In My Heart

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The other day as I was driving home from a shopping trip, some people from my past came to mind. I thought about the ways they had influenced me, ways they had blessed me. I thought about writing them a letter, and then I thought of the myriad of people who have blessed me over the years and the heart of this post was born.

Dear Friend,
I am so thankful to have had you in my life. Whether we keep in touch or have taken paths to different places, know that you are in my heart. You are in my heart because I love you and because at some point in time our lives were woven together. In the tapestry of my life, you are a thread that has added color, variety, interest and blessing. My life's story is different - better - because you were a part of my life. Thank you!

I think of you often. When I do, I smile and feel blessed. I love it when I see some interesting tidbit about your life on Facebook, something that makes you happy and fills your life with joy. I feel sad when I learn of hard things you are facing and I pray for you. My soul brightens when I hear your voice, see you in person, or find a message from you in my e-mail or on my phone.

Thank you dear friend, for loving me, for sharing life with me, for listening, for laughing, for playing and probably praying with me.

You may be a friend from school days, a family member, a colleague, a fellow church member, or a kindred spirit from some other place. However we met, whatever we have enjoyed or endured together, know that I am thankful for the time we've had together and count you as a precious blessing from God's hand in my life.

Blessings to you, dear friend!!!
Dar

Alzheimer's - Another Face of Grief

Grief wears many faces. The person standing in the unemployment line. A family that lost a home and pets in a fire. The mother who lost a child. The father who receives the news that his child has a serious birth defect. The woman who has to have her leg amputated. The husband who has to bury his bride. The young surgeon who receives a diagnosis of terminal cancer. The grandparents who know their granddaughter died at the hands of a drunk driver. The person who receives news of a life-changing chronic illness. The family who loses a beloved pet. Alzheimer's Disease (AD) is yet another face of grief.

AD takes away a loved one little by little. A once active, well-spoken woman who raised 6 children, ran a home, mentored young women, loved her husband, sewed clothes, sang at weddings begins to change. At 82 she watches the home she designed and her husband built for her burn to the ground. Her family notices that she is defensive, angry, having difficulty understanding some important factors of her husband's diabetes. Is it the beginning of Alzheimer's or the trauma of losing her home and having to start again in her early 80s? She and her husband move into their new home and she seems to become more like herself, yet there are still small changes.

Then her husband dies. After 65 years of marriage, a huge loss. A loss that would send anyone reeling. She adapts to living alone, but slowly changes become more apparent. She is unable to fill her own pill case, then she is unable to remember to take her pills. Her meals become more and more simple until she is having trouble even operating the microwave. She begins to have trouble remembering people. Eventually she is unsure of who people are and how they are related to her.

Slowly, over the months and years her family loses her, while she is still with them. Sometimes she remembers them and other times not. Her speech becomes garbled and communication becomes difficult as she struggles to find the words to express her thoughts. Social ques are missed and behaviors are often inappropriate.

Her body is still there, becoming more and more frail. She, a once vibrant, active, hard-working, talented woman becomes trapped inside a frail body and a confused mind. Still there are vestiges of the woman that once was - a clinging to her faith as she recites John 3:16 like she is holding fast to a lifesaver in a treacherous sea; her love for music as she plays the piano at 2 a.m. or watches Lawrence Welk over and over; her dislike of clutter and desire for order. Somewhere under the disease, inside the frail body, occasionally peeking out of the traitorous brain is the essence of the woman that once was.

Her family grieves. Lost is the opportunity to taste her cooking. Gone is the ability to carry on an adult conversation with her. Left behind are excursions to museums, parks, zoos, berry picking, gardening, and shopping. Recipes and memories that have not been written down may become extinct. Yet in the midst of all the losses, of what was that will never be again, there is an opportunity to keep recreating the relationship. Where we used to go shopping, now we watch episodes of Lawrence Welk. Where once we watched movies together, now we read children's books or look at photo albums. Our activities change, but while she remains there is the chance to love her, to minister to her, to enter into her world and connect however we can. There is the chance to hear her voice and to hear her play the piano, the opportunity to hug her gently, to comb her hair, to take her for a ride or to church. Every moment is filled both with grief and with the opportunity to seize every chance to cherish her presence while she is still here.

