Category: Gratitude

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The Gift on the Other Side

When my youngest was a baby, in her first year of life, she was dealing with severe eczema. No big deal, you might say, if you know nothing about eczema–– before this trial, I knew nothing of eczema. I heard eczema and I thought dry skin on your knees and elbows, maybe a little itchy, whatever.

I learned that there are different types of eczema, that had varying symptoms of varying degrees caused by many different things. G had weeping eczema with an insatiable itch. This meant that she could scratch herself till she bled and still, scratching the itch would be the only thing that would satisfy it, even if she was cutting through her skin and bleeding, which she did.

I rarely slept as all of my waking hours were spent caring for her, being attentive, carrying her almost non-stop and watching her like a hawk when I couldn’t so she wouldn’t start scratching, because I knew she couldn’t stop once she started. I could barely sleep even when she slept because I was listening for any little stirring that would indicate she had woken up and would start scratching. I swaddled her, tightly, for longer than you would swaddle most babies, in attempts to keep her from scratching in the night. I kept her little nails trimmed at all times. I would put little mittens on her but she quickly learned how to remove them. More than once I would awake to find her sheets bloodied and her cheeks scratched raw. Her siblings all had to be more patient and settle for less attention. Our marriage required a lot of patience. Diets and activities were restricted. Everything revolved around trying to keep her safe and give her some sort of relief. Needless to say it was a trying time for all of us.

The 3:00 am feedings were spent researching everything I possibly could. One night I came across mitten sleeves! I couldn’t seem to find any stores that carried them in my city, but thankfully that week my dad happened to be in Chicago. I found a store there that carried them and asked him to bring me some. They were exactly what they sound like, a sleeve with mittens, made of silky satin, on either end. Because it was a sleeve, she couldn’t get them off; they did have openings that could be folded back during the day for play time or eating when I could be right there with her. Hallelujah!! I could finally take a shower that lasted longer than two seconds or put her down to cook dinner without worrying if her face would survive. My dad had brought me two pairs of mitten sleeves; it was what he could find, and they got non-stop use. It didn’t take long before they began to form holes from the constant use––she would still rub her face, which would give her some relief but also save her cheeks; they had to be washed and kept clean all the time. Thankfully, one of our wonderful neighbors made her two more pairs and a friend of mine was able to repair the originals. I can still remember how it felt, the relief of getting back some semblance of “normal” life when those sleeves came on the scene. I had already forgotten what it felt like to not live on edge, concerned all the time.

It hadn’t always been like that. Her first three months were amazing. She was the happiest little smiliest baby I’d ever seen. Always laughing and giggling. A very good sleeper, at about 8 weeks or so I could get a good 5-6 hours of sleep each night, but that didn’t last long. Right around her third month she began to develop eczema––I’ll talk about the whys and hows of this in another post; including why I believe those first 2-3 months were so great. From there, it was about 9 months before we would finally be able to start unravelling our tightly wound nerves from being on constant edge and alert.

I spent so much time with her, but I feel like I missed a lot of it––measuring progress on her recovery rather than growth milestones. (Thank goodness for the first-year baby calendar I kept for her, as well as a little journal; at least we can go back and read about the life we were living as opposed to the disease we were experiencing.)

One of the things that added to the difficulty of the whole situation, was that it was so visible, you could see it all over her face. All kinds of well-meaning people would approach me telling me the things they tried when their kid or grandkid had eczema. Others, would stare, some of them probably judging me with whatever reason they needed to tell themselves for why a parent would dare to leave the house with their kid suffering like that, wondering what I was doing wrong . Others I could see the pity in their eyes, and I just felt even more pitiful, because I felt there was nothing I could do and that I had already tried a million and one things.

I remember one time, while making supper, after having obtained the mitten sleeves, looking over at G in the Exersaucer where I had placed her, and my once jolly, smiley baby looked forlorn and depressed. I had never before seen a “depressed” baby. She just looked so sad and hopeless. It broke my heart. It was such a contrast from the happy, smiley baby she was in her first three months. Now, a few years later, G has beautiful skin. And, as the baby of the family is always goofing off and doing stuff to get a laugh out of us. She is a very happy, healthy little girl. (I will talk about the natural healing side of that journey in another post.) But I wondered at that moment, if I would ever see her smile again.

