Rock

 There are times when I choose to envision God as my Rock.  Solid and strong, steady and unyielding, tenacious enough to support me in even my most weakened moments.  Sometimes, when the tide is out far enough, enormous boulders appear grounded securely beneath the ocean's sinewy surface.  I have observed them so many times that I can see them in my mind's eye by shape and color, location and texture.  I know that they are always there even when they are covered in a mingling of water and salt, seaweed and sand.  I know that they are there even when I cannot see them for they have been there each and every time that I have witnessed the receding of the ocean to a place in which the typically covered sea floor becomes exposed and what lies beneath is uncovered for a few precious hours.  Sometimes, after storms, the tides seem to be drawn out even farther exposing the constant rock formations which are always there whether I choose to believe that they are or not.  It is not up to me to declare that these formations are there for them to be there.  They are there.  And in their presence, I can either pretend to believe that they do not exist when I cannot see them, or, I can simply acknowledge that which I am temporarily unable to see.  In one way, I am viewing the universe by only that which I can see in front of me.  In another, I am trusting that even that which I cannot see still remains.  Have I ever seen God in the way that I can see the rocks that are only sometimes exposed beneath the receding tides.  My simple answer is yes.  I have seen God in my husband's eyes on the night that we first met as his soul was momentarily exposed as someone who would soon after become my rock for life.  I have seen God in my daughter's faces as they were laid upon my chest only moments after their births, souls still as familiar with God's voice as they were with the sound of mine.  I have seen God in my brother's peaceful, almost serene looking face soon after his soul had been released from his earthly body only to head back to from where it came.  I have seen God.  And this is why I choose to envision God as my Rock.  He is there whether I decide that He is or He is not.  He is there whether I can see Him or I cannot.  Just as the rocks which remain steadfast upon the ocean floor whether covered or exposed, God is always there and He anchors me in times of deep sorrow.

This past Saturday, our congregation lost our beloved rabbi to cancer.  He was the rabbi for our congregation for the past nearly thirty years.  He was our family's rabbi for well over twenty-plus years.  He was there when our daughters were born.  He was there as our daughters went through Hebrew school.  He was there when Mark converted to Judaism enjoying some very lively debates with my somewhat conservative husband but treating him like a new found son.  He was there when Mark and I renewed our vows for our fifteenth anniversary.  He was there to Bat-Mitzvah our girls and when I felt called to volunteer as a Spiritual Care Counselor at our local hospital, I felt a sense of pride from him as he talked to me about our patients.  And today, Mark, myself, and our four Angel Daughters were there with the rest of our congregation to wish his soul a remarkable journey and to thank God for having lent him to us for as long as he did even though it did not seem nearly long enough.  I envisioned him officiating at the girl's weddings someday...

These photos are two that I was quickly able to dig out this afternoon after returning home from the funeral.  They were taken almost twelve years ago at Angel Daughter Number One's Bat-Mitzvah when she was just thirteen years old.(And yes, all of the Bat and Bar Mitzvah students were just a little bit frightened of rabbi.  Well, maybe a lot frightened.)  A couple of years ago, Rabbi and I became "Facebook friends" and each time I would post something about one of my daughters accomplishments he would be one of the first people to "like" it.  He would often leave me notes of praise about my girls and I could always tell that he was "kvelling" about their talents and achievements.  The last time I saw him, we were standing outside of the synagogue talking briefly after the High Holy day services in October.  He was frail and quite pale and much softer-spoken than he had been in the past.  But he could not let me go without telling me how much he enjoyed our exchanges on Facebook and how much he loved being able to keep up with the girls through my posts.  My two oldest daughters went on to "friend" him after that, and they too, began to receive "likes" from our rabbi.  He was the proud "father" of hundreds of people.  Thank you, dearest Sherri, Steven and Gavriella for sharing him so generously with all of us.  It could not have always been easy but you all did so with such grace and benevolence.

As I immerse myself in the deep sadness of our rabbi's death, I will cling to my Rock knowing that rabbi is no longer suffering, no longer in pain and is now in the company of God and the angels who he spent so much of his life teaching about and trusting in.  Rabbi Krause always knew that God was there, but now, he knows that God is there and that is something that I pray his family can take some comfort in as they do their very best to soldier on without him here.

After the Earthquake Hits

                                   *Photo of a sign that stands at the end of our street.

