Things are a little bit freaky around here. And that’s perfectly fine.
I am sad today.
Sad for friends whose dreams are being shattered.
Sad that what is supposed to be the happiest day of someone’s life will become the worst.
Sad that I will never meet a child I had been so excited to know.
Sad that bad things happen to good people.
I think I will go have a long shower and a good cry.
Today is Epiphany, an important date on the Christian calendar. Epiphany is twelve days after Christmas, the day the Wise Men were said to have found the new baby Jesus.
Also called “Twelfth Night,” Epiphany is considered by many to be the end of the Christmas season. In some countries, it’s celebrated just as much as Christmas Day, and kids get presents. In England, where my husband is from, it’s considered the last day you should have your decorations up. According to superstitions, if you don’t have them put away by midnight tonight, it’s considered bad luck for the year. Fair warning, procrastinators!
Thankfully, my mother-in-law put away my Christmas decor earlier this week. Nick’s parents arrived here last Friday, and their vacation extended our holiday season. As long as they were here, even when the boys returned to school, the atmosphere was still a bit special, a bit celebratory. Throw in a birthday, and we were in full-on party mode longer than most.
But this morning, they flew back across the pond. My house got quiet. I wrapped up a couple of work projects. I put away a few more odds and ends — party hats, fake snow, the remains of some desserts. Unlike on New Year’s Eve, when I was busy and surrounded by family, today was the time I paused to reflect on the year past and things to come.
It’s always been funny to me how a day about endings comes so quickly after New Year’s Day, a holiday where we celebrate beginnings. This year, my Epiphany day has been very much about things coming to a close.
I think it’s no surprise that “epiphany” comes from the Greek word epiphaneia, which means “manifestation.” Manifesting is about making things clear and evident. It’s about shoving away the clutter in order to see the light. When we have an epiphany, an aha! moment, we finally reach what we had been longing for. Just like the Magi, on a calm, cold night, we find that determination and diligent work bring us to a place of wonder and peace.
(A portion of The Journey of the Magi by Sassetta)
It’s interesting to note that the Wise Men could not return home the way they came. Herod, the bad guy, had sent them to find Jesus, and they knew he had ill intentions. Rather than go back to Herod and tell him where Jesus was, they decided to put that relationship behind them, sneak away, and allow a baby to live.
The search. The discovery. The continuance.
The hard work. The big event. The day after.
The hope. The revelation. The future.
Despite what the calendar tells us, there is no beginning and ending. Life does not start and stop. It’s more of a process, a dance with three steps. It has its ups, its peaks and its downs. I am thrilled to put this past year behind me, because it was pretty much my worst year ever. But it’s not over. It’s just ebbing away, and flowing into a new, hopefully happier, period.
I have traveled. I have rested. I am ready to move forward. Thanks for being on this journey with me.
Yesterday was kind of cruddy. After a weekend of abdominal pain, I headed to my doctor’s office to hear him confirm what I’d been dreading: kidney stones.
The evil which shall not be spoken aloud. Whenever I mention my stones, I typically whisper, like Wendy Beamish’s mother in St. Elmo’s Fire.
I had my first kidney stone when I was seven months pregnant with Finn. I do not remember much about that day. I remember thinking I had gas, popping a Mylanta, and trying to walk it off on the treadmill. I remember Nick asking if he had time to make and eat a sandwich before he took me to the hospital. Seriously. I remember yelling at the triage nurse who thought I was in labor “I have been in labor before, and this is not it! THIS IS A MILLION TIMES WORSE!”
Since that day, I have passed more than my share of stones, most of which were small and inconsequential. It’s rare that, like yesterday, I need to see a doctor. And it’s even rarer that I end up getting sent to the hospital.
But I got sent straight to St. Vincent’s for a scan and, hopefully, something for the pain. Honestly, I wanted a morphine drip, some IV fluids and a night to sleep it off. After a doctor read my scan and determined I wasn’t dying (I bet he’s never had a stone), they sent me on my merry way with a pat on the hand and a “there now, sweetie, can we call someone to pick you up, since you look like you’ve been on a three day crack-and-Thunderbird bender?”
