Loved But Not Lost

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March is a difficult time for me.  My father went home to be with the Lord in March of 1998.  He died next to my mother in bed from a heart attack in the early morning hours.  But he had already been up to read the scriptures though, as was his habit each morning.  When they handed me his belongings at the hospital I opened his Bible to the last thing he had read.  I moved the three by five card he used as a bookmark and my eyes fell upon these highlighted words from II Timothy 4:6 – 8:

Paul’s last testament

For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand.

I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith:

Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing.

God, in His infinite graciousness, let me know through His living word that my daddy was OK.  In fact, he was more than OK.  Every time I read these words I think of my father and the life he led for the Lord.  I try to emulate my father and our Heavenly Father’s examples although I know I fall short.  Pushing through my sorrow, I know I will see Daddy again someday.  I am thankful for the faith my father instilled in me and I am passing that faith on to his granddaughter.  So wherever you are and whatever you are doing, keep the faith.  Achukma hoke.

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Palm Sunday And The Tree Of Life

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For Christians all around the world, today marks the beginning of Holy Week and the final days of the Lenten season.  Palm Sunday is the Sunday before Easter commemorating Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem before His subsequent crucifixion and resurrection.  The event was mentioned in each of the canonical Gospels (the first four books of the New Testament in the Bible:  Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John).  According to the Gospels, Jesus rode in on a donkey and people celebrating laid down their cloaks and small branches of trees in front of Him as He passed.  Eastern symbolism suggests Jesus did not choose a horse as it was seen as an animal of war.  Rather, His entry symbolized Him as the Prince of Peace.  In Jewish tradition the palm is one of the four species carried for celebrating.  In the Greco-Roman culture of the Roman Empire, which strongly influenced Christian tradition, the palm branch was a symbol of triumph and victory.  In ancient Egyptian religion, the palm was carried in funeral processions to represent eternal life.  In churches today parishioners will hold palm branches which will be blessed with an aspergillum, or holy water slinger, as I told my four year old.  The name derives from the Latin verb aspergere, “to sprinkle”.  In our church little cross pins are made from palm branches to be worn during the service.  I have saved a few over the years and some have dried quite beautifully.  I love the mix of passion and triumph reflected in the liturgy and hymns.  Even the vestments go from scarlet red, representing the supreme redemptive sacrifice Christ was entering the city to fulfill, back to purple which is the color for mourning and penitence during the 40 days of Lent.  It varies from church to parish; I belong to the Episcopal church.  However I believe almost every Christian church, regardless of denomination, incorporates palms into their worship today.  In the words of Pope Benedict XVI:  “Palm Sunday tells us that … it is the cross that is the true tree of life.”

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Chuck E. Cheese, Casinos And Caciphony

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Call me old school, but I miss arcade games and glow in the dark ice hockey.  Thankfully my all-time favorite is still around; skeeball.  Our little one just went to a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese and I was shocked to find it is now more like a kiddie casino.  I have always loved the idea of earning tickets to win a prize.  There used to be SOME level of skill or modicum of thought involved in order to get tickets.  Now the games seem to have no redemption.  You just slap, slap, slap and pay money until you get enough tickets.  Recently on vacation we had to cross the casino several times going to dinner.  I saw rows upon rows of people sitting slack-jawed and staring glassy-eyed, slapping and slapping the button on the video slot machines.  They sort of resembled zombies, colored by the ever-glaring, blueish glow of the machines and seemingly unfazed by the chaos swirling around them.  I went to my first casino at 40 and knew immediately it was not for me.  Between the giant windowless, aimless wandering of it all, the flashing lights, and the constant barrage of noise it was literally too much.  My husband and I still laugh because I literally pulled him out and declared we weren’t going back in.  We blinked like dazed moles coming out of the ground walking blearily as we realized with some shock it was still sunny out.  WOW that is not a healthy environment; particularly for someone with ADD.  We had a budget and my husband slapped through his within minutes.  I’ll never forget I snatched my money back and bought two really nice looking wolf knickknacks with it instead of gambling.  I felt guilty before I realized it would have just been slapped away anyway with nothing to show for it except lost time.  I am sure casinos are great for someone good with numbers.  I am not.  So it is just not for me.  I could not possibly hope to add even the simplest amount or pay attention to cards with any sort of acuity and especially not while drinking!  I watched our little one slap, slap, slap with a frightening genetic similarity to her father and decided I’d better win her some tickets or she’d leave with nothing.  My daddy taught me skeeball when I was kid.  I do pretty well.  So I snuck away and got us enough tickets for her to get the little pink heart necklace she wanted.  I slipped them in her bag and after she was all slapped out of money her tickets were counted and she was so thrilled she could get her necklace.  She had 25 tickets left over and the pimply faced kid was about to trash the paltry amount with dismissive disdain.  Horrified, I asked Maris if I could try to get something with what she had left and she proudly said sure!  Pictured above is the little blue plastic sea star I now have as a keepsake.  Some people enjoy the experience and don’t need a take away.  I guess I really like going home with a memento at the end.  So other than an image of James Bond strolling like a panther through a casino in Monte Carlo, gambling is just not for me.  I’m going to do my best to instill the concept of earning in my daughter and thankfully “Slappy” (the hubs) has agreed he MIGHT have gotten a little too souped up in the casino that time.  I came across an unattributed quote on Pinterest once that said, “Chuck E. Cheese:  because it’s never too early to introduce your child to poor nutrition and gambling.”  Lucky for us, our little one can no longer have gluten, dairy, or eggs.  I am thankful the good Lord is watching over us.  In fact, I’d bet money on it.

