Exodus

The desert of Palm Springs, CA

I've taken a step toward healing my soul, once again, but in doing so I have also set off a barrage of very troublesome dreams from which I wake up thanking God that they were not real.  And although I know where I should stand on this and I know that I am standing on the precisely correct mountaintop, I have taken a step back down from this very same vantage point many, many times before heading right back to where I just came.  You know that story, one step up and two steps back...Hence the nightmarish dreams.  Sometimes I wake up and I am arguing with my mother and what ultimately wakes me is the sound of my own voice projecting out loud that I need for her to just leave me alone.  The last real life conversation that I had with her about three weeks ago, ended with me firmly explaining that while I would be giving her the $1803.00 that she needs to fix her teeth this time(on top of the monthly amount that we send her to help pay for her rent), I was not at all happy about it and that I will never be happy about having to do something which stems from someone not taking personal responsibility for their own life, especially when it ends up costing my family a large sum of money.  My point being, it seems,  that it is perfectly fine when your crappy decisions end up costing you money that should never have had to be spent(although I do not believe that is very cool, either, but so be it), but when those crappy decisions that I had nothing to do with, end up costing me money, I have every right to tell you so and then some.  I am tired.  I am tired from having spent most of my life mothering my very own mother.  I am tired of her ranting and her immaturity and her selfishness and her "poor me" attitude and her betrayal and her "it's never my fault" and her expectations which come with no self-expectation and her guilt and her lack of shame. (This includes her nutty husband.)  Last night, I dreamt that I was driving along serenely on a beautiful day, until I got to a spot in the road where there was a sudden, major rush of water and I had to jamb on my brakes within inches so as not to be swept away.  I had pets in the car(big surprise there) and my cat decided to eat one of my turtles legs.(I do not own a turtle.)  It was pure chaos and panic that sent me into a place of subconscious weirdness and left me feeling very troubled when I woke up.  I do understand the psychological catalyst for these dreams which can make them even more frustrating because the understanding in no way prevents them from occurring.  It can be maddening at times.

For now, I am taking a break from my mother.  I have put her into time-out.  The rational, loving, compassionate, wouldn't hurt a fly part of me regularly tromps on my own conscience for this reminding me that I am the only biological child that she has left in this world and how terrible it is for a mother to not be able to have an ongoing relationship with her only daughter.  I have used this particular excuse for the past five plus years since my brother died and it often works sending me back into the pit of relationship/boundary hell that I have grown far too accustomed to over the entire course of my life.  The other rational, logical, self-protective part of me who has had it up to here and then some, says no more.  I do not want to be swept away in a sudden flash flood of someone else's drama, albeit my own mother's.  I do not want to drown.  I do not want my cat to eat my turtle's leg.  There is this thing about divorce that has always bothered me and although my dad reminded me when I was growing up that nothing in life is fair, this one truly seems particularly lopsided.  When two people(or a good 55-60% of the married population depending upon where you find your data) decide to get divorced and there are children involved, those two people get to make a fairly clean break of it once all of the finances and emotional bullshit are completely hacked up, but the children are the children for life.  So, as my dad has no more responsibility toward my mother than he does for a stranger on the street (They have been divorced for over 30+ years), I am stuck with her for life.  Yup, not fair.  And yet, how does one completely wall themselves off from the person who gave them life?  I have allowed my mother to be a huge part of my daughters' lives.  Not only that, I encouraged it.  I wanted a mother and my children were a very good distraction for her mostly selfish behaviors.  I offered my daughters up as the sacrificial lambs in hopes that it would make something within her click and she would magically become the mother that I always needed her to be.  She was a much better grandmother than she ever was a mother which is why I have put up with a good portion of the BS over the years.  My girls love her and she loves them and I think that is a very good thing.  Heck, I love her.  But I do not like her, not now anyway and I have a physically visceral response to having to deal with her.  It is unhealthy.  It borders on self-abuse because I know that my blood pressure is going to spike and my breathing is going to become shallow whenever I speak to her but she expects me to even though I have told her this.  In other words, it was good for me, doesn't matter how it was for you.  I do know that when I wall myself off from my mother, I suffer from far less depression.  I live in a much calmer space.  I treat myself better.  My mother does not even know where we live at this point because for a long time, our beach home was only our second home and it felt good to have a place where I could conceivably hide from reality for a bit.  She nagged and bugged me about it, and now, I just do not want to tell her.  This probably has something to do with the defiant little child in me, but it also brings me some satisfaction and allows me to feel as if there is a physical boundary that she cannot cross.(Although her husband tauntingly told Mark that they found out where we live, so who knows.)  Mark did tell them that if they do show up at our gate, we will not be allowing them in.