Don’t get me wrong — I love a Catholic hospital. I was born in one. So was Jack. I find religious-affiliated hospitals comforting. I just found the “no happy stuff” policy much more Baptist-like. I mean, I grew up in Louisiana. Pretty much everything naughty I ever learned, I learned from a Catholic. I know they can do better than that.
Before leaving, I decided to shuffle down to the cafeteria for a cold fountain drink. I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since breakfast, and I’d been laying down for hours on end. I wanted to refresh myself and be upright for a few minutes before hitting the road. So I was sitting at a table in the dining room, nursing my Diet Coke (could’ve been a glass of communion wine, but nooooo, this is a decidedly Arkansas-ish Catholic hospital remember?), when I looked up to see this:
Yeah, that’s Jesus.
It’s slightly disturbing to see Jesus standing in front of you in a hospital, especially when you feel like Death. It’s also calming. It makes me think that when our times finally come, there’s little waiting, little red tape, no fights with your insurance provider. Instead, Jesus just strolls in your hospital room like the charge nurse and says “No more Jello and mashed potatoes for you — I’m busting you out of this joint!”
I quickly looked around to make sure I wasn’t the only one who saw him. No, everyone else was staring, so I knew I wasn’t completely crazy. I noticed that Jesus carries his stuff in a backpack. He drinks water from a plastic bottle (not very environmentally friendly, that). His robe was cream-colored linen, just as I would have expected. And he wears Birkenstocks, just as I would have expected. Also, his hair was really frizzy. Perhaps he should consider a good deep conditioning treatment.
He paid for his coffee and went on his way, and I left soon after. I caught a couple of glimpses of him in the hallways in front of me, and I silently wished him well on his journeys.
Then, this morning, my friend Marcia tweeted this picture:
It was the same dude! She saw Jesus too! And quite fittingly so, since Marcia works at my church. Although she is also kind of crazy, it’s nice to know Jesus wasn’t a one-time-only phenomena.
So, people of Little Rock, you’ve been warned. Jesus is here! Get your act together! Just know that he didn’t bring any good drugs with him!
Wow I feel good today. Like a Disney princess, I literally woke up with a smile on my face and a song in my heart (Prince is good for the soul). What a surprise!
It’s a surprise because this summer has been pretty tough. Heck, this whole year has been cruddy. And over the past few weeks, it’s all started to catch up with me. No sugar-coating things — I’ve been flat-out depressed.
I know that what I’m about to write is fairly trite. It’s been said a million times before. But I also know that when you’re in the midst of a blue period, you never know what you’ll read or hear that will give you hope, or help you hang on another day. So I’m going to write it anyway, because someone reading this might could use the message.
Things will change, and you will change with them, and you will be OK.
Notice I didn’t say “Things will get better.” Because they may not. Whatever particular situation you’re dealing with may not end on a positive note. But it’s just one situation. It’s not your entire life. And unless you’re watching a massive asteroid hurtle toward your yard, it’s not the end of the world, either.
One of my favorite sayings has its origins in the writings of Sufi poets. The story goes like this: A Middle Eastern king challenged the wise men in his court to invent something that, whenever he looked at it, could make him happy when he was sad, or sad when he was happy. The wise men pondered the challenge, and in the end, presented the king a ring with one short sentence engraved in the gold.
This too will pass.
Whatever you’re going through, remember that saying. Things might be terrible right now, and you may wonder how you’ll ever make it through, but this situation, and your feelings about it, will pass.
And it’s worth hanging around and waiting for them to pass. The lessons learned and the blessings to come are so, so worth it. I promise. Just take my word for it. I’m always right.
Last Monday was my birthday. It was an uneventful day. I almost even forgot about it. I certainly didn’t feel like celebrating. I just wanted to go to the gym by myself for the evening. I wanted to swim a bit, then hit the treadmill, then have dinner. As I pulled into the gym parking lot, this happened:
SWEET JESUS I DON’T ASK FOR MUCH ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS SWIM SANS KIDS ON MY BIRTHDAY!
