Two messages, 16 faults and, finally, understanding

Life is a journey.

The message below was recently sent to me by a friend, and I have to admit that the timing was perfect:

“People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime.

When you know which one it is, you will know what to do for that person.

When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty, to provide you with guidance and support; to aid you physically, emotionally or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend and they are. They are there for the reason you need them to be.

Then, without any wrongdoing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end.

Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away. Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand.

What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled, their work is done.

The prayer you sent up has been answered and now it is time to move on.”

This is just a portion of the message, but it was the part that applied to me at the moment so I kept it in case I needed to read it again.

I’m also reading an unauthorized biography of author Stephen King, and it’s been an eye-opening experience. The other day while reading I was astounded by some things, so I grabbed pen and paper and began making a list. Then I waited for hubby to arrive in the kitchen.

He poured his coffee and sat down at the table. “Let me read you something, and you tell me what it pertains to,” I said. He looked slightly interested, so he gave me his attention.

I read: “Two kids. Single mom. Mother was a worrier, and she worked several job. Kids were told to keep their fears and their thoughts to themselves. Kids watched lots of scary TV shows. Their fears grew to include a lot of different things. Relatives looked down on the small family, didn’t want them to hang around, which created a fear in the kids: What would happen to us if mom left us/got sick/died? One child was considered ‘sickly’ and that one read books—a lot. Family was very poor. One child had very poor eyesight.”

I finished reading and saw that hubby had an answer ready: “You’re talking about yourself, your mom and sister,” he said. As he stood to leave the kitchen, I said, “Nope. That was Stephen King’s childhood.” He could have replied that this explained a lot but he wisely decided to let it go.

The two instances above—the email about friends, and the insights into King’s childhood (and my own)—have had a profound effect on me over the past few days.

I had a friend for a few years who just recently pointed out all of my faults to me in an email that was four pages long (and there were 16 faults listed—I counted them.) I was told, for example, that although this person knew I had traumas in my life (who hasn’t, really?) and that those experiences make me who I am, it was clear that I hadn’t dealt with those rough patches very well, or, at all.

I was tempted to respond to each fault in detail but for probably the first time in my life, I kept silent instead of sending zingers. I’m kinda proud of that.

So here’s a heartfelt thank-you to the sender of the first email that explains the reason for some friendships. I’m also grateful to have found King’s biography. The jury is still out on whether or not I appreciate the list of all of my shortcomings, but I believe we can all benefit from constructive criticism, especially if we learn from it and don’t let it send us into a depression.

So, here’s a collective “thanks” to one and all. It’s been an education, to say the least.

Happy birthday, son

Dad, Clint and Mom in your Grandma Fran's kitchen


Has it been 36 years already?

I can remember exactly what I was doing when I went into labor that October in 1973. (I can’t recall what I had for supper last night, but hey, that’s what happens when one gets older!)

My mother, your Grandma Tony, passed away a couple of weeks before you were born. When I get in the mood, I sometimes imagine what you would have learned from her. You both missed something there, I’m sure of that.

After over 30 hours of labor, you came into the world on October 19, 1973. If that was a Saturday, that may have been the year your birthday fell on the Sweetest Day.

During my pregnancy I dreamed that you were going to be a blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy. You turned into a handsome brown-haired, brown-eyed son who was the spitting image of his father.

There was this cold, early winter afternoon (you were two years old) when you came inside after playing down by the apple trees that bordered on Grandpa Washburn’s back yard. You walked into the kitchen, cheeks red from the cold and announced calmly, “God wants to talk to you.” I was stunned and speechless. Do you remember that? I hope I never forget.

Less than three years later, your little brother came along. He’s not so little now, but I remember when he was and how the two of you played together. You two were quite the team; what one didn’t think of, the other one did. Both of you kept us and your grandparents busy.

One of your favorite things to do was to ride on the tractor with Grandpa. I think you would have done that all day long. You, your brother and Grandpa were great buddies and you spent lots of time together. I’ll always be thankful for that.

The years have passed by so quickly, and all we have now are memories and pictures, and in my opinion there aren’t enough of either. We’ve all missed you over the past seven years and we never stop believing—even for a moment—that we’ll see each other again someday.

But what a gift it would be to us all if it was today, October 19, 2009. Happy birthday, son.

Love,
Dad and Mom

Journaling our way to the truth inside

Our giant yellow Lab let out a long snore, and hubby asked, “Was that you or the dog?”

See, he tells me that I snore—loudly. One Saturday afternoon I was sleeping on the couch and he claimed he heard me snoring through the ceiling and into the room above the living room, also known as The Bat Cave, or his man cave. A lot of guys have those.

Hubby and I have been married for 36 years. We’ve been through a lot together. During our marriage my mother passed away, as did his father. There have been, in my opinion, far too many sad times but in spite of them (or maybe because of them), we grow closer every day.

Humor gets the two of us through a lot. We both have a warped sense of what’s funny and that alone has helped us through many a serious moment. (If it wasn’t for my sense of humor, I would’ve clobbered him for the remark about my alleged snoring.)

I’ve kept track of much of our married life by keeping journals. It’s eye-opening to go back and read about what happened decades ago. When our youngest son was hospitalized for six months after his birth, I kept a daily record and those notebooks are boxed away in our attic. I’ve not read those since 1978, but one of these days I plan to sit down and read about Luke’s life again.

Every now and then I pick up a journal from three, four, five or more years ago and remind myself about what was going on then. Themes repeat themselves, like family relationships, friends that come into our lives, then leave, and the rare friend or two that will more than likely be around until one of the two of us passes from this world.

Pictures are nice and we have plenty of those. They tell stories too, but the writing down of what was in my heart at the time I wrote it is precious to me. Some folks write in journals but destroy them so that no one will know what they really thought and felt. That’s sad, in my opinion, because those words are insights into our true selves.

I still keep a journal and though I don’t write in it every day, it’s better than not having one at all. When I’m gone and the kids and grandkids read through the words, they’ll come to realize that maybe they didn’t know me as well as they thought.

And that’s something that bugs me in a big way: I wish there were more people in my life who I felt comfortable enough with to be myself. I can be who I really am with about three people, and that may not sound like many but they’re lifesavers to me.

That gift, and I believe it is a gift, should ideally go both ways. I need to be the type of person who allows her friends and family to be who they are and not who I wish they would be. It means overlooking faults and flaws and seeing through to the heart.

That reminds me of a Bible verse, and though I can’t remember the words exactly, it goes something like this: “For out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.” That tells me that whatever I allow to stew around in my heart and mind will eventually make it out of my mouth and maybe hurt someone.

It’s a constant struggle to push away negative thoughts and feelings, I know, but it’s worth the effort. And when I do mess up and shoot off my mouth it’s nice to have hubby, my sister and my friend Anna around to let me know that they still love me. Time to put that down in my journal before I forget how blessed I really am.