave him easier without the bouts of nausea, it still affects me.

Josh has grown to be an amazing, talented, respectful and wonderful man, certainly not because of me but in spite of me and I am so proud of him.

I have come to the realization that God always knows what he is doing and that Josh needed to be away from me for those four years to grow into who he is mentally, physically and spiritually. I am so blessed to have this opportunity in my life to be his mother. I can see day by day that the tides are turning and I am in a position to learn so much from him. I know that parents always want more for their children than they want for themselves, and I want that for him. I am lucky that he is a son who is not ashamed to let people know how close we are and I know that he respects my opinion whether he agrees with me or not.

He relocated to the east coast this past spring, and now I can get to him in a matter of hours if need be and soon Tony and I will be relocating to be even closer. Unlike the prodigal son of the bible, who lost himself in the real world until he realized where his true home was, Josh had to go into the real world to find himself realizing where his true home is.

Hurting Beyond Words

2010-01-23T09:58:00.007-05:00

I sit this morning after watching the Hope for Haiti Telethon last night. The images shown along with the heartfelt plea of faces we seem to have come to trust were overwhelming. Although I am hopeful that this venue will raise a substantial sum of money, and I applaud all who gave, I am still perplexed why some of us felt we needed to wait to be "entertained" before picking up a phone or shopping for relief supplies.

When I try to put into perspective what this devastated country is facing, I picture four football stadiums filled with fans, all of which are lying dead on the field. This is the horror facing those left behind. And, although I know that those who lost their lives are now living another without the pain and hunger of those left behind, I hurt for those whose entire families have vanished from this earth. Can you imagine in one instant looking around you and your entire family is gone. The feeling of abandonment and fear, especially in the children is too much to bear. I feel like an Old Testament soul every time I think about it, which is in most waking moments. I want to tear my clothes and cry out in anguish. No matter what I do or how I try to help I feel it will not be enough. But I also know that God will take it and multiply it using it where it is needed the most.

For those who don't think their $10 is significant enough to bother texting the word "Give" to 50555, or finding another way to give, remember this. $10 is enough to buy antibiotics for two people, a necessity that can save their lives. Imagine, someone dying for lack of a $5 drug. These are our brothers and sisters all created by the same Maker. As the song says "we are the world". This just did not happen to someone else, this has happened to OUR family of man. We need to remind the people of Haiti that God still loves them and will never abandon them and we still love them and will not abandon them either.

Please find a way to honor God by loving our neighbors as ourselves. Clasp your hands in prayer for Haiti and then open them wide with whatever you can to help them rise again.

2009-11-21T09:38:00.012-05:00

THANKSGIVING

Thanksgiving...what a concept. One day a year where we sit and eat turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes and all those things that go along with it. We see some family members that we haven't seen for a while and catch up on each other's lives. Why is that? Why is it more important in November to make contact than in March or August? If we are thankful in November, what are we the rest of the year? It seems to me that each day we wake up and have the opportunity to make a difference to those around us should be "thanksgiving" day. We should celebrate each other and God's bounty more often than once a year, don't you think?

Thanksgiving tends to make me feel a little guilty, and although Tony and I do support charities that provide Thanksgiving dinner, I can't help but think about those who will have no dinner, no family and most importantly, feel they have no hope. I recall an older couple who several years ago told me that they would be boiling neck bones and eating collards for Thanksgiving, yet, she had made me a sweet potato pie to take home. The pie was less than 1 inch thick, but nonetheless was what she had to offer in thanks for her diabetic shoes. Anyone who knows me knows that they indeed did have a turkey dinner that year.

We have opportunities each and every day to make someone's life a little easier. Those of us who are blessed enough to be on the giving end and not the receiving end of financial assistance or material necessities should be thankful every day because there is no certainty that those tables will not turn one day. But remember this...by giving you are receiving as much a blessing as those you give to and even more.

So, this Thanksgiving Day, give thanks to the God who gives and takes away. Give thanks that you have your family, enough to eat, clean water and a clean bed upon which to rest your head. Most of all, remember that EVERY day of your life should be Thanksgiving Day. Let's try to see each other more, care for each other more, love each other more and help each other more.

We are all little girls.........

