Good and Bad, Pleasure and Pain

Nothing really “heavy duty” today, just some comments about a conversation my sister Ann and I had yesterday. We were discussing some of the highs and lows of family life, and I commented that at any given time there are always good things and not so good things going on. 

True, some times and things are better than others (a new job, a new house, a raise, a day at the beach), but even then there might be some little something to put a damper on things if you let it. That new job involves learning your way around and meeting new people, and although I LOVE the beach, there’s the sand to contend with. And why is it that on the days you want to do nothing but read and snooze someone closeby has the loudest voice in the universe?

About the not so good happenings, we’ve had our share of them too. Yet even then there’s beauty, pleasure, and laughter. Yesterday was crammed with good and bad, highs and lows. I began the day at 4:45 a.m. because of my old friend insomnia. I awoke with thoughts of driving to and from Charleston to sit with my sister-in-law and niece while my brother was in surgery, and soon I was thinking of my brother himself. I then thought of the four and ½ hours of class that had to be sandwiched in before making the drive to MUSC.  I then thought of the work (both professional and house) that I was behind in. By the time DH left for work, I was anything but what Connie would describe as the “epitome of sweetness and light.”

Picture this. I’m telling DH good bye and am so stressed about the drive and the teaching and my brother’s health and the busy weekend that I actually sat down on the steps and put my head in my hands.  My laid-back, calm husband said something like, “Look. You’re going to come home tonight and get in the bed and go to sleep, and tomorrow you’re going to sleep a little later (sevenish), put in a full day, and then go to bed and sleep that night. You’re going to do your best and do it day by day. There’s no point in getting so worked up.” Ah, wise words. I could elaborate on how that’s easy for him to say since our work and personal lives are a lot different right now, but I won’t.

I’ll say instead that there are goods to equal every bad in my life as well as yours. Sometimes you just have to look for them.

*Too stressed to sleep or think straight and having a husband to calm me down is a positive counteracting a negative. It doesn’t have to be a husband, by the way. It could be a friend, something you read, a song…whatever.

*My car’s rear fender is dented in BIG TIME because of an accident in the Wal Mart parking lot Wednesday evening. DH checked it out for me at the insurance agency, and it looks like I can get some help repairing it without having it count against my insurance. Again…a good and a bad.

*Speaking of the accident itself, I was hot and tired and frustrated as the three of us (DH, man I hit, and I) waited for the police to arrive. A woman walked up and began talking to us and kept saying, “It’s gonna be all right. Everything’s gonna work out.” I had no idea who she was at first, but she made a definite change in the energy field for the better. I found myself feeling a little more upbeat, and when she said that she got the call about the accident when she was on the commode, I chuckled aloud and wondered, “Who is this woman???” She saw my look and told us that she was the mother of the person whose car I’d hit.  Dinged up car vs. funny lady, bad and good.

*I was hustling to my second class yesterday, hoping that I had everything I needed, when a former student and mother of four young children, said, “You still look good, Mrs. B.”  Bless you, Georgelynn. I was feeling like what my mother would call “the wrath of the gods.” I hugged her, a positive exchange for both of us. I was stressed over “stuff,” and so was she…mainly the challenges of four little children, the youngest an infant.

*Once in the car, I felt a momentary sense of anxiety because Charleston can be a tricky city, and I’ve never been to MUSC alone. Good thing: the GPS. Right away I learned that I had 92 miles to drive to my destination. Isn’t technology marvelous?

*Arriving at the hospital, still feeling a bit anxious, friendly people kindly directed me to where I needed to go. When I walked into the fourth floor waiting area and spotted Lisa and Sarah Beth, I felt immediately better.  Lisa’s husband, SB’s father, and my brother was being operated on right that moment, but we all felt better by being together. Lisa told me one of her aunts had died that morning. Sad, very sad. BUT, get this. Lisa’s son Will and his wife Mary Catherine had had a baby girl at 8:00 that very morning. She got to see sweet baby Caroline before leaving Columbia for Charleston. There’s that juxtaposition again.