What's Simmering on the Back Burner?

Hi There! Thanks for stopping by. I've been working on a series about New Beginnings, but it's not quite ready to publish yet. In the meantime, I wanted to pop in and keep you in the loop about what's happening here at Emerging Butterflies.

If you've been following along, you're aware that I moved a few months ago and that adjusting to all the changes has been a challenge. One of the things I was working toward before the move was starting a new blog. That is currently still on the back burner. For now, however, I'll be here at Emerging Butterflies for awhile. When the time comes to move, I'll be sure to keep you up to date and to make the transition as seamless as I can.

You may have noticed that I recently made some style changes to Emerging Butterflies. One of them was to change the tag line: "Building a Life of Meaning; Leaving a Legacy of Love." This tag line encapsulates my desire for this blog and for the new one. I hope that you'll stop by often to see what we're talking about here.

Soon, I hope to have a brainstorming session to plan what I'll write about this year. I would love your help. "How can I help?" you ask. Well, one huge thing you could do is to tell me what you'd like to hear about and talk about here. What is one question you would like to have answered when you stop by? What is a conversation you'd like to be part of?

See you soon!!

A Foursome . . . And Then There Was One

For nearly 70 years the two couples were friends, family, a foursome knit together by common experience, by love, by friendship, by blood.

The two men, brothers, were born just 11 1/2 months apart. Arlyn, the older of the two was a sickly child. Although the two boys started school one year after the other, because of Arlyn's illnesses they were soon in the same class and remained so until they graduated from high school.

The girls, Dorothy and Jessie, met and became friends in 7th grade when Dorothy came to the "central school" in town from her one room country school. While in high school, the two girls worked together one summer in a laundry. They walked many--MANY--blocks from the house where they boarded with Dorothy's aunt and uncle to the laundry. On the way to and from work, they passed a Catholic church. The unfamiliar sound of the nuns chanting morning prayers unsettled them a little. At the laundry they each had their own set of duties, one ran a mangle that pressed the sheets and the other ironed uniforms.

High school passed quickly and graduation was before them. At their class night before graduation, they did a skit that showed Arlyn married to Dorothy and Floyd married to Jessie and living in a duplex. The skit proved to be a self-fulling prophecy. Floyd and Jessie married first and moved into half a house owned by his parents. When Arlyn and Dorothy married a few months later, they moved into the other half of the house.

While they were sharing the house, the two couples continued their friendship. Both women were pregnant during this season. Jessie gave birth to a son and later Dorothy to a daughter. They crocheted together, visited, and helped each other through the early days of marriage. Each couple created a home side by side with the other to care for their budding families. However, after a few short months their paths took different turns.

Arlyn worked on the family farm and Floyd and Jessie went to Bible school in preparation to go to India as missionaries. Although separated by many miles and different life experiences, when Floyd and Jessie returned from India, they settled again in the same small town where they were born. The two couples continued their long time friendship.

For about 2 weeks each year all four were the same age. Floyd was the youngest of the four and Arlyn was the oldest. Between Floyd's birthday and Arlyn's birthday all four would be the same age, then Arlyn would turn a year older and it would be another 11 and 1/2 months before they were all the same age again.

Life was busy with raising children and building their businesses. Grandchildren came along. The blessings and the hardships of life happened.

In their declining years the two women often talked on the phone about mutual interests and the men worked together to track their church's finances. When the Arlyn reached the end of his life, Floyd visited him often during the week he was in the hospital. Unable to drive that far, Floyd's son brought him faithfully. After Arlyn came home to be cared for by hospice and his children, Floyd and Jessie continued to visit, once bringing a yummy rotisserie chicken for Arlyn's family for supper.

As Dorothy faced the grief and loneliness of widowhood, Jessie called her with encouraging words and the comfort of her friendship until Jessie's voice became too weak to be heard over the telephone lines.

Now only one of this foursome remains. Arlyn, Jessie, and Floyd have been welcomed to their heavenly home, rejoicing to be with their Savior, rejoicing to be reunited with their loved ones. Dorothy remains, longing for her husband especially, missing the other dear ones who've gone before. One day the foursome will be reunited and together they will worship the Savior they loved all their lives long. Until then, Dorothy's family cherishes the days and hours they have with her.