2009-11-01T20:16:00.007-05:00

I attended the wedding of my niece Diana last week in Florida. I spent time with family members who were there while missing those unable to attend. From Diana's paternal grandmother Grace, to my sister's granddaughter Isabella, I watched four generations of women come down the aisle before the bride who was a stunning reflection of beauty that only God could create.

At the reception, the tradition of dancing in our family continued, and as I looked out onto that dance floor, I saw generations of women in my family twirling and swaying to their own drummers, following their own hearts and dreams as they moved along the stepping stones of their lives. I realized that the spirit of the daughter I lost so many years ago was right there among her cousins, as was my mother, Diana's maternal grandmother. And among all the girls at this wedding, and with overwhelming pride, my eyes rest on one boy, a man really, my only child. I know that somewhere tonight a little girl is dancing among her own family whose dreams he will one day fulfill, just as his male counterparts who have taken this miraculous journey before him had done.

During the night, as the Abba song so succinctly states, we were all "17 year old dancing queens". Looking out onto the dance floor, watching five of my nieces, all I could see were little girls who for the past 20+ years danced around my mother's living room. I could also see my two sisters and myself, who for the past 40+ years had done the same thing as we would often break into impromptu song and dance numbers showcasing our abilities however lame they might have been. And although mentally I still feel like that young girl full of expectation, I know with each aching muscle and gray hair that I am not. We become our mothers who have become their mothers. I see my nieces who are grown women now, some with children of their own, who one day will feel as I feel today. The circle of life continues as we go along dancing to our own songs of life and love. I mourn the losses and rejoice in the new gifts of life we have experienced in my family with a true faith that tells me one day we will all dance together throughout eternity.

We come full circle from the miracle of our own creation to our final breath on this earth returning to the One who created us, leaving behind a legacy of joys and sorrows, achievements and disappointments, friendships and betrayals as well as loyalties and loss. Yet, no matter what our age, we are all the same little girls with our hopes and dreams, whether realized or not. Some of us fulfill them through our children and grandchildren, and some of us are still anxiously waiting for them to come to fruition.

But, in the end, we are ALL just little girls as the music of our lives plays on....and on.....and on............

2009-09-26T10:47:00.005-04:00

Loss

Loss…how do you define it? The American Heritage Dictionary defines loss as “the act or an instance of losing” and “the harm or suffering caused by losing or by being lost”.

I am writing this with a heavy heart as I reflect on the losses of my life and the fact that this week will mark the fifth anniversary of the loss of my nephew Craig whom I miss terribly along with everyone who ever came in contact with him. Hurricane Jeanne came and tore him from our lives. I think the unexpected and unexplainable losses are the hardest ones. There are no what ifs or what could I have done differently scenarios, just a hole deep inside that will only be filled on our last day.

In my life I have lost a lot. I have lost my father, my mother, my daughter, my brother, my nephew, two mothers-in law and two fathers-in-law, sister-in law, not to mention grandparents, cousins, uncles and friends. In my work I grow close to patients, many of which I lose each year. I miss each and every one, but, being a person of faith, I know I will see them again one day. I feel selfish to grieve, for I know that they are where I long to be one day, in the arms of my maker.

Then there are other losses that we see more and more each day; the loss of jobs, marriages, family relationships, homes and the like. Life is filled with various types of loss. It is all around us, we cannot escape it. But, without loss, we would not know what gain is.

By comparison, we gain by the families we have to love, by the new babies coming into our world. We celebrated the birth of Laci, Mia, Nathan and Cash into our family in the last two years alone. How wonderful is that!! We celebrate marriages, the opportunities to start over again when we find a door closed in our lives. We celebrate because we have a God who loves us no matter what and no matter how we screw things up.

It’s hard to suffer loss, but loss is a part of living. Any you know what? I would rather have had the short time I have had with those I loved and lost than not to have had any time with them at all. The happiness they bring to us during their lives is so worth the temporary void in our hearts until we meet them again, and we will. I cannot feel sorry for myself because when I see the things of this world, I see people who will never have the opportunity for the love that I have been blessed with in my life even though many have been taken away too soon.

Look at your life as one looks at a heartbeat on a monitor. It is a line with ups and downs which keep us alive. We will have good and bad. You do not want a straight line because then you have “flatlined” and this life will be gone. Bear the downs and take advantage of the ups and help others to do the same.

