Attitude of Gratitude

I’ve had people asking for the past week or so about my Thanksgiving plans.

Are you having company? How are you celebrating? Will you be lonely? Is anyone bringing you a plate of their Thanksgiving feast to share?

I’m thankful for people caring so much about me that they think about my Thanksgiving, and am so very blessed to be cared for the way that I am by people I’ve never even met. It never ceases to amaze me, although it really shouldn’t considering how invested I am in the lives of all of you as well.

In truth, I don’t have Thanksgiving plans simply because it’s not possible. My family will be at my parents’ house for a “Thanksmas” celebration, mixing two holidays into one. I obviously can’t travel, and it would be impossible for me to be around such a large group anyway because the odds of all 21 people being healthy at the same time are probably not in my favor. When I used to be able to get out of the house but couldn’t take the long car ride, I always had friends’ homes to go to, and am thankful for all the years they included me as family. But now I stay in my air-purified home and am thankful for the opportunity it affords me to breathe easier.

As was evidenced just this past Easter… I’ve never lacked in the food department on the holidays I’ve spent here alone. I often found it funny because no less than three friends, sometimes as many as five, would drop off a plate of food for me so I wasn’t missing out on the traditions… which means I probably had enough food in my house to last a week of celebrating! But this year, with the new food allergy issues, I can’t take the risk of eating foods without knowing what’s in them and how they’re prepared, so I’ll be sticking to the items in my own fridge for my Thanksgiving feast.

So, with one road block after another stopping me from the traditions of holidays past… you’d think I’d be really sad about missing out on everything. I sat down to write this after hanging up with a friend who said she was so bummed for me that I would be here alone on the holiday… because I realized that it’s really not bothering me very much at all.

And I couldn’t figure out why.

I mean, of course I’d love to be with all of my family again. Sure, I’d prefer to get out of the house and socialize with my friends. And YES, diving into mashed potatoes would have been delightful. It’s not that I prefer this.

It’s that I’ve learned to appreciate this.

I’ve learned to appreciate the simplicity in my moments. I’ve learned that being thankful in everything is more important than being thankful for something. I want to be grateful for everything in my life, not just the special moments.

I’m thankful for the years of traditions, and I’m thankful that now I get to reflect on them, remember them, cherish them. I’m thankful to know that my family will be together and my nieces and nephews look forward to seeing each other again. I appreciate hearing my friends’ stories about their family get-togethers and the insanity that always ensues. And, while I’m not in the middle of all of the festivities, I am still immersed in the blessings of my everyday life.

• I am thankful for the system that purifies the air in my condo so I can breathe.
• I am thankful for the opportunity to live in the comfort of this condo that is so perfectly suited to me and my needs.
• I’m thankful for the program that allows me to hire someone to do my shopping for me and clean my home, so I can live independently.
• I’m thankful for my home nurses who keep tabs on my health so I don’t feel overwhelmed by the responsibility.
• I’m thankful for this online community that has adopted me into their families, offering more love and support than I knew possible.
• I’m thankful for my faith and the peace with which God graces me.
• I’m thankful for family and friends who love me, visit me, call me.
• I’m thankful for the abilities I’ve been able to hold onto, and I’m thankful I had the chance to experience the abilities that are no longer mine.

I’m not in the least bit bothered to be here alone on the holiday of gratitude, because it’s the same as any other day. I am simply grateful. I appreciate my life because it’s the one He has given to me, and I don’t want to waste a moment of it wishing for anything else.

Besides, I have this ornery pup for company:

What more could I possibly need? :)

Brought to You by the Letter H

Aww, man… I was so excited when someone mentioned horses as an “H” word for this week’s post, because I know we have a bunch of photos of us with our horses growing up. I know, because I can picture them in my mind. Ones of our swayback horse Candy Candoo in the driveway, ones of Jake and Molly – yellow and red little foals – right after they were born. We have pictures at 4-H events and one of me standing on a barrel in the backyard helping my brother Jerry practice for the barrel races.

We had horses. We have pictures. But apparently, I don’t have the pictures.

Bummer.

Someday I’m going to have to confiscate my siblings' albums that obviously contain the pictures I can see in my mind… but I have a feeling they aren’t going to hand them over if they know said photos will wind up on the blog. :)

Most kids growing up ride their bikes with friends around neighborhoods, but we had more horses than bikes and more siblings then neighboring friends, so we rode our horses into the little nearby village of Irvington to get candy at the general store. I realize that sounds like I’m telling a far-fetched story about walking to school in the snow, barefoot, uphill both ways… but we really did have horses. And a village. And a general store.