But as I sat in my car, on the verge of tears that might have rivaled the downpour on the windshield, I became thankful. Thankful because this was just what our bone-dry environment needed. Thankful because I got to watch some birds play in the puddles. Thankful because as sad as a storm can be, it can also be very cleansing.
Depression can be the same way. Sometimes, I’m thankful for my low points. They’re like a purge, and I come out clean and refreshed on the other side.
I skipped the swim, but I got in a good workout and had a nice dinner. As I left the gym, I saw this:
Everyone in the parking lot was looking upwards with a smile on their face and a child-like sense of wonder. As I got in my car and turned a corner in the parking lot, I was able to see its true glory. It was a full rainbow, stretching itself across the darkening sky in a wide arc. And as I drove further, it became a double rainbow. I hurried home, eager to show it to the boys. But by the time I arrived, it was gone.
Things change. The good times don’t always last. But, blessedly, neither do the bad times.
Wait for your morning of smiles and songs. It will be here before you know it. The rainbow says so.
For years I’ve been fairly stoic and emotionless about death. This is partly a reflection of my faith. I am hopeful that there is something better for us after our physical body gives out. And I truly believe that God doesn’t give us anything we can’t handle. These two things help me see the bigger picture and give me perspective when I’m mired in the momentary feelings of grief and loss and fear and confusion.
But I also think my lack of reaction comes, in part, from overexposure. I had to deal with death early and often in my life. Many people attend their first funeral when a grandparent naturally passes away at an older age. Or their first brush with tragedy happens when a high school classmate is involved in an accident. Not me. Unexpected and upsetting deaths seemed to be the major milestones in my adolescence. Some were more personal than others, but each managed to sear certain unforgettable details into my psyche.
Now it’s happened again. One of my dear friend’s father passed away in the middle of the night. While he had been ill, this was still a premature death. And it’s particularly upsetting to me, in that he’s the first of our parents who have passed away. I’ve mentioned before that my childhood friends and I and all our families are incredibly close. My parents and all their friends all had kids around the same time, and we were raised almost as brothers and sisters rather than just friends. Their parents are like mine, in many cases. In our little circle, raising children, going on vacation, feeding people, celebrating the good times and supporting each other through the bad times has always been a group effort.
So for the first parent to pass away is pretty monumental. Although he was a bit older than my parents, his passing can’t help but bring up thoughts of my own parents’ mortality and what I will do when I no longer have their physical presence in my life.
But for some reason this, and a few other things that have happened lately, has also brought up issues for me on how I handle death. And I think I have some major issues. I think what happened when I was younger affected me more than I’ve ever wanted to admit. I should not be emotionless about some of the things to which I’ve been exposed.
It is not right to wake up on Christmas morning to find out your neighbor and your friend’s mom took her own life the night before.
It is not right to wake up on Christmas morning to find out that two men escaped from prison and murdered your father’s colleague and his wife the night before. (Not the same Christmas, thank goodness.)
It is not right to, at 12 years old, see your mother so desperately sad to lose her young friend to breast cancer.
It is not right to, later that same year, see the decimated car of an older acquaintance who died in an accident that morning be slowly towed past your classroom window.
It is not right to, at 16 years old, the summer before your senior year, the year that’s supposed to be your best ever, hold your best friend in her hospital bed and feel the life slip out of her, a young and vital life that was shockingly destroyed by a rare form of leukemia that managed to do its dirty work in less than two weeks, start to finish.
It is not right to pull into your driveway for your first weekend back home from college, only to see your mom and old boyfriend waiting for you in the driveway, so they can break the news to you that another dear friend had passed away earlier that afternoon, on Friday the 13th, no less.
It is not right to have to teach your little brother how to handle the loss of a friend when he loses his best one in a tragic gun accident.
And it is not right, the way your friend’s voice sounds over the phone when you call to check on her early in the morning, just a few hours after she lost her dear daddy.
These things are not right. Death is inevitable, but I need to give myself permission to stop pretending that it’s alright.
Today, I am going to be sad. I am going to be angry. I may rage, in fact. I am going to say the f-word out loud, very loud, as in “This f*cking sucks!!!!!” because it does. I am going to think ugly thoughts. I may even throw up from crying so hard.
Today I am going to feel. And that’s OK.