As in any unexpected jolt that might occur within the semblance of our daily routines, an earthquake is a very sudden shock of reality which can make you feel as if your mind and body are temporarily in a momentary state of disconnect.  It takes several seconds before the mind realizes that the body could be in a potentially disastrous situation at which point the adrenaline kicks into maximum gear and a quick decision must be made in order to minimize the risks.  Living in Southern California, for the past nearly twenty-five years, has given me the opportunity to experience many, many earthquakes.  I must admit that after the first few, it was much easier to become somewhat desensitized to the possibility of severe damage.  I mean how many times can we sit through immeasurably long newscasts in which pictures of convenience stores with a few items that have fallen to the floor are flashed across the screen over and over and over again.  It becomes a bit of a farce when something so potentially disastrous is used as filler for a nine PM newscast.  And yet, we are all told that "The Big One" is going to hit us, sometime, someplace and without a warning or a doubt.

Life is like this.  In many ways, we all live in Tsunami hazard zones just waiting for the big one to hit.  One moment, our life is as we expect it to be.  Our days fairly predictable, with very few diversions along the way.  And then, something happens in the matter of a split second, which can absolutely shake us to the core of our being.  This happened to me fourteen months ago when my only sibling, my forty-one year old brother died suddenly.  One moment, we were getting ready to meet him and his family for dinner and the next thing I knew, I was standing next to his body laying on a gurney in the hospital ER.  An earthquake of inordinate proportions, followed by a life-shattering Tsunami.  And yet, what I have learned from my own personal Tsunami is that even after the absolute worst has hit, life can feel somewhat safe again.  There is something insurmountable about the human spirit that can guide it back to center, even after experiencing something that initially seems impossible to recover from.  Maybe it has to do with the smaller situations that tend to shake up our worlds on a frequent basis which truly do prepare us for the enormous, life-altering jolts.  Maybe it has to do with the ability to stand back a little bit more each time something happens, allowing ourselves the time that we need in order to react safely.  For me, I know that it has little to do with fear and a lot to do with the calmness that immediately comes over me when I find myself in a fearful situation.  For me, it is not only the smaller situations which help me to better deal with the larger, more ominous ones, but the Hand that I feel upon my shoulder willing me to respond and not react when an extra large dose of adrenaline is sent coursing through my veins.

Tonight, as a 4.7 sized earthquake struck Southern California, I felt that initial jolt of adrenaline as it made its way to my heart.  But as the floor beneath my feet began to steady itself, once again, I felt my soul return from nervousness to calm.  In life, as well as in difficult situations, panic is only a waste of precious energy.  I have learned that living in earthquake country means that there will inevitably be earthquakes.  And living the human experience means that there will inevitably be sudden jolts to our own lives.  The key is how we respond to the aftermath once the shaking has ceased.

Be safe, dear ones.

Learning to be Open

I must admit that since I have been spending more time at the beach, I have developed a new sense of appreciation and awe for the seagulls.  As the weather grows chillier, most of the beach-goers have packed it in for the winter and I find myself wandering along long stretches of shoreline without another soul in sight.  I look towards the seagulls as companions, as angels who remind me that I am never truly alone on my journey.

Occasionally, a very brazen seagull will follow behind me on foot, using it's voice to remind me that it is hungry and would like me to provide it with food.  I turn around and try to convince the little guy that I do not have anything to share otherwise I surely would, but they never seem to believe me.  So I walk along with my companion in tow, quietly talking to him about my thoughts until he gives up and returns to his flock.  On this particular day, however, I was approached not by ground, but by sky.  At first, it wasn't quite registering that this seagull was trying to get my attention, but then...

He gave me the eye.  I almost turned around and gave him that famous line, "Are you talking to me?", but then I realized that he was probably way too young to get it, so I just laughed out loud instead.  I thought about running away, as his wingspan was a lot more intimidating when he was only several feet away from me, but I was far too amused to give into fear.
He lingered effortlessly in the air for quite some time and I was awestruck by this glorious creature, a creature who was trying to communicate with me as I stood there taking pictures of him.  I think he found the camera to be quite a curious object and so we stared at each other for a few seconds.  He hovered closer and I was amazed by the intelligence that seemed to project through his eyes.  This bird wanted to connect in some way, and whether that was out of his need for food or curiosity,  the intention was very, very clear.  He sought me out, got my attention, and held it until we made a connection of sorts.
As he flew back to be with the rest of his flock, I couldn't shake the feeling that something very spiritual had just occurred.  I could have just brushed the experience off as just a coincidence, but then I know in my soul that there really are no coincidences.  I also know that angels can approach us in so many different forms if we remain open to their appearances.  Lucky me...