Gotta love country life…

My brother Jerry had a stallion named Kid that was the worst horse ever. He was spirited and mean and only let people on his back so he could try to buck them off. Needless to say, I never tried to ride that horse. My brother Jim got a quarter horse named Bogie for Christmas one year… poor kid thought he got seriously screwed in the Christmas present department until Dad mentioned, after the rest of us had ripped into our gifts, that there may be something left out in the barn.

Isn’t that that the coolest thing? To walk out into the barn and find your very own horse for Christmas?

My horse, Sparky, was the smartest, oldest and orneriest horse. He was a smaller, black and white horse that Dad actually had when he was younger… once you got a saddle and reigns on him, he was a perfect animal. I could literally say “right” or “left” and he’d know what I was talking about. The only complaint is that he preferred to trot more than run, which can leave a tush pretty sore after awhile.

But believe me, that horse knew how to run. We know this because Sparky was an instigator when my siblings would try and catch their horses. He would see people walking up to the fence and take off in a dead run across the field… and every other horse followed right after him. I’m thinking when mom suggested for us to go for a ride, she was probably thinking she had a couple hours of peace and quiet… not just because of the riding, but because of the time wasted trying to catch the darn animals.

Now, I know you all have read the story about my brothers going for rides on their horses and propping me up by the kitchen sink to talk to them through the sprayer. And you probably think that’s as gullible as I could get. You should know better by now. In truth, it’s trumped by the times when I was very little and they couldn’t catch Sparky. Instead they drug out a plastic, spring-hinged riding horse and told me to ride on that in the yard while they rode around on real, live, actual horses.

And being the ridiculous, youngest sibling that I was, I did it.

I’m still waiting for the old “what goes around comes around” adage to kick in, but so far they seem to have gotten away with it.

While the six of us kids may have grown up with horses, the deepest love for the animal resides in my beautiful niece, Rebecca. When she was little she wanted nothing more than to be a horse herself, and would trot around the house on her hands and knees for hours on end. [You must click here to see pictures of her bucking…]

Becca’s obsession with horses has only grown, and she spent most of her time this summer caring for her horse, Brandy.

As it happens, the only old photo I could find was one of her mom with her horse Jenny when she was around Becca’s age. [She’s either going to think it’s fun to see both of these photos together, or she’s coming after me for posting it…]

Like mother, like daughter. :)

Ok, peeps… leave your “I” topic suggestions for next week’s A 2 Z post in the comment section!

Flashback Friday: Your Hair Is Pretty

Ok, so it’s been one of those weeks. Sometimes when I’m tired beyond words I get a little ornery and sarcastic… as some of you noticed in my last post. Bless Candy’s heart for thinking it was all the Benadryl, but nope… it’s all me. :) Tonight I can’t even seem to come up with something punchy to entertain you, but because I made a goal of writing three times a week I just can’t let myself skip writing a Friday post. Because that would be less than three and I refuse to take a step backward.

SO… because it’s Flashback Friday, I’m going to flashback to one of the first posts I wrote on the blog. I chose this one for two reasons:

1. It’s so old I’m assuming the majority of you have never read it.

2. It’s an ornery post about my niece that makes me laugh, so I figured it still fits the mood I’m in. :)

Here you go… and thanks for indulging me while I tell you, yet again, how freakishly adorable my nieces and nephews are. It’s not bragging when it’s the truth.

You know how sometimes you're just annoyed to death with someone but you bite the inside of your cheek for fear of saying something that will make everything worse? Or you're in the middle of a conversation and you need a great comeback but none come to mind? [For the record, not having a comeback is the story of my life.] If so, I may have an easy solution for you.

When my niece Anna was little she was the most articulate little thing you could imagine. Somewhere around the age of three or so, a large number of us were gathered at her parents' home on the weekend of an Iowa vs. Iowa State football game. Anyone from Iowa knows this is a sacred sport weekend for the rival schools, and being in the hometown of the Iowa State Cyclones meant the game was being taken more seriously than you can imagine. While a large number were gathered in the living room watching the game, a few of us stragglers were still finishing up dishes in the adjoining kitchen.

Enter Anna.

She walked into the kitchen wide-eyed with a hand on her hip, declaring the need for a family meeting. She informed her mother that she had heard "inappropriate language" (I kid you not) and there needed to be a discussion about it. Her mom, while all about open communication, knew better than to interrupt this particular game and convinced Anna to wait until the game was over. Thankfully, Iowa State won or this next part might not have been so funny or well tolerated.

When the game was finished the TV was turned off and somewhere around a dozen adults sat on couches with all focus directed at the three-year-old conducting the meeting. She made sure all eyes were on her and began...
"I was hearing inappropriate language when you were watching the game. I heard words like shit, damn and ell [meaning hell... cutest mispronunciation you've ever heard]. And in THIS family, we use loving words like good job, I love you, your hair is pretty."