A couple of nights ago began the holiday of Passover which celebrates the exodus of the Jews from slavery in Egypt.  Under the leadership of Moses, the Jewish people were finally led across a miraculously parted sea and through the desert to the land of milk, honey and freedom from the oppression which they had lived with for far, far too long.  Moses never actually entered Israel.  He and the generations of slaves who traveled upon this journey along with him, had to remain in the desert until all of the slave generations had passed on. God did not want His people to bring the mentality of slavery along with them into freedom because that would mean that they would never truly be freed from the shackles of oppression that were still very much alive inside of their own minds.  He wanted His people to have a fresh start.  He wanted them not only to be physically free, but mentally and spiritually free, as well.  Sometimes, I tell Mark that I do not believe that I will truly be free from the guilt and the expectations and the obligations that I feel for my mother until she indeed, passes away.  This is in no way a wish for my mother to die.  I know that regardless of everything, I will be very sad when that day does arrive for many complicated reasons, and as I said before, I do love her.  I also know that so much of her behavior is dictated by the relationship that she had with her own mother (There I go making excuses again, but it is true) and that she is probably incapable of changing during this lifetime which is also why I have cut her so much slack.  But in so many ways, in order for me to be free from the suffocating oppression that I often feel from my mother, I must also be willing to make an exodus with which I can better exist.  I have been working on this for most of my life.  I do not know whether our earthly relationship will end in a more peaceful place or if my exodus will remain incomplete.  What I do know is that my mother takes far too much out of me and that each time we have a falling out of sorts, she chips away a little bit more of the part of me that is reluctant to construct a permanent wall.

I sit here, contemplating Moses' exodus from Egypt.  I consider my people's need to break away from the confines of Pharaoh's harsh rule and as I do, I look out at the massive expanse of ocean which sits just below my home.  I think about the gated entry and my mysterious address and all that I have subconsciously and consciously done to free myself from the unrealistic demands that my own mother has placed upon me throughout the years and I wonder, if not now, then when?  If not now, then when will I allow myself to journey away from the chains which have bound me to a woman who is all expectation and so little give.  When will it be enough?  When do I choose to allow myself to be freed from the demands and commands that cause me so much pain despite whether or not I am speaking to my mother or not at any given moment?  When will I allow myself some peace?  And how?  How do I allow myself to keep a firm boundary in place while still holding tight to the commandment which commands that I honor my parent?  And what does honor entail?  The financial piece of things will, more than likely, remain unless Mark and I experience our own financial hardship because we always agreed that we would see to it that all of our parents would always have a roof over their heads and food on their tables but that never included their medical or dental bills so that line has already been crossed.  Too many lines have been crossed.  I often wonder if God will somehow allow me to cross my own desert back to a place of health if I learn to honor myself or, if like Moses, I will be destined to die just outside of the land of milk and honey in order to allow future generations to live more freely.  I have so many questions and very few answers.

My prayer for you during this Passover/Easter season is that whatever exodus you might be working on, that you will do so with both guidance and clarity.  That you will be led by both internal and external longings which will sooner, than later, bring you to a place of strong serenity and peace.  May you find strength, growth and renewal upon your journey and to my Jewish friends who figuratively are sitting with me around the seder table this year, may I say, next year in Jerusalem.  I believe I have found new meaning in that phrase this year.  And to that may we all say, Amen.

All is Well

*You might want to grab a cup of coffee because this is a long one:)