If your travels bring you face to face with an angel, I hope that you will keep your spirit open to the possibility.  You are not alone.  You are never alone.

"For most gulls, it is not flying that matters, but eating.

 For this gull, though, it was not eating that mattered,

 but flight."

-From Jonathan Livingston Seagull

Seeing and Believing

(Click on any picture to enlarge.)

My dear husband was sitting outside today reading a book about Ansel Adams, one of the greatest photographers of our times.  I was sitting inside when he told me that I needed to come outside with my camera, so I knew that something interesting was taking place.  He wanted to show me how the clouds were being separated by a burst of sunshine.  He liked the way the separation differentiated between the light clouds and the dark ones.  It was not until I went back later on to review my photos, that I understood how spectacular these moments in time would be.
I shot several photos, trying to capture the beauty of the moment as best I could.  Of course, things do not always turn out how we expect them to once we look at the finished product, but I loved the way that the horizon shined with so much natural beauty in the afternoon sun.
And then I noticed the face.  It's there in the clouds on the right side of the photo,  just to the right of the blue sky.  If I was more computer adept, I would be able to point it out with a little arrow, but since I'm not, I can only tell you where to look for it.  The face is present in all three pictures, as well as in a bunch of other ones that I shot, but it was only apparent to me when I went back to review these photos.  My subconscious mind is what first latched on to it, as I was scrolling away from one picture and moving on to the next when something made me stop to go back.  Something inside of my mind said, "There's a face in that picture."  Funny how we can sometimes have a thought before we even realize that we are taking action on that thought.  As I scrolled back, I handed the computer to my husband to ask him if he noticed a face anywhere in the photo.  He pointed to it immediately.  Now, do not feel bad if you do not see it right away because I had to direct Angel Daughter Number Four before she could locate it.  Once she saw it, she was amazed.  

I am not professing in any way, what that little face in the clouds happens to symbolize.  I cannot even begin to speculate the reasons why Mark chose that particular moment to gaze up at the sky, nor why I arrived outside at the precise moment that I did and began shooting pictures.  I can only say that the face was there.  I can only say that it made me feel more peaceful inside once I discovered it.  It renewed my faith.  It replenished my hope.  It made me look towards the heavens and proclaim YES.

Here's to wishing that you are able to find your own face in the clouds at a moment when you might least expect it.  Sometimes when we look past what we think we see, we are lucky enough to discover what we truly needed to find.

Remembering Your Wings or Why I Can Relate to a Helium Balloon

I spotted these pink balloons floating heavenward, the other day, and for a moment, my soul froze mesmerized.  It was as if a small part of me somehow remembered what it was like to fly.
So much has changed for me in the past year.  I lost my only brother.  I found out that family can just be a pretty word for strangers who don't know a thing about you, but who pretend that they do.  I also found out that family, when done correctly, can absolutely save your life.  I experienced the true meaning of the word "betrayal" and then, what guilt looks like on people who do intend to cause pain.  It's not a pretty sight.  

But I also learned that death does not separate souls.  It does not mean the ending of love.  It does not cause a relationship to fracture, and in some ways, it strengthens the bond.  In watching those balloons, I felt a momentary separation between my body and my soul.  I remembered what it was like to be free of earthly pain.  I recognized my soul as a very separate part of my being and it reminded me that I could fly.  I remembered my own wings, tethered to their earthly body, yet very much alive and vibrant.  And I believed...I do believe that the strand which tethers my own soul to my body is the very same thread that keeps me connected to those whom I have loved, but who are now flying freely.
When my girls were little, I always told them that a balloon that broke free was a gift for the angels.  A gift for the angels from my Angels.  Because of this belief, they never cried when they lost hold of a helium balloon.  They would stand stoically, necks bent backwards, gazing into the sky, their little hands waving as the balloon drifted higher and higher into the heavens.  They could be strong because they knew that their balloon might be caught by a band of playful angels, or a thoughtful soul looking down, watching over the people that they loved.  They knew that just because they couldn't see their balloon, that it didn't mean that it was now gone forever.  It was just someplace else.  Someplace different.  Someplace they remembered, even if that memory was only somehow felt on a cellular level.

We all have wings.  And although the only flight that we can now experience is with our feet on the ground, it is important to remember what it is like to fly.  And to remember that those who we love, who are no longer attached to this earth, still hold us very close.  As we do them.  And the relationship continues, although it is different.  Because if we try very hard to remember, we will feel the freedom of air moving us skyward like a balloon that has broken free.  And that feeling will be incredible...Absolutely incredible.