That’s how it is, isn’t it? When you’re in the eye of the storm, it can be very hard to see anything beyond. While I would never, ever wish to repeat this experience, nor wish it on anybody, I am grateful for the lessons I learned. Coming through this trial, and many others, has taught me to have faith in the gift on the other side.

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Friends

What does it mean to be friends with someone? Do you have to like the same things? Do stuff together? Agree on everything?

It’s hard to imagine a time more trying on friendships than 2020. Even close family members fell apart and went separate way. Friends we maybe thought we’d have for life suddenly seem so different and we find ourselves really coming to terms with which friendships are worth the effort of maintaining.

What do you do when things are otherwise amicable but one half of the friendship decides that the other half’s views are too different? The old, it’s not you, it’s me cliche formerly often used in romantic breakup comes to mind. Which, according to how things go these days, even that is a thing of the past; unfortunately “ghosting” is more common these days, and friendships can suffer breakups just like romantic relationships. But we don’t seem to talk about this much as a society, do we?

What does it look like when friends break up? When a romance breaks up one of the big questions is who keeps the friends? When friends breakup nobody does. And how do you know when it’s time to say goodbye? Often, it happens naturally and the friends drift apart. Sometimes you have a falling out, which can be very painful. Occasionally, one half decides to break it off rather abruptly with no explanation. But, how often do we ever sit down and have a conversation about where things our going with our friendships?

What would it look like if we were more intentional about our relationships? Not just the familial ones or the romantic ones, but the ones we call friendships, too? Have you ever had a conversation with a friend when it just became obvious to one or both of you that the friendship probably couldn’t last much longer without major efforts on one or both part? And, if it comes to this point, how do you decide if it’s worth it? If it’s at this point, is it worth it?

In our throw-away society, there’s a lot of potential for missed opportunities to really grow, and even shine, on the other side of difficult conversations. Too often we end the relationship because we convince ourselves that comfort is more valuable than the growth that is experienced on the other side of discomfort.

It may be that the friendship has run its course and we have received all that we were able to from that relationship. Even when this is the case, it’s still something to grieve. Something to appreciate. It is ok to mourn the loss of a friendship, even if it was dying of natural causes, and we need to give ourselves permission to do so. Grief, when taken with a healthy dose of gratitude, serves us in letting go and having appreciation for what was, and is no longer.

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Calling Down Rain

When my oldest daughter, M, was five, my mom, sister and I decided to take a little road trip down to Missouri to visit my uncle, Stan. It’s about a 2-day drive South from where we live and we decided to stop for couple nights halfway there, in Minneapolis, so we could do a day at Valley Fair as well.

At the time, Stan lived in community living, what some might call a commune. I only visited that farm two or three times, but I always really enjoyed it there. Everything smelled so fresh and earthy. Seventy percent of what they consumed, they grew right there on the farm. Their main crops were mustard and sorghum as well as honey; Stan is a beekeeper. I remember sweetening my coffee with fresh maple syrup right from their trees. They made their own tempeh and sarsaparilla (root beer). Everything was organically grown, all the veggies tasted so good! There was no air conditioner, no tv, just real down to earth living.

It was a sweltering hot summer and shortly after arriving, Stan told us that they were having a drought, that they hadn’t had rain in almost two weeks; we could see that the ground was parched. It was then that I told M about her spirit name for the first time.

Her birth father is indigenous and when she was about three months old I went into a ceremony in a sweat lodge with her paternal grandmother where we were each given names, (I’ll save mine for another post). However, I lost all contact with him and his side of the family when she was not quite two years old so I wasn’t really able to teach her much of those cultural ways.

Nevertheless, when Stan mentioned the drought and we could see how dusty and dry the land was, I asked about the big drum in the corner of the porch and if she could use it. I let her know that she could use that drum and call down some rain because she is Lightning Thunder Girl.

The beauty of five year olds is that they still have imagination and they know how to dream and to believe. I’d had a flash of intuition and she went with it. And wouldn’t you know, within five minutes of her banging on that drum and calling, “I’m Lightning Thunder Girl, I want rain!” we got a nice little shower. Just little sprinkling to make everything green and shiny again. And to let M know the power that lies within her.