Feel your losses, but take ownership of the joys. We are mere fractals in a tapestry being woven by God and only He can see the beautifully finished product from His vantage point. Life is worth the ride.

2009-09-09T17:47:00.005-04:00

Never judge a book…..

You know the old saying “never judge a book by its cover”? I have learned in many ways the truth of that statement.

One such experience occurred when I delivered shoes to a patient near Blythe Island, Georgia. I was working for Liberty Medical at the time and so I only delivered shoes which had been ordered through Liberty’s office. These patients that I served in various parts of the country I rarely saw more than one time. This was one of those times, but one that I will never forget.

I drove up to a magnificent riverside colonial mansion, one you might read about in a novel. I walked up the stairs and looked around at the perfectly manicured landscaping while I was breathing in the salty air. Wow, I thought, now these people were soooo lucky!!

An impeccably dressed and recently coifed elderly woman came to the door and invited me in. I followed her to a table in a beautifully furnished “sitting” room overlooking a wide section of a river fed from the Atlantic Ocean between Brunswick and Jekyll Island. I complimented her home and its beauty and she told me that her staff was excellent. As always, I looked around for something which would spark general conversation while I fit her shoes and molded her orthotic inserts. I saw a family picture of what appeared to be her, her husband, one grown daughter and one grown son. I told her that she had a beautiful family.

She then told me that she had lost her son in the Vietnam War years earlier. She went on to tell me that she had buried her husband the year before. The night of her husband’s burial she and her daughter were sitting at this exact table when her daughter’s head hit the wood and she died instantly from a brain aneurism. My patient did not cry although I did. I should have been the one comforting her, but she was attempting to console me as she spoke about how “lucky” she was in that she might have lost her family but look at what she had; beautiful memories of each of them. She remarked that some people are never lucky enough to know the love her family shared. She spoke about how this house was way too big for her, but she would never leave because this was where she could remember the many good times she had while her family was still with her.

She was filled with joyful stories and spoke with such anticipation as she told me that she couldn’t wait to join them again one day. She trusted God and knew that He was not finished with her yet. She had more to do.

And she did. She had to teach me a valuable lesson. Things are not always what they seem on the surface. I would like to think I could have the kind of strength she exhibited that day, but I’m not so sure. I pray I never have to find out.

2009-09-03T08:31:00.002-04:00

Song of Lillian

Lillian lived in a nursing home in Moncks Corner, SC. It is a smaller nursing home and when full can accommodate no more than 10 people. I went to see her recently to arrange for her shoes but was told that her daughter had moved her to another nursing home in a different part of the state.

I began seeing Lillian four years ago. She would have conversations with me and was able to pick the exact shoe she liked while she told me about her children and where each one lived. At 75 Lillian was no bigger than a minute and always sat in the same chair in the television room of the home. Each time I would attempt to measure her or rub her feet or touch them in any way, Lillian would giggle in a high pitched voice like a 5 year old child. You see, Lillian was extremely ticklish.

Lillian also loved to sing. She sang Negro spirituals all the time. Although I loved it when she would burst into a song, those around her would get frustrated because heaven forbid they missed something Bob Barker or Jerry Springer might have to say. No matter, she would just sing louder.

Each year I could see Lillian’s mind deteriorate as her dementia got worse and advanced into Alzheimer’s. The last time I saw Lillian she did not know anyone around her and sat silently gazing into a world only she could see. She was no longer ticklish and I missed her girlish giggling. But, before I left, she burst into song and sang an old spiritual without faltering one bit, hitting every high note and not missing a single word. I’ve seen this with quite a few of my patients. They forget simple everyday things and yet they can continue to say their prayers and quote scripture.

This proves something I’ve known for a long time. The things of God come straight from the heart and not from the brain. I’m sure wherever Lillian is living now, she is still singing, and I am blessed that I was able to hear her and learn from her.

2009-08-27T10:33:00.027-04:00

A Life Lesson from Monet

Tony and I went to Atlanta this past weekend to see several Braves games. We had Saturday free and found that from our downtown hotel we were within walking distance to the High Museum of Art. We decided to take the walk and visit the museum.