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Treasures

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Last summer we came back from Florida with a bucket full of good-sized, stark white seashells that I let Maris keep to play with.  I found her on our porch the other day mixing paints and asked what she was going to do in a trying-not-to-sound-like-a-wet-blanket motherly voice.  She said she was making me something.  I pushed back the dread of what might have to be cleaned and cheerfully told her I could not WAIT to see.  What she brought me is the most intense combination of tangible love I have ever received.  She painted me seashells:  God’s treasure from the sea and my treasure from God bearing the name “of the sea”.  I marveled at the swirls of different colors as she held them up for my inspection in her small, paint-smeared hands.  “Do you like them, Mama?” she asked.  And suddenly nothing else mattered:  not the paint on her clothes, or in her hair, or on her great-grandmother’s glass table on the porch.  I knew they could all be cleaned.  But this precious gift was made for me.  So unique and such a treasure — just like my daughter.  I have her first two mixed in with some shells that sit on our coffee table.  I found those three beautiful pink conchs in Mexico about two years ago and for me they represent our little family.  Interestingly enough, my mother’s aunt (both passed away now) painted a seashell mobile with shells from the same island for the birth of Princess Grace’s first child.  They were suspended by driftwood and my mother said her aunt framed the handwritten thank you she received from the Princess of Monaco.  I believe they each received a personal gift they both treasured.  English Clergyman Thomas Fuller said, “Memory is the treasure house of the mind wherein the monuments thereof are kept and preserved.”  Every day my angel adds a new treasure in my chest of memories.  And they are beyond measure.  Achukma hoke.

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I Did It!

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When I was a little girl everyone said I should be a vet.  In those days, that really was just about the only option for someone who loved animals.  But I always knew I could not handle the sadness that accompanies being an animal doctor.  I wished I had been tougher but knew my heart could not handle it.  So to stumble my way into owning and operating a petsitting business as an adult was serendipitous.  For 16 years I have had the joy of caring for animals and I have often joked I would pill them but not shoot them (with needles).  Administering shots was not something I thought I could do and I did not want to use anyone’s fur baby as a pin cushion for the sake of making a new client.  And then along came Alamo.  For over a decade at least I have cared for his four-legged brethren (both canine and feline) and his mom recently told me he has diabetes.  Faced with losing him since I had never given anyone shots, I decided I must overcome my reticence.  I guess that year of in-vitro really got me comfortable with needles even if it was only on myself.  I know how to draw back the medicine, sterilize the area, and check the viscosity of the drugs like the back of my hand.  The real test was in not hurting Alamo.  Turns out he didn’t even flinch and I was so happy knowing I could do something to help him and his mother when she was away.  Famous French-German theologian Albert Schweitzer said, “The purpose of human life is to serve, and to show compassion and the will to help others.”  I guess you CAN teach an old dog new tricks.  😉