May you find a way to feel the gentle movement of the breeze which can bring your sight skyward and try to remember what it is like to fly.  May you take a moment to focus on that strong, invisible thread that connects you, undyingly, to those you love.  Near or far.  May you recognize that the love is just as strong as it ever was.  Flight or no flight.

Leaning on Acceptance. Leaning on Faith.

Life is unpredictable.  With the ebbs and flows of our days, we can either become swept up in the force of the waves or we can gently allow ourselves to be guided, understanding that acceptance is also a form of freedom.  

Exactly two months ago, today, my husband and I were standing in the icy cold sterility of an ER examining room.  As my husband spoke quietly with my sister-in-law, I stood stroking the hair of my deceased younger brother.  Disbelief mixed with utter sadness and confusion coursed through my veins.  Acceptance came slamming, head first, into my life and I was forced to acquiesce to the fact that I would now be living the rest of my life without my brother.  It was a horrible day.  Not only was I loosing someone whom I thought would always be in my life, but my husband lost his brother-in-law, my daughters lost their beloved uncle, my parents lost their son, my nieces lost their daddy, and my sister-in-law lost her husband.  So much loss, so much pain.

As I have explained here before, my extended family chose to remain securely fastened within the grips of anger, blame and hatred.  I will not honor their psychosis with a detailed explanation of the more than thirty year history that remained cemented inside of their minds.  I will only go on to say that my little family of six had no other choice but to separate from the very destructive energy which my extended family chose to remain stuck in.  Thinking that tragedy tends to bring people closer is sadly a fantasy when it comes to people who have caused division for most of their lives.  Luckily, my husband, our angels and I, also have my father and my step-mother to round out our lives.  They have been loving, supportive and attentive throughout this entire ordeal.  

I began writing this with the attitude that it would be uplifting, but the mind wanders where the mind wanders.  I am still muddling my way through all of the changes in which my brother's death affected my life.  But, here is where I was originally headed when I began writing this.  Mark and I have always held onto the dream of owning a home on the Pacific Ocean.  It was one of those "some day" or "when the kids are grown" types of dreams.  Someday came a lot sooner when we experienced the untimely passing of my brother.  Mark and I looked at each other and wondered, what are we waiting for?  Ocean front property is limited and the prices will only go up.  Life is unpredictable, and so Mark began searching for a beach home which would help to heal our spirits.  Somehow, things lined up exactly and he found this little charmer.  When he brought me to look at it, I could feel my spirits lifting just a little bit.  Something about it felt right.  Something about it felt like we had been "guided" to this spot.

And so, the process began.  At first, we didn't allow ourselves to become too emotionally vested in the place, because my intuition told me that the owners really didn't want to let go of this property.  Slowly, things began to fall into place, and we opened our hearts up to the possibility that this home would soon be ours.  There is more to this story which I will share with you later, but for now, I will just tell you that the couple who will be passing the keys along to us have been through their own shares of ebbs and flows.  They are grateful that they will be passing this magical place along to a family who will love it as much as they have.  We will not be living here full-time, as it is a bit small for our family, but it is only about twenty minutes from our home so we will be spending lots and lots of time here.

Here it is.  A spot in which I feel that much of our healing will begin to take place.
This is the front view of our magical beach home.  That is my dear husband who you see taking measurements.
This is our master bedroom.  The previous owners were in the process of moving out, so that is why there is furniture and boxes still in the room.
Our master bathroom.  Not exactly the colors I would choose, but now that I look at them, I am thinking that I could really do a lovely Zen motif in here.
Another view of the master bath.
Yes, this is our "frontyard".  Our home rests on a bluff which is about one hundred feet above the sand.  
I had to take a photo of the "SOLD" sign in order for it to sink in!  It was kind of like pinching myself.
Another photo which is off of our master bedroom patio.  Heaven on earth.
Angel daughter number three is sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter.
A view of the living room and kitchen sitting area.  The complete wall is open to the ocean.
The homeowners recently redid the kitchen.  It is very cute and cozy.

When the heart is broken, it can take a drastic leap of faith in order for it to begin the healing process.  Although this process began several weeks ago, it is going to take a very long time to overcome the hurt and betrayal which was created by my family.  This little home helped to heal a very dear woman of cancer.  Knowing this fills me with the faith and the acceptance that will bring my family back to a place of wholeness.