*Tired of sitting, we went downstairs for some exercise and a drink. MUSC has its very own Starbucks, but alas, it was closed for ten minutes. We waited about 15 minutes, and finally someone arrived. Lisa treated us to some sort of chocolate concoction with a mound of whipped cream and syrup on the top. Ummm. Yummy. Also yummy was the marbled pound cake that Sarah Beth and I shared.

*We got back in the elevator and right away we saw a smiling woman with a large growth on her chin. It was bleeding. She was smiling! I felt such compassion and sadness for her. I glanced at Sarah Beth and her glossy black beautiful hair and…well, you know…the juxtaposition thing again.

*We got back to the waiting room, and almost right we learned that Mike was in recovery and that we could go back to see him. SB and I walked back first, and it was such a relief to see him awake and aware.  Despite having just had tissue removed from his kidney, he was in good spirits and even told a joke. I laughed. Pain and pleasure.

And did I mention that the sun was shining when I left? It was.  I heard birds singing too.

A Different Sunday

Elizabeth and I had a neat experience yesterday, one that we’d have surely missed had we not been open to the universe and all that it offers. Or maybe we were just more in tune to the Spirit. After all, it was Sunday, and our hearts and minds were ready to soak up some spirituality. Our physical selves were ready too. Dressed up in our Sunday garb, including pearls and high heels, we headed out to church.

Elizabeth has to drive 20-something miles to church, and as pulled off the four lane road onto the secondary one, we were stopped in our tracks. Literally. The road was closed, and as we looked past the sign and down the road, we saw another roadblock. Since this is an unknown area for both of us, we didn’t know another way to get to the church so we decided to drive into Marion, park, and then confer about what to do next. She jumped out of the car and laughingly said, “Is this a sign?”

After considering this query for about half a second, I said, “Yes, I think it must be. Of  what, I’m not sure. But yes.”

She got in the car with me, and I drove into historic downtown Marion, a lovely little Southern town with lots of charm. Driving down Main Street, I spied the local Baptist church and felt drawn there. I’d been thinking about my mother a good bit lately, and somehow I felt like worshipping there would have pleased her.  “Are you game for a unique experience?” I asked Elizabeth. She was. I parked across the street beneath some of the prettiest green trees I’ve seen in a long time. Or maybe it just seemed that way because of the way the breeze was  gently moving the leaves.

As soon as we got into the education building, I looked through a huge glass window into a Sunday school class composed of older ladies. My heart stopped. They appeared to be about the age my mother would be if she were still on Earth, 80. They had their heads bowed as one of the circle said the closing prayer. One of them was wearing a pretty pink hat. Loved it!  As we walked towards the front of the sanctuary, I heard the organ playing the National Anthem, and I KNEW Elizabeth and I had come to the right place.

The service lasted an hour and a  half, and during that time, we heard several prayers, watched presentations to 2009 high school graduates, sang some hymns from my youth (including “Holy, Holy, Holy”), and listened to a thought provoking sermon based on the fourth chapter of James. We were treated to a special hymn, patriotic in nature, by the choir, and I recalled countless Sunday mornings when my sweet mama sang in her church choir.  I can’t speak for Elizabeth, but I loved it because I felt my mother’s presence.

A couple of weeks ago on the way home from New York, my friend Nancy shared many of the events leading up to and following her mother’s death a year ago, and she told me that another friend had told her that now she (Nancy) was an orphan. “I don’t feel like one. Do you?” No, I don’t. My mother still lives, just in another place.

Coincidentally (?), I’ve been re-reading Marianne Williamson’s A Return to Love, and one of the things she discusses is that death is not an end but a continuation. “Life goes on forever. It always was and always will be.” More on this later. For today, I just wanted to post something about yesterday’s experience at church with Elizabeth and Mama.

Waiting, Waiting, Waiting

I’ve got about 20 things I’d like to write about today, but I’m going to backtrack to a thought I had about three weeks ago. I’m thinking that if I could use the insight I received that morning, then you can too.