Yeah, Tough I Walk - Good Gifts

  

At nine o’clock in the morning it was already hot, unbearably so out in the sun, and uncomfortably so in the overcrowded kitchen. The concrete floor had been swept, the hammock tied in a knot out of the way, and our friends gathered around us to say goodbye. They said goodbye with gifts, gifts that were given to us out of their sacrifice. Some gave an item that cost them money that they couldn’t afford. Others gave items they possessed that could never be replaced, such as the two brothers who gave away their high school trophies to our two male leaders. That year in Belize we learned about good gifts, ones that are given out of the sacrifice and the love of the giver, gifts that have meaning.

God also gives us good gifts--gifts that have meaning. He gives us people – dear friends, sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, husbands, wives, coworkers, neighbors – people of all shapes and sizes. Sometimes we enjoy those people for many years sometimes for only a short time. When these gifts, these people, leave us never to return, it causes grief.

We may not understand why we have one person for many years and another for only a short time. Our view of death is so different from God’s view. We experience it as a loss, an end. For us it is a cause of grief and heartache. God says that it is precious to Him. From His perspective it is a birth for His children into new life where there is no pain or suffering. It is a birth into life in God’s presence.

When we lose someone we love, it is easy to close ourselves off to love, to close our hearts to keep from feeling such intense pain ever again. Yet, God has many wonderful gifts He wants to give us. One gift does not replace another--each is unique and priceless in its own way. God wants to bring other people and experiences into our lives to bring us joy, to meet our needs, to help fill the void of loss, to love us, and to be loved by us.

We value, cherish, and love God’s gifts while they are with us and we must also learn to release them when they are gone. We love, we trust, we accept, we treasure the people who are given from God’s hand. We grieve--deeply, painfully. In the face of our loss, we trust God to meet our needs. In time we move forward. We thank God for the gift we had, for the time we had. We cherish the memories. We reorganize our lives. We learn to laugh again, to accept new people into our lives and we follow God to new things . . . in time.

What is one of your favorite memories of a good gift, a beloved person, whom you have lost?

Lessons My Father Taught Me About Living . . . and Dying

I learned many lessons from my dad by the way he lived his life.

I learned that hard work is a good thing. My dad didn't work in a faraway office. When I was a child, my father owned a dairy farm - a business where the work never seems to end. He took me on the tractor to the fields and let me "drive" it even as a young girl. When he was building on an addition to the barn, he hung a swing from the rafters for me so that I could play while he worked. When I was older and the farm had been sold and he ran a sawmill, I went with him into the woods while he cut down trees. As a thirty-something adult, I finally came face to face with the realization that this was not the way most kids grew up. For many Dad left in the morning and came home again in the evening and in between they didn't see him. I learned about work by working side-by-side with my dad doing things that little girl hands could do. I don't ever remember him asking me to do something that was beyond my ability and I remember him protecting me from the things that could harm me in the hazardous work he did. He seemed to know what I could and couldn't do and asked me to do what I could, but didn't ask more.

I learned not to complain in the face of pain and difficulty, but to keep going, pace yourself, and do the best you can. When I was an infant, just 6 months old, my father had his second back surgery. As long as I can remember, he lived with chronic pain and significant health issues, yet he rarely complained. Sometimes in his sleep you could tell how bad the pain was because in those unguarded moments he would moan, but in his waking hours he rarely complained. And, despite the pain he built two successful businesses - the family farm and then a rough cut lumber business. His lumber business grew mostly by word of mouth. Customers would come back again and again because of the quality of the product they received. He did his best. And he paced himself, resting when needed, taking family vacations, and weekend getaways with my mom. Then he would return to work hard and do his best.

He was a man of few words, yet when he spoke his words carried weight and had impact. When he said he would do something, you could count on it.

I also learned about love. He was a quiet man and words of love didn't come easily to him. Yet his love for his wife and family was deep. He loved to have his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren in his home. He always seemed to know that people were more important than things and that family were most important of all people. As long as he was able, each year he would drive the many hours to visit my sisters who lived far away to spend time with his daughters and their families. He made many gifts in his wood-shop for his children and grandchildren. He helped remodel houses, build potato bins, play games, hike, pick berries, and visit historical sites for and with his family. All of these expressions of his love.