So I was just reading a blog in which the "writer" proselytized that the reason that Hurricane Sandy wreaked havoc over sixteen states across the East Coast is because, wait for it, wait for it...the people who reside in those sixteen states somehow deserved to be bashed by a megastorm of epic proportions.      According to this woman(who is raising eight children with epic stupidity and bigotry), it is the fault of the gays and the damn liberals and the Obama supporters and the non-Christians and anyone else who might not agree with her- I mean-the only religious doctrine that should exist in this country.  I am mostly non-political.  I believe that gay people should have the same rights as straight people.  I actually supported neither candidate in this past election.  I am moderately liberal on some issues and moderately conservative on others.  I have been married to the same man, with whom I have birthed four daughters, for over twenty-eight years.  I am Jewish.  I am a born and bred New Yorker who has raised her children(quite well, I might add) for their entire lives on the West Coast of this great nation.  Which is why, if I were to follow the logic according to the "gospel" of this woman and others like her, God probably decided to track me down in Southern California to create a little Hurricane Sandy in the lives of the people who are closest to me? Since He was already ticked off enough to completely batter the worlds of countless East Coasters(many of whom are God-loving Christians like herself) why not do a bit of picking and choosing on the West Coast at the same time just to prove that we(the people who do not believe what she believes) have also so offended God that He is going to pummel us all into subservient submission(to heck with free-will).  I am losing patience with this idiotic line of thinking.  My mother-in-law sent me a fictional book to read several months ago that meandered down this same, exact road and as much as I love her, I nearly conducted a good, old-fashioned book burning ceremony in my own backyard.  I forgave her for truly believing the bull-shit that was written inside of that book as anything but fiction, but this particular blogger who took it upon herself to tell hurting people that Hurricane Sandy came crashing down on them because GOD IS ANGRY AT THEM made my heart sink down into the pits of my stomach.  Yes, there is a lot of hurtful crap that is written on the Internet and yes, this woman has the right to believe anything that she darn-well pleases, but to use her blog as an instrument of hate, to stick her proverbial tongue out at the poor people who were so devastated in the path of this monstrous storm while saying "Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!" gross, just gross.  So, to stand in unity with my East Coast friends and family members(incidentally this includes my mother-in-law who lives on the Jersey Shore) I am posting a sampling of the crap sandwich which has been dealt out to our family over the course of the past five weeks with a bit of a different perspective on crap sandwiches.

Anyone who reads my blog on a regular basis probably already knows that my dad, my touchstone, recently suffered a heart attack which was followed by quadruple bypass surgery.  My dad has made many strides in his recovery and is doing so much better now.  His recovery, and not the episode which led up to it, is what I attribute to God.  As I explained in my previous post, I believe that my father was given a second chance at life because his work on this earth is not yet complete.  That being said, I do not believe that my father's heart attack was caused by God.  Heart attacks are acts of nature, just as hurricanes or earthquakes or tornadoes are.

The heart attack seemed to just be the tipping point for us.  The vehicle in the photograph above used to belong to Angel Daughter Number Two.  I say that it used to belong to her, because some brainless schmuck chose to get behind the wheel of a car drunk, and then proceeded to plow into the front of my daughter's car head-on, very late one night a couple of weeks ago.  She sensed him coming but it was too late.  He hit her in such a way that her car uncontrollably spun around a full 360 degrees deploying the airbags and leaving her stunned and in pain as she tried to put together the pieces of what had just happened.  From out of nowhere, a young man on a bicycle ran to her aid helping her out of the vehicle and retrieving her cellphone from inside so that she could call for help.  When AD2's boyfriend arrived on the scene, the driver admitted to him that he had been drinking.  The drunk remained on the scene for several minutes until AD2 noticed him limping across the road and then, out of sight, leaving nothing but his vehicle behind.

That was the same week that I arrived home after spending eight days out in Palm Springs.  Mark met me out there(two hours away from home) for the weekend after my dad was released from ICU leaving our two youngest Angel Daughters in charge of the farm.  On Saturday night, Angel Daughter Number Four called and mentioned that our dog, Micah, was limping after she had taken him to play with her boyfriend's dogs for the afternoon.  When we spoke to her on Sunday, she said he was still limping but seemed to be doing better so we didn't think too much about it.  When I arrived home at around 10:30 Sunday night, the dog was not limping.  He was dragging his leg behind him and yelping anytime that we touched it to look at it.

*Notice my suitcase still yet to be unpacked in the background.

By Tuesday, Micah was in surgery to replace his torn ACL with metal pins.

And somewhere in the midst of all of this, my husband managed to fracture his wrist in two places.

And you know what my mantra was for the entire time that all of this was taking place?  It can always be worse.  There was nothing facetious about this.  No sarcasm.  No blaming God.  No believing that the Lord had been particularly harsh on my family as a way to "punish" us for my gay-loving, non-Christian, Jewish, moderately liberal, moderately conservative views.  

It was my choice and my belief to focus on where I know God is in all of this.  It is for the same reason that I know that God did not bring Hurricane Sandy down on the lives of all of the people who live in the sixteen states that were affected by such a mega force of nature to punish them.  Because no matter how bad things might seem, they can always be worse.  And no matter how difficult the storms that we must face might seem at the time that they are happening, there are always angels, even human beings with invisible wings or bicycles who will swoop in to help or to rescue or to lend a hand.  No, crazy woman who had the audacity to write that God used the tragedy of a megastorm to punish whomever happened to reside in its way, God did not create the hurricane in order to express His anger. 