Picture this. I’m hauling my purse, books, and laptop in the car in preparation for yet another morning commute to my place of employment. Before I can really get on the way, however, I have to stop to pick up Jim, a co-worker with whom I carpool two days a week. It’s the end of the semester, and I’m feeling overwhelmed with the deadlines and due dates inherent in teaching eight classes, six for my primary employer and two (online) for a former. As usual, I’ve risen at 5:25 a.m. in order to read something inspirational and get my psyche and soul together before taking on the day.

I left the house around 7:05 feeling like a harried Hannah, fretting about the jillion things I needed to do. Oh, and did I mention that some friends and I were going to New York City at the end of the following week? And that I was going to spend a couple of days at the beginning of that same week with my daughter Carrie and her family in Rincon, GA? Yep, I was feeling crazy. So anyway, I ‘d loaded everything in my trusty Highlander and was zooming out to meet Jim.

On the way, I missed my turn and ended up driving by Springdale, a long-term care facility housing patients with a variety of maladies and disabilities. Some have Alzheimer’s disease while others are too frail, sick, or demented to be cared for at home. Too well for the hospital but not well enough to be on their own, some spend months here. Others stay only a few weeks. I’ve been in that joint many, many times, and it’s never been a pleasant experience for me …never.

As I rode by Springdale that early spring morning, I could visualize the patients lined up in their wheelchairs outside of their rooms, positioned there waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting for a kind smile, a visitor, breakfast, or something…anything. Just waiting. Some were still lying in their beds; they were waiting too. Waiting for someone to get them up to take them to the bathroom, to get them dressed, and to bring their breakfast.

In a flash, I saw them as inmates, not patients. Trapped within the walls of the facility, they weren’t able to jump in a car, interact with dozens of people, visit grandchildren in another state, perform job duties, or even walk outside without permission and perhaps assistance. These thoughts saddened me deeply, especially when I thought of my situation juxtaposed to theirs.

Which seems preferable to you? Your current job and crazy life or life trapped indoors sitting and waiting, waiting, waiting? If anyone who knows me ever hears me whining or complaining about my job or the stress in my life, please wake me up to the reality of how wonderful life really is.

Happy Mother’s Day

Isn’t she beautiful, the young mother holding up her unsteady little toddler? That’s my mother, and I sure wish I’d told her more often how much I loved her, how gorgeous she was, and how much she profoundly influenced my life and the lives of my siblings and children. In fact, she’s now affecting the lives of my grandchildren because of the love and wisdom she gave their grandmother, mother, aunts, and uncles.

My sister and I had lunch together today, and I told her that I felt guilty about not posting something about this great lady, and Ann asked, “Where would you start?” Good question, Sis. For starters, I’m going to jot down some memories and thoughts:

• The time when she came to a Girl Scout meeting wearing a hat because I told her that we were having a fancy tea party and inviting our mothers. She looked so drop-dead gorgeous in her hat with flowers, and I was so proud of being with her that I didn’t notice that no other moms were wearing hats…or if I did, I probably felt sorry for their daughters. How embarrassing for your mother not to dress like a queen! Little did I know at the time that she was mortified to be attired in such a formal manner.

• The nights when she rubbed Vick’s vapor rub on our chests before we went to sleep whenever we had chest colds. It always felt so warm and smelled…let’s say unique.

• The meals that she cooked day after day, year after year for our family. We had breakfast around 6:30 a.m. and supper 12 hours later. I can visualize each of the six of us around the table as we began and ended our days by breaking bread together. No matter how I try, I still haven’t been able to replicate the taste and texture of her cornbread recipe. Oh, and one of the things Ann and often talk about is the yummy desserts she would prepare for Sunday dinner, one being a concoction of graham crackers with a sweet filling that formed sort of a rectangular log…or cake.

• Her voice and the way she expressed herself. She could sing too…and well! Always a member of the choir at FBC, she also sang to us. I think Ann might have inherited some of that gift but not I.

• Her flair for arranging flowers…and for beautifying her surroundings. The summer before she died, she decided to devote one Saturday morning to teaching me how to do it. I’m afraid I was a mediocre student at best.