At that point I had a pillow shoved so far down my throat to keep from laughing I thought I might die right then and there. And it would have been so worth it. She was the cutest little swearer I'd ever seen in my life.

And here's where I get to my point of this post. The next time someone is driving you to the brink, use LOVING words. Go ahead. Tell them their hair is pretty. I swear to God I'll never let it slip what you're really trying to say.

When All Else Fails, Sing Ave Maria

Ok, so this whole suddenly-having-a-new-allergic-reaction-to-a-random-food-ingredient-thing is a bit more tedious than I originally expected it to be. Ridiculous amounts of Benadryl later, I feel like I have nothing to write about but food allergies. Because let me tell you, whey is in a lot of food. Including milk, butter and cheese. And do you know how many products contain whey, milk or butter?

Don’t bother looking… I’ll just tell you. It’s a lot of them. Which is why I’m a bit obsessed with food labels at the moment. But that doesn’t mean you should be obsessed with food labels, so I’m choosing not to write about them. Well, starting now.

Instead, I thought I would go to my old standby when all else fails. The song Ave Maria.

Yeah, I know that’s probably not where you thought I was going with this. But that song has saved my neck many times when things have gone wrong. For example, my friend Chris’ wedding. Back when I was a wedding singing traveling fool, I showed up early for his out of town wedding rehearsal to meet with the accompanist. She was sitting at the piano waiting for me, so it was just the two of us in the chapel. And when she started to play the first song I knew we were in trouble. Because it didn’t sound like music.

Now, I’m not saying she was just a mediocre piano player. I’m saying she put her hands on the keys and hit random notes, much like I would do because I don’t read music or have a clue how to play. But this woman was apparently a regular accompanist at the church… and that just wasn’t adding up to me. After about 20 minutes of stopping and starting and realizing that her blank stare and lack of emotional affect were a bigger problem than I could deal with, the priest showed up.

I went out to the lobby to explain the situation and he said, “Oh, I was afraid that was going to happen. She’s been caring for her ill mother who just passed away and some have been concerned about her having a breakdown.”

Really? Then maybe you shouldn’t have recommended her to play at a wedding. Where there would be added pressure on her. But at that point it wouldn’t have done much good to point that out to him, so I just stepped aside when he said he’d handle it.

The priest came in and ushered the woman out, and I had the pleasure of telling an old friend that there was no one to play for his wedding the next day. Thankfully, he’s a mortician so he had some contacts and was able to find a woman to come play the processional and recessional and a couple of the songs. The rest of the music she didn’t know, however? Me. a cappella.

Which is how the Ave Maria saved me that day. And on a few other occasions when a song needed to fill in for empty space during random church services. And today it’s sparing you from having to hear more about whey, milk, butter, cheese and food labels.

You’re welcome.

Life's a Roller Coaster Ride

I was never a big fan of roller coasters. When I was a little girl and we all went to the Kossuth County Fair, I watched my older siblings ride those big, crazy rides and was certain I wanted to give it a try. Mom said it was a bad idea and Dad pulled the, “Oh, she’ll be fine…”

There’s a reason why they say Mom is always right.

Oh, I was so dizzy. And sick. And shouldn’t have eaten cotton candy before the big test run.

The anticipation of the chink, chink, chink while climbing higher up the coaster started the knot in my stomach… but it was the dead drop that did me in. I knew it was coming, but nothing could have prepared me for it. I never had a desire to go on a roller coaster again, until I was in high school and we had a choir trip to World’s of Fun in Kansas City. My friend Sue Ann convinced me to go on a coaster there and it changed my mind about what I had decided long ago was a death trap… because of the upside down loops.

I still hated the anticipation, the dead drops still made my stomach jump and my head spin, but the loops… one right after another… were like flying to me. It was the part of the ride right after the dead drop that woke me back up. I was hooked.

That’s about the only way I can explain to you how I’m feeling these days. The last six months have been filled completely with the steep incline of anticipation and the dead drops that followed, with no breaks in between. But this past week I’ve started experiencing a few loops here and there. After all these months, I’ve had real moments of feeling like I’m finally waking up. Colors are a little brighter, my vision a little sharper, something in me feels a little stronger. I just might be able to call myself human again! :)

Saturday I posted on Facebook that I was hoping I wasn’t going to jinx myself by saying out loud I was feeling better, and then Sunday I had a horrible day. Yep. I totally set myself up for that one. Apparently I’ve now developed an allergy to a food I’ve been eating every day for over a year, and it took all day on Sunday to get my breathing and symptoms under control. Just when I think I know what this crazy body is doing, it takes me on a dead drop.

But here’s why I’m loving this roller coaster life again: I now finally know that an upside down loop will be coming to wake me up again. Even when the pain is too high or I hit a wall of exhaustion out of nowhere, I seem to be a little stronger than I was just a week ago. And on the days when my pain is more under control and my energy is as normal as it can be for me, I’m going to savor the moments of feeling awake and flying around those loops.