A hurricane is an act of nature.

A heart attack is an act of nature.

A broken wrist or a torn ACL, both acts of nature.

A drunk driver barreling down the road without concern for anyone but his own need to get where he is going impaired out of his mind, that is an unfortunate and evil act of free-will.

But a surgeon who can repair a badly damaged heart and save a life, 

millions of people coming together to support those who were traumatized and damaged and devastated  by a storm,

people putting their own lives at risk with barely a thought for their own safety in order to rescue others,

a veterinary surgeon who can replace the ACL of a dog with staples and pins so that he can run again,

a stranger on a bicycle who stops in the middle of the night to come to the aid of someone else's daughter,

that is where God is.

The photo above is of AD2 and Micah, now.  They are both still dealing with the after effects of what they have been through, but they are healing and safe and alive.  The little red car in the photo is AD2's new Prius Hybrid.  The insurance company declared her other car totaled after the accident and sent her a check almost immediately.  There is an investigator assigned to her case and he is going to find the driver of the vehicle that could have killed my daughter.  Things can definitely always be worse.

Through it all, there are always wonderful moments intertwined with the difficult ones.  Here are just a few.  These are the moments that remind me of where God is in the mix.

Angel Daughter Number Four, our tiny dancer, asked me to come observe as she taught some dance classes.  As I sat there observing, several of the parents who were also observing their own students began talking about what an incredible teacher AD4 is.  They did not realize that I was there to watch her and that I am her momma.  I just sat there and smiled.

Halloween 2012.  Angel Daughter Number Three dressed up as one of the characters from the movie The Nightmare Before Christmas.  Once she got the full face make-up done, she looked amazing!

Angel Daughter Number One likes to ham it up for me when I have the camera because she knows that it will make me go away faster.  That being said, I adore this child.

Angel Daughter Number Two did a photo shoot at our house last weekend.  It was so much fun to watch her work.  Our house was buzzing with energy as the make-up artist, stylist, models and their boyfriends busily worked together to create some gorgeous images.

I will definitely post some of the finished products here soon.  Such a fantastic group of young people.  Watching AD2 orchestrate everything made me a very proud momma.

Last week, we had a Disney Day as a family.  I think this photo pretty much sums up what kind of a day that was.  It is not as often as I would like that we can get together for an entire day to be together as a family now, but when we do, I am nothing but grateful.

My prayers go out to the many people who were affected by Hurricane Sandy.  May you find strength in each other.  May you find healing in the rebuilding of your lives, and may you find peace in the moments that remind you that things can always be worse.  Oh yes, they can.

Second Chances

My dad and I

Can I write candidly about this without completely hurting someone's feelings?  The heart can be a very delicate organ at times like these.  I am not sure that I can but I will try to anyway.  It is, after all, as much of a part of my story as anyone else's.  As I sat there staring down at the hands that had just held my father's temporarily non-beating heart, all I could think about was second chances.  Second..thump-thump..chances.  Second..thump-thump..chances.  Second..thump-thump..chances.  The heart surgeon's words were little more than rubbery sounding background noises as my own heart beat wildly against the words "second chances" and my eyes focused on those hands.  Something tells me that I could pick that doctor out of a lineup based solely upon the appearance of his long, lean fingers.  His gold wedding band slightly embedded in the skin of his ring finger, his short well-manicured nails.  But his face, probably not his face.  I was not paying any attention to his face or even his words, for that matter.  It was his hands that captured my full attention and all I was capable of doing in that moment was memorizing them, not necessarily on purpose, but because they had held something that I was born out of, something that has held me since the moment I was even considered.  My father's heart newly quadruply bypassed and cleared of as much plaque as humanly possible and then placed gingerly back inside of his chest to hopefully, prayerfully beat for another day.  Second chances.

Almost two weeks ago, my dad suffered a "minor" heart attack.  A heart attack, ironically, that ended up saving his life because when the doctors performed an angiogram they discovered that my father needed to have quadruple bypass surgery in order for his heart to continue pumping.  At first, I was numb, and then I was scared to death that I might lose him but finally, I prayed.  I pleaded, I bargained, I rationalized, I cajoled, I bartered until finally, something quieted the voice inside of my busy, whirling mind demanding that I stop.  And when I stopped, when I took a breath, when I listened, I heard a voice, presumably what I immediately assumed was The voice of God and that voice calmly yet firmly said, "If I wanted to take him now, Debra, he would no longer be here."  It was in that moment that I knew that my dad was being given a second chance.  It was then that I began to believe that he would make it through the very difficult surgery and recovery.  But it was also then that I understood that beyond all of that, there would be no guarantees.  It might not have been my father's time but a second chance will definitely require some significant lifestyle changes.  One of his doctors straight out told me that if my father does not change his ways, he will die.  I appreciate people who do not skirt around the truth.  I am a sensitive soul but surprisingly tough as nails and I do not like surprises, especially since my little brother dropped dead on us only four short years ago without any warning.