• Her aptitude for sewing. Just today Ann and I briefly discussed some outfits she made for us to wear one Easter while we were young college students. Speaking of college students, she faithfully wrote each of us at least once a week and usually slipped a couple of dollars in the note. Sometimes there’d also be a clipping from the newspaper. When my brother David was in Germany, she used to save the local newspaper for weeks and then send him a bundle.

• Her love for books of all types. One week I’d find her reading about the American Indians with whom she felt such an affinity, and the next week she might be reading a murder mystery, a Studs Terkel tome, something funny by Erma Bombeck, or an inspirational book. When her life got a little less stressful (that is, after we all grew up and left home), you’d always find her in the kitchen reading the Bible before beginning her day.

• Her love for each of us. She was the kind of mother who somehow managed to make each of us feel that we were her favorite child. I know that David the Prince thinks he was the fav, but I know better. TeeHee.

Did I mention that she did all of the above and much, much more while working all day? A secretary, her longest running positions were with Liberty Life Insurance and later with City Hall. She was an asset to her employers, and I know that all who came within her sphere were touched by her generous spirit and friendly nature. If you don’t believe me, ask anyone who knew her…anyone.

I was in New York City on Mother’s day, and it both thrilled me and saddened me to see mothers being accompanied by their children and grandchildren around Liberty and Ellis Islands. Happy because I had a wonderful mother and because I am the mother of three outstanding children. Saddened because I missed them all on this one day of the year when mothers are honored.

This Too Shall Pass

Whenever I’ve found myself in a tough spot, I almost always have the presence of mind to think, “This too shall pass.” Whether it’s a time of heartache, a period of loss, a season of disappointment, it always passes. Sometimes it might be giving blood, and another time it could be walking the floor with a colicky baby. Whether a brief moment of disappointment or  years of pain, it always passes.  

Monday I had somewhat of a wake-up call. Cruising along I-95 towards my daughter’s home near Savannah, I was listening to Eckhart Tolle read his book, A New Earth, on my iPod. I had tried to read the book a few months ago but found it hard to stay focused. Listening, however, was different, better. Anyway, he mentioned the above statement, and I thought, “Oh yes, wisdom of the ages.” But this is when he said something that I’d thought of many times before, just not in the context of this phrase. (He actually said, “This too will pass,” but I like using shall, so…….)

So this is what Tolle said that rocked my world, at least for a few moments. “This too will pass” relates to all the good stuff too–the happy, joyful, exhilarating, giddy moments of life. Yes, I already knew that, and yet there was just something about being reminded of it on the way to visit with my daughter and her family that resonated with me. Although I was only in their home a couple of days, that phrase came back to haunt me (in a manner of speaking) many times. Everything is so transient that it’s a little scary to think about.

Carrie is the mother of four very busy little people, the oldest of whom will turn 6 in a few weeks. The baby was born in February, and two beautiful little girls are in-between these two boys. Consequently, Carrie’s life is busy and zooey. Whether it’s laundry, food preparation, dish washing, floor mopping, or chauffeuring  the children to school, dance, church, or baseball, she’s the girl in a whirl. Yesterday I volunteered to watch the baby and Emma, an impish 2-year old, so that Carrie and Brooke could go to Wal-Mart for some basic provisions. She was delighted to be able to go with just one child, especially since it was one that is usually pretty obedient.

I reminded her (that’s my job as a mother) that these crazy days and sleep deprived nights would pass, that one day she’d be able to shop all day to her heart’s content in any store she wanted to. Right now, however, some great stuff is going on. As we were chatting, Emma and Brooke were both holding their baby dolls, and Emma had just said, “Don’t cry, Baby. It’s okay, Baby,” in the most soothing voice you can imagine. Soon thereafter, I painted their toenails and fingernails, and Emma actually squealed with delight. All this time Carrie was nursing the baby, something that only she can do. She had her eye on the clock the whole time because soon it’d be time to stop everything, strap the children in the van, and pick up Braden from school.

I  know I’m not  doing justice to the concept, but hey, this isn’t meant to be an English essay that I’m getting graded on. I just want to get across the strong impression that I received Monday that NOW, right this very moment is where life takes place. Now, not yesterday or some hoped-for tomorrow. NOW.