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A Trip To Trader Joe’s

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Dallas was all abuzz a few years back at the news we would be getting Trader Joe’s.  I had no idea what the fuss was about until we visited my cousins in Arizona and every delicious thing she made came from Trader Joe’s.  When they finally opened in Dallas, I was thrilled to discover they were like a cross between Whole Foods (or “whole paycheck” as is often joked) and maybe an ALDI.  My little one was even more little then and she LOVED pushing the kid’s cart around.  We definitely needed the one with the flag as a warning to others though!  She had just learned to walk so she wielded it somewhat drunkenly around the store.  Tenacious little thing; she refused to let me help.  I even have video of her unloading all the food from her little cart by herself so S L O W L Y and the darling man was just smiling and waiting with the patience of a saint for her to finish.  That’s when I really fell in love with Trader Joe’s.  Their food was great (we only buy organic), their prices were great (half the cost of Whole Foods) and the people MADE it by being so consistently kind!  Everyone knows kids love stickers.  And I happen to love samples.  So the little one and I enjoy shopping there for both the former and the latter, among other reasons.  Here it was the day before St. Patrick’s Day and this cheery, kind woman was handing out samples.  When I explained my little girl could not try any because of her gluten/dairy/egg intolerance, she came out and asked Maris if she liked stickers.  Not only did that cheer her up, the woman proceeded to take the lighted shamrock necklace she was wearing and insist upon my little girl having it.  What a kindness.  Such a sweet thing to do when she certainly did not have to.  Another clerk overheard about her food allergies and went and found us two complete lists of everything in the store they offer that my little one can have!  He went out of his way to help and did so cheerfully.  Neiman Marcus knew the real secret to success was great customer service.  And Trader Joe’s should be commended for consistently hiring happy, kind, kid-friendly, educated people who genuinely care about what they’re selling and to whom they sell it.  That is indeed a rarity in today’s world.  Mother Teresa said, “Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.”  God bless you Trader Joe’s for making a four year old’s trip to the grocery store so happy.

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I Can See Your Heart Beat

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“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart.  It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.” ~ American singer Judy Garland

My little one recently had to have a chest x-ray.  It has been something of a shock that for four years my baby has barely had a sniffle and within the past few weeks we have discovered she is gluten, dairy and egg intolerant as well as asthmatic.  My response to the latter was:  “she’s got five belts in karate; she CAN’T have asthma!”  Well she does … for now anyway.  And she is handling it like a boss.  They wanted to make sure she did not have pneumonia so we went in for a chest x-ray.  The sweet woman explained everything she was doing and I promised my baby girl it wouldn’t hurt.  I told her it just takes a photo of your insides.  She held her breath as they took pictures of her little body and I held her small hands while they did it.  Thankfully her lungs are officially clear and they have improved by 25% since she started her breathing treatments a couple of weeks ago.  Looking at the x-rays I almost started crying.  “Mama, what’s wrong?” my little one asked.  Holding back tears I explained the last time I saw her heart it was beating inside my body.

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Class Snack Week

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I was so excited!  It was finally my turn to shop for the class snacks for our daughter’s school.  Each kiddo has one week where they provide for their class’ snacks each day and also fresh flowers, which I adore.  They have little vases all around the room and they get to practice flower arranging.  Plus I was not aware whomever brings the snacks gets to designate a snack helper (a big deal when you’re four) and they are in charge of placing the snacks out each day for the week.  Our little one was so excited!  Ironically we started the year with no food allergies except a mild one to cinnamon.  In the past several weeks, as I have blogged, we have discovered she is gluten intolerant and cannot have dairy or eggs either.  And yet prior to this I can guarantee I would have looked over the allergy issues list and carefully shopped for ALL the children.  For instance, someone is allergic to peanuts so I simply would not have bought any peanut butter or anything else made where there are peanuts.  Other parents have not been as considerate and my child got sick THREE TIMES from eating cheese, dairy and gluten.  How is a four year old supposed to know there are eggs in brownies?!  So I have brought mine her own snacks and her teacher was sweet enough to make her a special basket that has her name on it.  My heart hurts at the thought of any child being left behind or singled out.  And now it is personal.  So we went to Whole Foods and we got “our” pretzels (which I defy ANYone to say they can tell any difference), gluten free applesauce, the Pirate’s Booty that does not have dairy, bananas, mandarin oranges, and hummus that says for sure that it is gluten free.  Not only was it not that hard, I felt great knowing EVERY child in that classroom would be safe eating the organic, allergy-free food I had provided.  And, best of all, mine would be serving “her” food that they could all eat and she would not be left out!  Oh how we forget what it was like to be little.  Our little problems are their big ones.  I cannot change every week for her but I am getting to change this one.  It will be a glorious week where my girl serves the same great food for all.  Pope Francis said:

“We must restore hope to young people, help the old, be open to the future, spread love.  Be poor among the poor.  We need to include the excluded and preach peace.”

My daughter already knew the importance of compassion.  Now she knows first hand what it is like to be on the other side; sadly a part of everyone’s life at some point.  But no one will be excluded on my watch:  personal or not.