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Summers at Grandma’s Farm

My summers at Grandma’s farm are some of my most cherished memories. I loved spending all day outside running around the yard with my sister and/or cousins.

I know memory is malleable so my memory of Grandma’s farm is always sunny. I suppose by law of averages it had to have been raining at least once or twice while I was there but I have no memory of that, just pure sunshine and happy days.

At Grandma’s farm there was a sandbox, which I don’t think we ever played in, but we used to walked around balancing on the narrow edges. There was a large, squeaky swing set that had one of those two-seater see-saw swings. My cousin called it the pee-pee squeezer because when you got going high enough the angle of the swinging poles met the metal of the seesaw poles and, if you were sitting close enough, well you can imagine!

My grandma had a very large garden that she would weed early in the mornings, she was always barefoot in the garden––I remember my her telling me about how she loved to run around barefoot, even though her father had spent good money to make sure all the kids had shoes, (she grew up in the Great Depression); I still remember the look on her face as she told me, I could tell she was reliving the joy of those barefoot moments while also appreciating the sacrifices her father had made to provide shoes. I mean, wow, it was a beautiful moment and I treasure that she shared it with me. She rarely spoke of her childhood or her past. She was very good at living in the moment.

There was also a long row of crab apple trees all along one side of the garden and my sister and/or cousins and I could spend all day outside, climbing those trees and eating as many apples as we wanted. We would pull kholrabi out of the garden and take it inside for Grandma to peel it for us so we could walk around eating it like a lollipop, holding it by the stem and chomping the crunchy turnip.

The big door to the garage was always open and inside the garage there was a freezer/fridge. The fridge was always full of Grandma’s cannings and yummy pickles, as well as spooky things like head cheese––I was going to say this is spooky for kids, but let’s face it, even for adults it’s spooky; some people love it though, weirdos! BUT… The best part of that freezer/fridge was the other side, the freezer side that was always fully stocked with Freezies, Revel-O’s and Drumstiks! There was no limit to how many we could eat. We could go back to that freezer again and again if we wanted to. Even though you’d think a kid would take advantage of that, I would say we still ate way more fresh carrots, kholrabis and apples, etc than we ever did freezies. I believe the wisdom of being connected to nature like that and eating fresh from the ground kept those nasty sugar cravings in check. Unfortunately, due to commercial farming and other unsustainable practices, I don’t think a lot of our food has the same nutritional content nowadays as it once did.

There were a couple of tricycles at Grandma’s farm, a big one and a small one, also a few of pairs of old roller-skates and skipping ropes; sometimes we would tie the skipping ropes to the pole supports in the basement and then whip around them on rollerskates. There was no shortage of things to do at Grandma’s farm, it was never boring. Actually, the phrase “I’m bored” probably only ever came out of my mouth once in my life, maybe twice; my mom always said “only boring people get bored.” It’s true.

When I imagine Heaven, it looks a lot like summers at Grandma’s farm.

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Little Things

Anyone who has lived through the year 2020, and now moving in to 2021, knows what I’m talking about when I say sometimes you need a little encouragement. And this morning, God gave me a little sign that filled me with gratitude and hope.

Yesterday afternoon, when I went to pick up my youngest from school, I suddenly found myself thinking about some new friends we had made just over a year ago at the local YMCA. It gets very cold during winter here we live so when our kids would have their Saturday morning swimming lessons, my husband and I would relax in the hot tub. We met some really great people there whose kids were in the same swimming classes as our kids and one weekend we had them all over for tacos––my husband and I love to host people, enjoy the company and share the joy of authentic Mexican food. We had a great time, but it wasn’t very long after that they decided to basically shut down the whole world for the “pandemic”; we were not able to continue cultivating that new friendship.

Yesterday afternoon, I found myself wondering if I would ever see those people again. Would we ever see a world again in which we are “allowed” to go to the gym again, “allowed” make new friends again?

I had a moment, I refuse to break, mind you, but I had a moment of nostalgia; of missing “the way things were”. One of those moments when your heart sinks just a little and you long for different times and you know that if you stay on that path and continue it could lead to darker places. It was fleeting.