Life’s a roller coaster, but at least it’s one that gives us a good rush once in awhile. :)

Because last week’s A 2 Z post was all about Stellan, who [in case you missed the updates] is doing well after his miracle surgery, I didn’t ask for suggestions for the next “H” post. So leave some H-words in the comments that you’d like me to write about next Monday, and I’ll see what kind of a tale I can weave for you! :)

Grading On A Curve

Would you trade your medical struggles for normal health if you also wouldn’t have the lessons you learned throughout it?

I know this is going to sound crazy to a lot of people. In all honesty, it sounds insane to me as I sit here physically feeling the way I do, but I can say without hesitation that I wouldn’t trade what I’ve learned for good health.

And I really, really would like to be in good health. I’d love to walk outside, sing to my heart’s content, dance, go to a friend’s house, travel home for the holidays. I’d love to not have to think through every single movement I make and I’d love to be blissfully ignorant of the word debilitating.

But more than all of that… I love feeling at peace, believing, trusting, accepting and being open to life as it is. And when it comes down to it, I don’t want to trade fulfilling who God needs me to be for my own comfort. People used to tell me they prayed for my healing so I could be whole, but the only thing that would make me less than whole is if I chose what I needed over what He needed from me.

At the beginning of the book Crazy Love, Francis Chan talked about how we should be in awe of how God used such diversity and creativity in creation. He talked about how we compare ourselves to each other… thinking that if we’re not as sinful as the person next to us, then we’re on the right path. But the truth is that God created each of us uniquely for a unique purpose, which means God isn’t grading on a curve. There won’t be someone standing next to us to point at and compare ourselves to when we tell Him about our lives.

When I read that, about not being graded on a curve, I sat and thought about how we all continuously try to be like everyone else. To be normal… to fit in… to say the right thing and look the right way, to have the right job, the right house, the right clothes. We all say we’d never go back to junior high and relive those years of trying to fit in, but in truth I don’t think we ever move completely past it. And it’s the exact opposite of what God created us for. He made us diverse for a reason. He doesn’t grade us on a curve because it would be like comparing apples and jackhammers… two unique things created for different purposes.

Of course there are moments when I long for a more normal life. I’d love to have a husband and a family, a career and a social life. I want to be a part of things… a real, tangible, active part of the outside world. But the truth is, I have no idea who I would be right now had all that happened. I have no idea what my priorities would be, where I would have lived, who the friends would be surrounding me. God set me on this path and lined it with blessings. I can’t presume my dreams would have turned out better than His plans just because they seem easier in my mind.

There is a sentence under one of Chan’s videos on his website that talks about how all of us are striving for a normal life, but have we ever stopped to think that maybe the goal in life shouldn’t be normalcy? That one sentence made my circumstances make sense to me. If I judge my life against others… or even against the life I used to have… if I’m grading myself on a curve of normalcy, then of course I look short-changed. But that’s not the goal. The goal is to live the best life I can with what I am given.

Obviously my life is intensely abnormal compared to others, and these past few months have been the hardest of my life. But I still wouldn’t trade it for the normal one I always thought I would have, because this is the one He meant for me to live. It’s a relief to know we’re not graded on a curve, but instead loved for exactly who we are designed to be.

And I wouldn’t want to be anyone else.

A Living Prayer

I’ve never really given much thought to the type of things I want people to say at my funeral. I tend to focus more on how I’m living right now and hope that how I’m remembered falls in line because of it. That changed a bit this August when Eunice Kennedy Shriver passed away.

In a statement by the family, they described her as "a living prayer, a living advocate, a living center of power. She set out to change the world and to change us, and she did that and more."

I have to tell you, that phrase has stuck with me… to be described as a living prayer. Growing up Catholic, where tradition and posture are a part of worship, my mind went to imagining the actual appearance of a living prayer. I tried to imagine what that might look like in a tangible application, but I couldn’t. I’ve decided that kind of a life can’t be seen in a look or a stature.

What I’ve decided instead is that it would be found more in the reflection of others when they are touched by you. It would be seen in the joy that others would find contagious, in the compassion that others would feel in your words and deeds. It would be found in the empathetic nature of a stranger and in the fortitude seen in those who are determined to make a difference. The kind word for no reason, the intentional way of listening, the hand outstretched to give and to receive… the voice of encouragement, the touch of comfort, the openness to share in word and deed… all of these things must be what a living prayer looks like to others.

All we can really do in life is be open to what God needs from us, to be aware and present in our circumstances so we are available to step up when called. It’s a daily choice to make this a way of life… but I have to say that now, choosing how I want to be remembered is helping me choose my daily actions.

I want to be a living prayer.