Here is where things get somewhat dicey.  My father was released from the hospital yesterday and although he is regaining his physical strength daily, he still will not speak to anyone on the telephone.  This includes me.  I am not sure if this is a rational or an irrational decision for he is back to running his business via email but he has absolutely no desire to speak to or see anybody right now.  My step-mother texted me to tell me that my father is repeating the words, "NO VISITORS" like a mantra.(insinuating that this also includes me)  This does not surprise me because when I arrived at the ICU to spend some time with my dad the day after his surgery, there was a handwritten note next to his room number on the checkin sheet that specifically stated that "only wife and sister-in-law" were allowed to visit him.  Sister-in-law...Not wife and daughter, but wife and sister-in-law.  They did end up letting me in after speaking with my dad's nurse but I will not even venture to guess what the hell that was about.  And my step-mother, whom I have known since I was sixteen years old and who readily admits that she has been with my father for over forty years(which would have made me ten and my brother four and my father a very married man), professes to love me.  I am too exhausted to even try to muddle through the feelings of another woman who somehow believes that a close relationship between her husband and his daughter somehow diminishes a man's ability to love his wife, first and foremost.  I have lived out that story for my entire life with my own mother and frankly, it truly bores the hell out of me now.  My dad lives two hours away from me and unlike the first eight days of this episode, I cannot completely drop my own life and spend my days waiting around in a hotel room for the couple of hours that I can spend with my father each day.  Of course, immediately after his heart attack and surgery and for the days until he was placed into the transitional care unit, there was no place else on earth that I would have even considered being, but I cannot continually put my own life on hold.  So, I wait.  And pray more.  And I will email him later because I know that he will respond to that, however briefly.  And then, in a week or so, Mark and I will take the drive out to Palm Springs whether he likes it or not because truthfully, it isn't really all about him, or my step-mother, or what he says that he does not want because I am his daughter, his only child.  I know the possibility that we could have lost him was real.  I know that the possibility that we could still lose him is also real but getting a bit more remote with every passing day.  I do not know what his plans are but I have some very nagging feelings in the center of my gut about that.

This is about second chances.  This is about decisions and beliefs and choices.  He can stay after living what he has been through, or, he can go...soon.  I think I already know what God's feelings about that are.  I know what my feelings are.  Mark's feelings. All of our Angel Daughter's feelings.  I still need my father.  In my heart, I am still a small child who believes that her daddy will always be the strong, brilliant, vibrant man who has all of the answers.(well, most of them, anyway)  But I am also a woman who knows that second chances come with both responsibility and a price.  So here we stand.  No bullshit, I will stand by my father in whatever he decides.  I will not nag him, berate him, badger him or judge him.  I will only hope and continue my conversation with God because sometimes, that is the only thing that is within our power to do.

I hope that you are all well and that life is good:)  I have some catching up to do and I promise to update again very, very soon.  Thank you for checking in on us and for sticking with me.

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.

Learning to Navigate Hopefully

Coming home from our long weekend in the mountains, I find that I am filled with more questions than answers.  In so many ways, I am more grateful at this point in my life than at any other time in my forty-six years.  I have my loving husband and our four incredible Angel daughters.  We have our furry and feathery family members, the souls of our home, our constant companions.  We have our home as well as our other spaces in which to hide and retreat.  We can afford to have two daughters in college.  We are secure, happy and solid.  We are alive.