Then, this morning, when I sat down to do my morning devotions and prayer, I saw quickly the name of the person I had been thinking about yesterday pop up on my Telegram. It was amazing! It was like a wink from God, a little nudge that said “I’m here and I’m listening. I care even about the little things and I care enough to show you.” What are the chances that I don’t think about that person for months and then their name pops up within less than 24 hours?!

I took a moment to say Hi and send blessings to my friend. And I took a moment to praise God and thank Him for taking care to show me His love even in the little things.

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Missing: You Don’t Know What You’ve Got ’til it’s Gone

I miss singing. I had no idea this would ever be something I would miss. But, now that it’s practically illegal (who actually comes up with this shit?!?!), I miss it so much.

It’s not even the signing I miss as much as the unity/unison I could experience through it. I’m not a singer by any stretch, not really even in the shower, but I used to sing every week at church with about a thousand other people, maybe more. There is something about signing in praise and worship, it’s called heart coherence, that feels amazing.

I don’t think I could specifically say “I think I’m missing the feeling of coherence,” if I wasn’t intentionally conscious of my mental, emotional and spiritual state. I don’t think it’s one of those immediately obvious things you know you are missing, like food on the other hand––you know when you are missing food because your stomach likes to remind you with a very noticeable grumble. No, this is more like a deep yearning of the soul kind of missing; aching to create unity and harmony with other people. I know I can do that each time I meditate, and I still do that, but I guess I’m just missing the whole experience of it: the crowds, the music, the singing, feeling God right there in the midst of us.

I’m sure, because of my somewhat rebellious nature, that part of this also has to do with the simple fact that we’ve been “told” not to sing, so naturally that’s what I want to do. “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.” “What? What curtain? What man? Where? I wanna see!” It’s like, “No singing!” “Do, Re, Me, Fa, So…. what were you saying?”

So, I have decided that, in addition to the personal growth things I am focusing on during meditation, I am going to set aside special time, even if it’s just a few minutes while I’m drifting off to sleep, to visualize and really feel and experience what it would be like to be singing at church again. And I am going to do this everyday until we’re physically “allowed” to again.

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The Best Thing

The best thing just happened to me. Maybe not the best thing EVER, but definitely amazing for the times we are living in.

There is a smaller-than-average Walmart near my house. Now I know many people are saying “stop giving Walmart your money” and other such stuff. But the truth is, during this whole “pandemic” I have not had any issues at this little Walmart; most people are just there to get what they need and get out. People don’t mess with you if your mask or scarf isn’t suffocating you to their liking, or scold you for walking the “wrong way” in the aisles, mostly people living their lives, just like me.

Today, I went to pick up a few things for New Years Eve, and a few things to carry us into the first week of January so I wouldn’t have to make a big shopping trip right away. Of course, I ended up putting a lot more than I planned into my basket and it was a bit of a balancing act getting over to the checkout. I had a full basket on one arm and a handful of chips in the other when one of my boxes of crackers fell to the floor in a busy intersection of the store (thankfully not many people around). And as I’m thinking to myself “How am I going to make this work?” an older gentleman who saw it happen, walks over, picks it and places it back into my basket. There was a bit of gracious chit chat along with smiles and thank yous muffled by my “mandatory” scarf, but it was an otherwise normal, friendly pre-scamdemic interaction.

Then, at the checkout, because I had loaded so much stuff into my basket, I had to tell the friendly cashier that I may have bitten off more than I can chew because I only had so much cash with me. He was super patient and friendly, chatting with me the whole time, and I did end up having to leave some stuff behind. As I was sorting through what was more essential and what I could leave behind, looking for the last item that would bring my total under the amount of cash I had, he says, “Don’t worry, if you have $75 I’ll cover the rest.” The rest was $1.82, not a huge amount, but he did that for me and it was amazing. Understand, it’s not because I don’t have the money, I had just left my wallet at home. It was amazing because kindness seems to be a rarity these days, and I said as much to him. His small act of kindness, along with the other gentleman who helped me with my full basket, made that shopping trip an amazing experience.