He also taught me lessons in his dying. I had the privilege of helping to care for him the last 10 days of his life. The hospice workers warned us that it is normal for people to do things that we're not accustomed to them doing - like swearing a blue streak. My father, although in incredible pain those last days, didn't cry out, didn't get cranky and didn't swear. I don't think I ever heard him utter a swear word during my lifetime and that habit, I believe, was so deeply ingrained that even in death those words were not a part of who he was.

I knew that he loved Christ and had served Him faithfully for many years. It was his custom to spend time reading his Bible each day. As he lay in the hospital bed, the toxins building up in his system, I read to him from his Bible. One day I asked him if there was anything special that he would like me to read. His response was, "No, it's all good."

He died on a Sunday - Mother's Day - and the night before he uttered the last words I would ever hear him say on this earth. He had been basically in a coma for the few days before that, talking little, sleeping much. On that Saturday night, he spoke in a clear strong voice and said, "Thank you, Jesus!" I knew that he could see and was experiencing something very real and profound in the spiritual realm. In that moment, I felt closer to God than I had in a long time.

I am thankful for the lessons my father taught me in life and in death. He lived well and he died with dignity and honor.

Surprised By Motherhood Launch - "She's Still the Same Girl"

Lisa Jo Baker's book Surprised by Motherhood is launching today. Although I am not a mother, I am drawn to Lisa Jo's writing, to her authenticity and to the way she takes the common makes it wonderful and extraordinary. I encourage you to check out her site - click here. And her new book - just released today - Surprised by Motherhood found here and here. Lisa Jo challenged us to write a post about being a mom or having a mom . . .

"She's Still the Same Girl"

My Mom is entering the winter of her life. Some days she struggles to remember names and is confused about many things. Some days she's more like her old self. Lately as I watch her confusion growing, I am reminded of a song I heard many years ago, "She's Still the Same Girl." The jist of the song is that even though the woman in it is aging, inside she is still the young bride, the young mother, the one who laughed and danced and lived a full life.

My mother married young at age 19 and had her first baby 11 months later. Her friends could always tell when another baby was on the way because she would start painting rooms in her home. Four more children followed that first baby and for 10 years her life was full of ironing little dresses, helping her husband manage the family farm, gardening, keeping little ones out of trouble, and tending to her home. Five children seemed like enough.

Then at age 37 she was surprised by motherhood again. I was born less than a month after she turned 38. She has been many things to me - my mother, my teacher, my advocate, and my protector. As I became an adult, she became my friend. I remember day long shopping trips and sitting at the kitchen table late at night, laughing so hard the milk spewed from her mouth across the table. I also remember the times she nearly choked on a pill she had to take and my father had to perform the Heimlech maneuver and realizing how quickly she could be gone and how precious she was.

Sometimes these days she seems so different that it is hard to remember what was . . . yet underneath the confusion and forgetfulness she is still the same girl. She's the same girl who raised 6 children to adulthood. She's the same girl who loves her husband to this day, while he's in Heaven. She's the same girl who made special desserts with her sister-in-law, who planned family vacations, who taught young girls in Pioneer Girls and her Sunday School class. She's the same girl who welcomed others into her home with graciousness and warmth. She's the same girl who sewed for her children, husband, and home. She's the same girl who loves Jesus and wants others to love Him too.

One phrase in the song says, "and she needs you so . . . " Yes, as the forgetfulness and confusion take over her mind, she needs her family to remember who she is and to love her just the same . . . or perhaps even more.

Prayer

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Continuing on with the theme of rhythms that draw us closer to God, I was thinking about prayer . . . about the simplicity of prayer.

In its most simple form, prayer is talking to God, the Lover of our souls.

Certainly studying the prayers of Scripture is helpful, learning what God has to say about prayer and delving into how the saints of both the Old and New Testaments prayed can enrich our prayer experience. Yet in some ways, I think these things are training wheels, meant to be taken off so that we can fly along unfettered on our bikes - the wind blowing in our face, a feeling of freedom.