We were pleasantly surprised when the museum was in its last weekend of the travelling “Monet: Water Lillies” exhibit. Monet is my all time favorite artist. Tony would have been happier if it were next month when a Leonardo DaVinci exhibit will be showing. Anyway, we were both thrilled to see some of the magnificent works of Monet on display. Claude Monet is known as the father of Impressionism and a master at using quick brushstrokes to record light and color. In some paintings he used 15 layers of paint to create textures that look like a load of goop when viewed up close. But as you take step by step back you see that the various loads of goop transform into magnificent paintings whose details are both obvious and beautifully displayed.

I think we are all made up of different loads of goop. Our loads of goop come from our different life experiences. We have loads of hurts, loads of joys, loads of endings and loads of beginnings. We have loads of responsibilities, achievements and the list goes on and on. It’s exhausting to think about all my loads of goop.

But, in contrast to a Monet painting where you need to step back, we must move step by step closer to one another to understand the loads of goop we each carry. We must uncover the layers of goop of those we encounter throughout our life to see that we are all the same, no one of us better than another. We are all created by the same maker with the same ingredients, the only difference being that our ingredients have been stirred at varying speeds. Shrek knew this when he explained that ogres were like onions, with many layers. We are all like onions (only the sweet Vidalia kind) and need to allow others to peel back our layers to find that we are the same regardless of the packaging. The only differences stem from our individual experiences and opportunities.

Step back to see the wonderful works of Monet, but step forward to see the wonderful works God has created in each of us. It’s worth both the time and effort, and in the end we experience masterpieces we may not have seen otherwise.

2009-08-20T08:31:00.006-04:00

Shall we Dance…….

There are moments I witness that will stay with me forever.

I have two patients, husband and wife, who live in Ridgeville, SC. For the purposes of this story and to keep from having the HIPPA police come after me I will call them Dick and Jane. Dick and Jane are both in their late 80’s. They live in one of several old wooden houses in a relatively remote area among other family members. Their home is open most of the time and has developed quite an aroma from the effects of weather along with their love for cats. There have also been times when I have witnessed a chicken or two walking through the forever open doors. Although their belongings are sparse and it is obvious that they live on a shoestring budget, they always have a pot of something on the stove cooking for their supper later.

This is the fifth year that I have provided them with their diabetic shoes. They look forward to these shoes each year with anticipation and I look forward to bringing them. Always with a smile on their faces and joy in their hearts I know they are happy to see me. Dick will be inside in his tattered recliner and Jane always runs onto the porch and waves as she sees my car make it through the trees on what used to be a better maintained driveway but now is overgrown with grass and weeds. There are always great grandchildren playing in the yard. I know I would be welcome without the shoes and feel perfectly at home there.

One day when I visited I happened to have a freshly baked loaf of banana bread in the car and brought it in to Jane. They stopped right there, joined hands and prayed for the gift they had been given and prayed for me.

I usually deliver both pairs of shoes together, and once I have them both in their shoes I play this game. I have them both stand up and tell them I need to see them dance together to make sure the shoes are working and fit right. They’re used to this drill by now. Dick will get up from his seat, take Jane’s hand and they dance around on the well worn area rug and laugh out loud. Just for a moment I can see how they must have danced in their youth as their steps still show the signs of those who have danced together many times before.

This year, I received Jane’s shoes earlier than Dick’s and rather than have her wait because I don’t know how long his will take to arrive, I delivered hers. Once I had her shoes on, and before I could say anything, Dick, with a wide grin on his face, rose from his chair and reached out his hand to her. Without saying a word to each other, she took his hand as he twirled her around the floor and said “I just want to make sure they work”.

I can’t wait to get his shoes so that I can spend some more time with this amazing couple who still look at each other with such love and devotion. They are a true inspiration. I love my job.

2009-08-17T09:08:00.007-04:00

It’s a Clyde thing…..

I spoke to a family member last night who talked about missing an opportunity to hold the hand of a loved one lying unresponsive in a hospital bed before he died. “I could have done it. I was right there and I didn’t do it” he lamented. He has since been visited in his dreams by this loved one who has told him “it will be alright”. It is time to accept those words as a message that he knows your heart and knows your true feelings and does not want you to suffer the guilt of how you think you failed him in that moment. Obviously, you didn’t fail him or he would not come to comfort you. Let it go now and replace that hurtful memory of yours with memories of all the love and good times you shared in your life. After all, you are his baby boy and always will be, no matter what. And, even though you didn’t hold his hand when you thought you should have, he was clutching your heart then and won’t let go of it until he sees you again to make sure your journey will be a safe one. And your mom will be pirouetting just to show you how happy she is that you got the message. Keep the faith.