I used to really enjoy doing the grocery shopping, now it’s a source of stress to go out and see all the people subjected to this forced masking and ridiculous rules about what is essential and what is not (according to who???), people shaming each other for tiny infractions––things that, under normal circumstances, would not be considered infractions at all, like breathing air with your face uncovered, for example. But today, I got to experience the kindness of ordinary strangers and it made my day.

I was so tickled by the whole experience that I smiled all the way home. One lady who had to stop for me at the stop sign signalled me to cross, a bit exasperatedly at first, but because I could not get the grin off my face as I walked by she cracked a big smile too. And others smiled and nodded from their vehicles, neighbours passing on the sidewalk returned my big smile and said hello. It was one of those moments when the clouds part and the sun shines and literally everything feels right in the world. Just amazing! Thank you so much kind people! Thank you God. Thank you Universe. Thank you, thank you, thank you for that amazing experience!

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Signs

Do you believe in signs and communication from the other side, the afterlife, the spiritual realm? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a ghost or had one speak to me, but I do think there are ways that sometimes our loved ones reach out and communicate with us. Probably it’s not even reserved for those who have passed away, but also for those people that we have a soul connection to.

This Christmas, I was really being reminded of my grandma and the warm, loving presence she always was (is) in my life. Though I may not physically have her in my life anymore, it seems as though the universe conspired to send me little hints of her, this year especially. First, there was the box of Cadbury chocolate covered cookie fingers someone had gifted to my husband; then, there was the homemade Christmas candy that my grandma always used to make. I thought about trying to get the recipe for it this year, and my aunt gifted me some, out of the blue; I hadn’t even mentioned to her that I’d been thinking of the recipe. And then, my dad gave me a beautiful red poinsettia for Christmas––my grandma always had to have a bright red poinsettia for Christmas, always, sometimes more than one.

A couple of years ago, I made a point of starting some of the traditions that made Christmas special for me with our kids. I commissioned some stockings that were similar to the ones that she always gave to us kids filled them with licorice allsorts, candy canes, mandarin oranges and Hershey’s kisses. This year I got everything but the kisses––as we all know, it’s been a weird year and I’ve been to the stores as little as possible, so I may have missed a few things.

Anyway, I really felt like she was saying Hi to me this year. My grandma never imposed, she just always had a way of being there, a constant comfort. Her place was where I went anytime I needed to decompress, let my hair down or just be in good company. I think of her often and, with all those signs, I felt like she really wanted me to know that she was thinking of me too; a constant comfort, just as always.

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Grandma

I was close to my grandma. Growing up, my sister and cousins and I spent many long summer days on her farm. When we moved to the city and my parents were in the process of splitting up, she came in to the city and brought us out to the farm every weekend for months. Later, when I had my driver’s license and lived on my own, and she lived in town, I’d often pack up for the weekend and go out to visit Grandma. We played lots of canasta, other card games too, but mostly canasta; she was always ready to play the rubber, (that’s what we called the tie-breaker game), and so was I.

My grandma was a woman of few words, and she didn’t mince the ones she spoke either. She often had these great, quippy responses that we called “zingers.” Example:

  • Grandma’s friend: Hello Alma, how are you?
  • Grandma: I’m all right.
  • Friend: You look good.
  • Grandma: Well, good-looking people always do all right!

Grandma had a way of expressing herself without coming across judgmental; she wasn’t judgmental––unless it was all going on in her head, but I couldn’t tell. She knew a lot but never ever was a know-it-all. I think she tucked a lot away in her heart, kept her deepest thoughts just between herself and God. She was just a brilliant woman.

I don’t think I ever saw her cry; she was always jolly. But, having lost two children, both at young ages, I know she knew heartache too. Maybe she was what people would call stoic, I think she anchored herself and pulled strength from her Lord and saviour, Jesus Christ. As long as I knew her, she woke up every morning, had half a banana and some bran flakes and read her Bible. Maybe the breakfast changed, but I don’t think the Bible reading ever faltered. We sang Rock of Ages at her funeral; she had told one of us cousins that it was her favourite hymn.