I like to think of prayer as an opportunity to stop and talk to our Heavenly Father, our Papa, to climb up on His lap, to rest our heads on His chest while He wraps His strong arms around us and we spill the deepest parts of our heart and soul to Him. And He, He whispers in our ear, "Beloved, Beautiful, My Child" as He soothes and loves.

Sometimes our tiny fists pummel His chest as we plead for something we want. Sometimes tears flow as our hearts are grieved and broken. Sometimes we are celebrating some wonderful thing that has happened, some wonderful thing He has done. But the best times are those when we surrender and we just snuggle into His chest and we have a quiet conversation about our desires and His desires and we begin to see the path He has mapped out. We enter into His plan. We embrace it and we talk with Him about it - sometimes with great excitement, sometimes with fear and a pleading for faith, and sometimes with grief because the path ahead is painful. But, we are together. We are joined spirit to Spirit with the Lover of our souls and we are coming to know Him.

Prayer, in its most simple, and I think profound, form is talking to God, the Lover of our souls from a place of surrender and deep faith that God knows best. It is resting in His arms and entering into His will, joining Him in it, listening to His voice whisper in our ears and responding with love, surrender, and obedience.

What puzzles you about prayer?

When has prayer brought you closer to God?

Day 27: Accept Another's Essence

The pages of my journals and old pieces of correspondence often yield descriptions of my journeys through Pivot Points. Today I'm sharing an excerpt from my journal on February 6, 2004 while working through a study on forgiveness:

Lord, as I look at all these lists [lists of people I needed to forgive and the things I needed to forgive them for] I see character issues, actions flowing out of heart issues. I see things that without Your intervention will not change. I am not looking at single instances, single offenses, I'm looking a patterns of behavior, at character issues. I'm looking at human beings with character flaws. 

How do I forgive character flaws and patterns of behavior? I can understand how to forgive a single instance, a single behavior, but how about character flaws? How do you forgive a person for being who they are?

I think I can't. I think that's not my call to make. I cannot look at someone and say, "I forgive you for being the way you are." Only God has that right. 

I can forgive others for specific offenses against me that flow out of who they are. I can pray for God's work in their life. Above all, I need to accept their essence and love them as they are, where they are. 

God has created each person with a unique, priceless essence, an imprint of Himself and what He desires us to be. That essence is His gift. I need to see past the wounds, past the flaws, past the broken places to the essence of the other person. I need to see the image of God in others, forgive when necessary, and love at all times. And, in the process encourage their essence to grow in strength and beauty.

Day 25: Five Minute Friday and Pivot Point: Together

Late Thursday night each week, women gather on Twitter and at Lisa Jo Baker's site to join together for Five Minute Friday, a time to write without worrying about editing, without preparation, to just write for 5 minutes on the prompt that Lisa Jo leaves on her site at 12:01 a.m. Friday morning. I waited a long time to join this, timid and unsure, then one day I found the courage to try and now I enjoy it week after week.

Nester challenged us back in September to write about one topic for the 31 Days of October and this too took some courage, but I am so glad I tried. Her 31 Days Challenge has been fun (and tiring too!)


So today, Five Minute Friday and Pivot Points meet again on the topic of together.

Ready . . . set . . . write:

On May 8, 2011 I stood by my father as he stepped from earth to heaven. He and my mom had been together for over 65 years. My sisters and I had been together caring for him for the last couple of weeks. Now he was together with his Savior, the One he had longed to see.

Since that time, it has been a difficult adjustment for my mom. Grief and the aging process have made life difficult for her since my father's death. This is another pivot point for me too, a change, a period of transformation as I learn together with my sisters and brother how to care for an aging parent. Sometimes we have a sweet time together. Other times there are frustrations and feelings of uncertainty and not knowing what to do. Some days things are good and fairly easy. Other days are not easy and are, in fact, difficult.

However, we are facing this together as a family. Seeking to care for my mom and to keep her comfortable and safe in her own home as long as we can. Why? Because we love her and we are thankful that through the days of our lives she has been our mom who loved us. Together we face this difficult journey . . . together with each other and together with the God who gives us strength and wisdom.

Stop.