The picture is of the three older children taken about a month ago. As you can see, their attire is a little “different,” but that was a day in the life of the Maseda family…already gone. I’ve always been pretty good at it, but since Monday I’ve been making more of an effort to consciously notice and appreciate the moments. Why? You know why…because this too will pass.

Following Brooke’s Example

I just got in from church a few minutes ago, and I’m feeling high after getting my spiritual batteries recharged. From those of you who aren’t regular attendees of any church, you just don’t know what you’re missing. Where else can you go where most people are on their best behavior, kind and loving and imbued with the spirit? If you are a regular attendee and you don’t have that kind of experience, maybe you should investigate another church.  Or maybe you should look within yourself to see if therein lies the problem. But that’s a story for another day.

 Today I want to talk about my sweet, brave, beautiful little granddaughter whose courage affected her grandmother so deeply that today she (I) bore my testimony in church. It’s not as though I never do it, but it’s not something I do on a regular basis. Why? Because it’s a long walk to the front, because I figure everyone already knows what I have to say, because I’m not as deep or spiritual as others….the list goes on and on. All excuses, none very good.

 I LOVE Fast and Testimony Sunday because I get to hear about how others feel about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, the scriptures, Joseph Smith, prayer, and a host of other wonderful topics. I get to hear faith promoting stories and anecdotes from other people’s lives that boost my spirits and renew my resolve to be a better person. Hearing from fellow church members helps me feel closer to them and fosters a feeling of unity and fellowship. However, I know I should do more than listen. I should speak. It’s not right to always be a taker; one should be a sharer too.

 So today with memories of Brooke’s recent testimony in my heart, I followed her brave example and walked to the front. I won’t go into a lot of detail. Instead, I’m going to copy and paste some of what her mother Carrie wrote about this little 4 year old who bore her testimony last week for the first time. Although this is usually done on the first Sunday, their ward’s schedule was changed because of Ward Conference this week.

 Last week, Brooke looked up at her mother and told her that she wanted to go to the front to bear her testimony and asked her mother if she’d help her.  “I explained that if I helped her, it would be my testimony and not hers. We then talked about how a testimony consists of things we know and believe, and I then asked her what some of the things were that she believed. We discussed things like: Jesus dying for us, following the Prophet, loving our family, and loving Jesus. I helped her practice what she wanted to say, and then she made the long walk up to the front. Rich quickly looked down at me from the stand when he noticed her approaching; I mouthed to him that she wanted to do it, and that she was going to do it all by herself. Once it was her turn, Rich helped her get the stool out and get the microphone ready; he then sat down, leaving my courageous four year old to share her heartfelt testimony. From my vantage point, all I could see were her sweet curls, so unable to see her angelic face, I focused on her words. Brooke talked about things like keeping the commandments, following the Prophet, loving our family, and loving Jesus. As I intently listened, I thought about how proud I was of her, how proud I was of her bravery, her courage, and her strong, incredible spirit! My pride in her grew even more when she returned to her seat, looked up at me, and said, “Mama, that felt really good!”

 “I, at a loss of words, just looked down at my precious angel and smiled. Oh, how I hope and pray her love for Heavenly Father and Jesus continues! As a mother, I am determined to do all I can to help them truly love Heavenly Father and Jesus; I want them to do what is right throughout their life, not out of fear, but out of love! I want them to have the desire to do what is right as a way to show Heavenly Father and Jesus how much they love them! I work so hard to try to teach them all I can, but today Brooke taught me; she taught me about being courageous, and she taught me how important it is to be brave and stand up and tell everyone what you believe.”

 With thoughts of my valiant little granddaughter in mind, I bore my testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ and to the peace that comes from a sure knowledge of His redeeming sacrifice. Yes, I know things aren’t always “sweetness and light.” I know there is much suffering and that things sometimes happen that are unbelievably painful, things that leave you questioning, “WHY?” I also know that a strong testimony and prayer can  bring a peace not of this world.

 Thanks Brooke…for your courageous example. I’m hoping others will follow your lead and BE BRAVE.