My grandpa passed away, about 20 years before her, he had been ill for some time––Parkinson’s, so I know she was ready to say goodbye, maybe that’s why she didn’t cry. Maybe she did cry, later on when no one but God could see her. I don’t think she was “hiding it” so much as that was just the way she was. She laid her hand on top of his at the viewing, and I just felt like she was saying “I’ll see you when I get there.” (His headstone reads, “I will meet you in the morning.”)

It’s going on six years since she passed away. It was early in the morning on Friday, February 13, 2015. I have always liked Friday the 13th. I know some people are superstitious, but it has never felt like bad luck to me. I was fortunate to have seen her and said goodbye the afternoon before, along with two of my girls, and two of my aunts. (I say fortunate because now in 2020, lots of older people are dying alone since no one will let their family members in to see them because of this “pandemic”–– the injustice of it all is sickening.) She passed away peacefully in her sleep and we got to say “I love you” to each other before she left.

Her health had declined significantly in her last 5 years, and I think it had finally come to a point where death was a welcome relief for her. She had said to me years before that, maybe 15 years earlier or so, that she was ready whenever the Good Lord wanted to take her. Not that she wanted to die, just that she was totally at peace with it.

I have nothing but good memories of her. She taught me my first card game at just 5 or 6 years old––it was Skip-Bo, “Come here,” she said, “I’m gonna teach you a game.”

I miss her. Especially at Christmas time and other holidays. Grandma’s house was always the gathering place. Easter, Mother’s Day, Thanksgiving, her birthday, and Christmas. And anytime in between–-she always said, “sure, come on over,” anytime I called her up to see if I could come out to spend a night or two. I remember her laugh. I remember she always had this wonderfully mischievous look on her face and a smile she just couldn’t contain whenever she was trying to get away with something in a card game or a silly joke that she may have been trying to keep to herself. I remember many sunny days climbing trees at the farm, eating as many crab apples as we desired, picking kohlrabi fresh from the garden; family gatherings, and the legendary “Liverball” (maybe that’s another story for another time).

I am SO LUCKY to have had her in my life. A person like her is a game changer, for sure.

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Grief

I’m not sure exactly when I realized that grief was for more than just mourning the loss of people who are no longer in our lives. It was probably after I’d had what we, as BodyTalkers, call a Big Four Shift, (more about that in future posts). It was such a big shift in my thinking and perspective, and I had to process a really heavy sadness; I was grieving.

It was then I realized that we can grieve identities, old ways of thinking, and missed opportunities, real or perceived, (also known as regret). We grieve the loss of familiar patterns. You could even say that our physical bodies grieve the loss of the familiar chemical patterns they’ve grown used to, produced by the emotions we are used to experiencing on a regular basis*.

In its natural healthy state, grief serves a great purpose for us. It helps us to let go of attachments to what is no longer serving us. The problem is, though, that grief can be very uncomfortable and we seem to be caught up in the idea of trying to always feel happy and positive. Instead, we can learn to feel the things that are uncomfortable and know that not only is it normal, but it is actually essential to our growth. It is essential to let go of what no longer serves us.

Pureed carrots are great for babies, but can you imagine eating that forever?! It’s nice to have your parents drive you around, but it’s also nice to have the freedom to drive yourself around, too, even if the initial process of learning how to drive feels foreign and requires all your attention. These types of growth and changes are typically the kind we are motivated and excited to do.

But what about the growth and change that life expects of us? The kind that allows us to step into the destiny we came here to live? The types of growth and challenges that life nudges us into, situations that make us uncomfortable, that are even painful, sometimes gut-wrenching heart-break. The saying goes, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” Some of us die a slow death, though, never being able to fully let go. A healthy processing of grief makes us stronger when we feel all the feels and then let go. I love how William Lee Rand says it: “One could even say that the purpose of life is to grow and develop.”

And, this is not something we do once. We are continually asked to let go. Life continues to challenge us. I have learned to ask, what am I needing to let go of here? What can I grow into here? There are times when I’ve been at the lowest of lows. There are still times, when I dip low. And when I realize I’m there, I also realize how alive I am, and that, even though I’m in the depths, it feels so amazing to know that I feel this way simply because I can feel, because I’m here having this experience. And then I remember that I’m learning. I’m letting go and I’m growing.

*for more about this, see the book Becoming Supernatural by Dr. Joe Dispenza