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Burning The Candle At Both Ends

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I do tend to get up early (no later than 5:30 a.m.) and go to bed a little late (around 11 p.m.) but I have always known the importance of sleep.  Today is Daylight Savings Time so we “spring forward” to lose an hour of precious slumber.  In the autumn we “fall back” and “gain” an hour.  I have never found an attribution but I have heard it said many times than an Indian (Native American) once said, “Only a white man would believe you could cut a foot off the top of a blanket, sew it to the bottom, and have a longer blanket.”  I think Daylight Savings is ridiculous and actually detrimental.  And WHY must they always make it before church?  Daylight Savings Time is not observed in Hawaii, American Samoa, Guam, Puerto Rico, or the Virgin Islands.  I think they’ve got the right idea being on “Island Time” which, by the way, is no different than being on “Indian time”.  It means things get done in their own time.  Arizona also does not observe DST and neither does the Navajo Nation.  In Europe they simply call it “summer time” and it begins at 1:00 a.m. Universal Time (Greenwich Mean Time) the last Sunday in March and ends at 1:00 a.m. the last Sunday in October, which makes infinitely more sense to me.  The very term “savings” is a misnomer given that no daylight is being saved.  Regardless, the cycles remain the same.  Mother Moon follows Father Sun and they rise and set each day.  Our bodies know this.  So while I am feeling pretty accomplished right now I know the need for sleep will catch up with me.  And I will listen without shame.  Sleep is not laziness; it is God’s way of helping calm us, rest our bodies, and rejuvenate our minds.  In the meantime I think I shall pour myself a second cup of coffee.  God bless caffeine.

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Seville

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Our last day was spent in the capital of Seville.  After the “discovery” of the Americas, it became one of the economic centers of the Spanish empire with its port monopolizing the trans-oceanic trade.  As a person proud of their Native American heritage, I confess this particular city did not sit well with me.  I understand it happened in the past, but, for me at least, it still seriously rankled.  We all know Christopher Columbus set sail for the “New World” and hit land in 1492.  I wonder how many know of the heinous atrocities committed after he landed?  He and others such as Hernando de Soto and Cabeza de Vaca slaughtered thousands of innocents and enslaved the rest searching for riches not theirs to be plundered.  It sickens me.  And then there was the dreaded encomendia system which whipped Native Peoples into submission and enslavement all under the name of God, King and Country (Spain).  If you care to research this further, do yourself a favor:  they say history is written by the victors.  Do not read some glossy bio of the “great explorers”; rather I encourage you to look deeper and find reading material giving a more truthful historical account of what Europeans did to Native Peoples.  I created my own minor at SMU in Native American studies and if anyone is really interested I can send you book titles.  But I digress.  This day we would see the Seville Cathedral, the largest gothic cathedral and the third largest church in the world.  I had a visceral reaction to seeing Christopher Columbus’ crypt.  I just remember lots of gold and silver and felt I should leave because it was not good to be filled with such hatred in a house of God; really anywhere for that matter.  Outside it was hot — sweat trickling down your back hot.  I found myself worrying about the horses who were giving carriage rides at the Maria Luisa Park.  Pictured here is the Plaza de España complex, a huge half-circle with buildings continually running around the edge.  It is surrounded by a moat accessible by several beautiful bridges.  In the center is a large fountain and the walls of the plaza have tiled alcoves, each representing a different province of Spain.  Last, we visited the Alcazar of Seville.  A royal palace originally developed by Moorish Muslim Kings, it is renowned as one of the most beautiful in Spain and regarded as one of the most outstanding examples of mudéjar architecture found on the Iberian Peninsula.  The main entrance to the Alcázar takes its name from the 19th century tile work inlaid above it, a crowned lion holding a cross in its claws bearing a Gothic script.  I loved the rounded doorways and the dark blue tile work.  The gardens were beautiful, as was the reflecting pool.  I found myself idly watching the koi swirling their tails languidly in the heat of the mid-day sun and missing our own koi at home in our beautiful, tiny pond.  With this, I knew I was ready to come home.  As our van wound its way back up the sharp twists and turns of the cobblestone streets of Vejer past the white washed buildings for the final time I was looking forward to one last sangria and cigar.

“Journalism can never be silent: that is its greatest virtue and its greatest fault.  It must speak, and speak immediately, while the echoes of wonder, the claims of triumph and the signs of horror are still in the air.” ~ Austrian-born former managing editor of Time magazine Henry Anatole Grunwald

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