Moments of Epiphany

2009-08-15T12:35:00.005-04:00

A moment of realization….

Sometimes we have moments of realization that define who we are and what our priorities are at any given stage of our lives.

I had one such moment about 15 years ago.

I was living in a very expensive apartment above the shops of Mizner Park, ‘the’ place to be in Boca Raton, Fl. at the time. I was working as the City Manager for a very exclusive town along the shore in Palm Beach County. I was in a prestigious position, rubbing elbows with the elite, you know, those who “dined” rather than ate. I served visitors on my Limoges luncheon plates and never thought twice about it. I was high steppin’ for sure.

I was at lunch with a companion one day at one of the many bistros we frequented and the conversation turned to where we had eaten the day before. Just one day before mind you. We could not remember. Then a few minutes later, I recalled that we had eaten at the Ritz Carlton in Ocean Ridge. Not just any Ritz but the oceanfront magnificent hotel.

Earlier that month, my sister Rose, who at the time was pretty strapped for money and not used to the better things, called to tell me that my brother Bonny had stopped by unannounced and took her to the Sheraton for lunch. She would remember this day and the amazing meal for years to come.

It hit me. Who had I become that I couldn’t even remember eating at one of the most amazing places in the world the day before? Who was this person who was born in the Bronx and had come from pretty humble beginnings after my mother was widowed very young with seven children to feed. What a wakeup call.

I realized that I had become what I did and not who I was. I had allowed what I did, “my job”, define me and created an entire lifestyle to match. That was the moment when I realized that I wanted a “life” and not a “lifestyle”. From that moment on, I intentionally nurtured my relationships with those I love and spent less time on those who I was trying to impress.

In my current profession, I spend my time seeing those who are less fortunate in material belongings, but strong in spirit, in faith and in those things that are everlasting. Any you know what? Those are the things that bring me joy now. Those are the things that matter!

I am left with the remnants of my “things” stage but look at them differently now. I look at my Waterford lamps and think just how many mosquito nets they could have bought to save children in Africa from malaria. They’re just things. I need to learn how to market on e-bay so that I can transform those things that are meaningless now into more useful service to others.

Besides, they just remind me of the person I never want to be again.

Thanks be to God for teaching me that a “lifestyle” can never replace having a “life”.

Don’t ever confuse the two and make that mistake.

2009-08-13T10:26:00.006-04:00

“Bella…..Bella”

I’ve been thinking and dreaming of my mom quite a bit lately. I’m not sure why. She left us in May of 2006 after a life-altering battle with Alzheimer’s.

I have so many memories of her, the good, the bad and the ugly. I would have to say though; the good certainly outweigh the bad. She was there at the first moment of my life and I was there at the last moment of hers. It was a most precious moment both of heart wrenching sadness and relief. Heart wrenching in that it is always sad to lose a mother, the first relationship of your life. Relief that she would not have to live a life of not knowing who she was most of the time or knowing who we were when we saw her. She knows it all now.

My mother was a contrast of personalities. Her family was always dear to her and she would do what she could for them. As her dementia and the Alzheimer’s took over, bitterness, fear and paranoia were the daily agenda items, common and expected side effects of this disease. At the onset, some of us, including me, lived in denial and refused to cope with the realities that were evident to others. I think that stemmed from having the most one on one time with mom. I spent more time alone with mom than any of my brothers or sisters. We lived together by ourselves for quite a while and we travelled many, many times, just her and I. These are just a sampling of the journeys that I will remember….

We set sail on a Windjammer Cruise after touring the rainforests of Grenada where she immediately developed a crush on our 24 year old Captain, the youngest Captain in the fleet. During the entire cruise she would just light up each time Captain Guyan would appear. I saw the young girlish side of the woman she must have been in her youth. Sad to say, but that young Captain was lost at sea during a hurricane two years later.