Day 19: I Am Loved

On March 27, 2002 I wrote in an e-mail to a friend:

I have been thinking a lot about friendship and love, trying to understand how I define them - not the "correct" biblical or philosophical definitions, but my definitions. How have I defined, perceived, and acted out friendship and love? It's been difficult to answer.

I believe my "love languages" are time and words of encouragement. That is old news. What was new for me was the realization that for all the years of my life, I believed that if I didn't FEEL loved, then I wasn't loved. What made me FEEL loved were actions from my love languages and many people didn't love me that way. I began to ask myself what if I were to believe, really believe and not doubt that people love me, especially when they say they do? What if I base being loved not on whether I FEEL loved, what if I base it on faith and trust? I began to seriously ask myself how my life would be different if I could do this.

So much of my life has been spent trying to earn other people's love, trying to FEEL loved, wanting other people to FEEL loved. What if I start with the belief that the people around me love me if they say they do, or even if they don't say they do outright, but communicate it using some other love language? What if I focus on believing I AM LOVED? What changes?

A few weeks later I wrote in my journal:
For the past 6 weeks or so God has done this incredible work of healing in me.

Now I'm starting with the premise that I am loved. When something happens, I can look at it as an event and then resolve it and move on . . . let it go. For so long, the deep burning question of my soul has been does anyone really love me, can anyone? Events that happened either affirmed love or negated love and everything was tied together to prove or disprove I was loved. Everything was tangled together in an attempt to answer this soul-deep question.

Now, I am saying, "I am loved." It's no longer based on a feeling. It's no longer based on what people do that communicates love in my language. It's based on Truth and on trust.

I'm no longer saying this person made me feel loved, therefore I am loved. I'm no longer looking at specific people and asking in my heart, "Do you love me?" I'm no longer expecting a handful of people to cause me to feel loved.

I am saying . . . no more than that . . . I am BELIEVING that I am loved. I believe God loves me and I believe the people around me - my family and close friends, even others - love me.

I'm no longer asking for proof. I'm no longer expecting human beings to meet my needs. I am accepting, believing, and acting on the fact that I am loved. I am trusting God to meet my every need - emotional, spiritual, social, and physical - through Himself and through whomever He chooses.

It is so freeing!!!!!

Did you always know you were loved or did you have an aha moment too?

Five Minute Friday: She

She carried me in her womb. She waited while the church bells rang and other mothers gave birth. She waited for me to arrive. She cradled me in her arms and cared for my needs.

She taught me to talk, to walk, to sing, to cook, to sew, to love, to learn, to follow Christ above all else.

She became my best friend. She went on shopping trips, vacations, doctor's visits, trips to college, and to church with me.

She grew older . . . and older. Now she is facing the winter of her life and it is confusing and lonely at times for her. She calls me when she is afraid or lonely or confused. She tires easily so trips to town are shorter and she lets me do her shopping, take her to the doctor, arrange her pills in their green, purple, and yellow cases.

She gives me the privilege of loving her as she has loved me my whole life long.

My Christmas Memory Tree

My Christmas tree is twinkling in my living room and I love to look at it. A Christmas tree is a memory tree for me. I remember getting up early when I was a young child to plug in my parent's tree and lay on the floor watching the lights blink on and off and the the bubbles in the old bubble lights float to the top. But, what evokes the most memories are the special ornaments on it.

The fan made from a leftover wallpaper border that my parents loving hung in my room. That room and the wallpaper are gone, lost in a house fire, but that little fan reminds me of the room where I grew from a child to a woman.

A lovely rose, lace, and ribbon concoction from a college friend's wedding decorations. Every time I hang it on my tree, I remember this lovely lady.

A small cinnamon hand made by a tiny little girl and given to me for Christmas many years ago.

A tiny handcrafted shadow box, made for me by my mother, holding her favorite collectible - a teddy bear.

A small pewter ornament depicting the nativity - the most important reminder of what Christmas is all about.

A lovely heart, ribbon, lace, and pinecone piece handmade by one of my nieces, many years ago.







As I decorated my tree and now as I walk by it each day, I am reminded of so many loved ones who have given me ornaments over the years - family members, students, friends. I am also reminded of the true meaning of Christmas, of God born in human flesh in a humble manger over two centuries ago. My tree reminds me of love - both human and divine.