Yet this has been a year that has brought more despair than I have ever known during my forty-six years.  The death of my beloved brother in February created a domino-effect that we are all still trying to cope with almost ten months later.  I have experienced biting betrayal that left me in a state of pain, confusion and depression for much of the first half of this year.  We have been kept from my nieces, our other Angels, my brothers daughters, without any rhyme, sense or reason.  And now we must fight.  Fight for what we know is honorable and good and right.  Battle for love.  And although I know all too well that many others have walked this path before us, it rips at my heart to have to follow in their wearied footsteps.  When I look down at the path that lies ahead, I see things that have been shed both necessarily and by choice.  I see old growth which has been discarded and seedlings of things that may someday grow into something more.
Yes, indeed, the road is covered with more sharp edges and prickliness than I would ever care to navigate on my own.  Yet I know that I am not alone.  Never alone.  I am guided along by God, a Force much more powerful than I can even begin to understand.  I have my husband, my forever-partner and our daughters, our heaven-sent Angels.  And I have my brother, sometimes whispering, sometimes yelling, reminding me that we are the connection.  I am the connection.  He tells me that he will do whatever he can to help us to make things right.  He reminds me that he walks the path along side of me, his older sister and will remain here until the journey is just and complete.  For however long it takes, he will walk the tightrope between this world and the next.  He will stay between, balanced only by the hope and the knowledge that I will do what I must in order to bring his daughters back into the circle.
Along the path, there is renewal and there is hope.  There are words that come to me and I listen as carefully as I am able.  And when I look down and see the hope which grows along the path I feel gladdened and peaceful and safe.  Because if something that begins as tiny and as vulnerable as this...
can grow into an enormous giant that will, most likely, outlive me then I can hope.  And even in the midst of the darkness, there is always light.  Sometimes only as tiny as a glimmer and sometimes bright enough to guide us through places in which we are hesitant to go.  But how will we know if we aren't willing to muddle through the prickly, dark spots in order to find our way?  There is bittersweet beauty in all of it because it is a part of the process.  And if hope can create a towering canopy of Ponderosa trees out of a pencil-tip seedling, then it can certainly sustain us on the path that lies ahead.

May you honor that which you have lost by holding tightly onto the hope that you have gained along the road.  May you always feel guided, loved and surrounded by the things that allow you to believe in the journey.  If you aren't happy with the way that your story is going, may you search for a way to change the ending.

Thank you for hanging with me over a bit of a blogging break.  You are always appreciated.

Lady-Bugs and Finding my Way Home

I cannot help it.  I wasn't raised in a home where my brother and I were encouraged to look for something special or miraculous everyday.  I was not born to parents who particularly viewed the world with a sunshiny perspective.  There were no mentions of "rainbows and butterflies", or pretty little platitudes about how blessed we were to have a nice home to live in, with food on the table and clothes on our backs.  There was no talk of God, or a Higher Power, or guardian angels who watched over us guiding us like a loving parent.  There was no mention of prayer except for the couple of days a year when we made it to synagogue, and then it almost confused me.  As a matter of fact, it was not until my dear brother died, six months ago at the young age of forty-one, that I found out that my mother honestly, truly and without hesitation doubts the existence of God at all.
But as a child, I loved Lady-bugs.  I spent many a summer's day gingerly picking them up so that they could explore the surface of my skin, as I patiently rotated my hand in one direction to the next, counting their spots as they crawled.  If I found one in a precarious position or in the swimming pool, I would gently move it to a safer place while speaking to it in a small, quiet voice.  I discovered, at a very young age with very little assistance from anyone else, that yes indeed, Debra, there is a Guiding Force in the universe, and to me, that Force was God.  I couldn't help it.  The Lady-bugs were too perfect to have been created by accident.  Something deep within my soul just knew that.
When our angels were born, Mark and I knew that they needed to grow up in a world where God was a part of the family.  We sent them all to religious school, reinforced what they learned there at home and had them each become a Bat-Mitzvah.  I answered any questions that came up about my beliefs from a very young age, and reminded them that God is accessible.  I wanted them to understand that something as tiny as a Lady-bug or even smaller, like the microscopic aphids that the Lady-bugs feast on, were proof enough that there is a God.  

And so, they grew up knowing, even though I only grew up with the feeling that I wasn't alone.  The feeling that somehow, God was in the Lady-bug.
Watching my littlest angel carefully visit with this Lady-bug, yesterday, reminded me of how crucial it is to understand.  Her fascination and wonderment while examining this tiny creature reminded me that no matter how seemingly insignificant something might seem, it can make all of the difference between believing that it is all meant to be, or deciding that it is all a haphazard accident thrown together by chaos.  The look on AD4's face says that she loves Lady-bugs, too.  It brings me peace to know that my angels don't have to figure it out on their own.  They all know what Mark and I believe.  They can appreciate the Lady-bug as one of God's miracles.

There are so many paths which can lead to God.  May you find the one that brings you the knowledge and the peace to believe that you are not alone.  May you find your way to God in the simplest of miracles.  There are so many...