During a trip to Washington D.C. after walking what seemed to be miles, and probably was, we arrived at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial. She looked up at those stairs and said “nice statute, I’m done, call a cab, let’s eat”. She could be very funny.

I don’t even remember how many trips to California and Nevada we took to see my two brothers, but in Reno, my mother loved the slots. As she got older and walked slower and seemed to complain with each step, you would never have known it the minute we walked into The Peppermill. She could get to the four corners of that casino and I couldn’t keep up with her. I told you she was funny.

When I read my Upper Room each morning, there are times when the stories are ones I know she would have enjoyed. We did that together each morning when we lived in Port St. Lucie. My mother and I prayed together. I don’t know if she did that with any of my other siblings.

And my last memory before seeing her unresponsive in that hospital bed before she died is the one that I cling to. We had gone to Florida for Easter and before we left, I went alone to the nursing home one more time to see her. She talked about my brothers as if they were still in school and how she didn’t know what my brother Bonny would do next. It was time for me to go and I kissed her goodbye. She reached up with her frail hand and rubbed my cheek, smiled and said “Bella….Bella”. I walked to my car and had a good cry.

I know, without a doubt, that I will see her again in heaven one day and that I will be greeted with those same words, “Bella…Bella”, but then I will be saying "hello" and not "goodbye". Rest in peace. I miss you mom.

The Amazing Role of Feet

2009-08-09T11:21:00.006-04:00

Feet

I deal with feet every day. As a pedorthist I see feet differently than most people. I can determine a lot about a person by their feet. The kind of life they’ve seen, whether pampered or neglected. The types of physical maladies they suffer from are numerous. But the true nature of feet and the story they tell belong only to the owners of the bodies they are attached to.

The only story of feet I can fully understand are my own. Feet carry us everywhere we go in life. When they hurt, our whole body hurts. And when they feel great we feel great. I have never pampered myself and had a pedicure; however, I have heard from several family members and friends that there is no better feeling in the world. I imagine that to be a bit of an exaggeration as I am sure there are some better feelings in the world, however, it does tempt me and I might just break down one day and try it. As funny as it seems, although I deal with feet all the time, I am very private about my own and don’t think I would like somebody messing with them.

My feet have taken me places that I never thought I would go. I have been blessed to have travelled a lot and still have a lot of places to go. All the happiest times I have had in my life my feet have taken me to. And all the people that I love and cherish are brought to me by their feet.

One of the most amazing times a parent experiences are those first steps taken by those tiny feet across a room to you. I know that when my son Joshua took his first steps, as excited as I was, I didn’t see the significance of his feet. Now, that his feet have carried him to the other side of this great country of ours, I do.

My feet have taken me places where I never wanted to go. To airports carrying loved ones far away. To hospital rooms to see loved ones suffering. To nursing homes so see the loneliness of those left there. To funeral homes to say goodbye.

My feet have carried me into the lives of many and out of the lives of some. Friendships were gained….friendships were lost…..and the wheels of the bus go round and round. I have had many good friends walk into my life who have seen me through some gut wrenching experiences that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I have also had many friends whose feet have taken them in other directions leaving me feeling abandoned and betrayed.

I’ve come to learn that God knows what we need in each season of our lives and provides. But true friends, really true friends, do not leave. Their feet keep on carrying them back to you no matter what. And your feet carry you to them to share in their joys, their sorrows their hopes and dreams, their expectations and disappointments.

As I look back on some of my experiences involving patients, I know that I have been sent to each one for a purpose. I truly believe that no encounter is coincidental. I have prayed, wept, held, laughed and cheered at the feet of my patients. Some I get to see year to year and some I may only see once in a lifetime, but I can tell you that there is something humbling to be at the feet of a person who needs a prayer or a kind word or even a hug.

Each morning during my devotional time I pray that God will send me where I can make a difference. To those who may need someone to share good news with or who may need a kind word. Some just need a good cry. I deal mostly with elderly folks so I might be the only voice they hear that day that is not through some electronic means. I love my job.

So, the next time you slip on socks or shoes, remember that your feet will not only make a difference in your day, but make a difference in the life of someone else.It’s no coincidence that Jesus washed feet in order to show us how to serve each other. Sometimes all we need to do is pick up the basin and towel and be there.