It’s early Christmas morning, and the house is quiet.  Everyone is still asleep.  I’ve taken the dogs for their early morning walk – my Bella and “grand-dog” Lulu.  I’m alone with a cup of coffee, my prayers and devotionals. In a little while my girls and my brother will get up, and we’ll have our Christmas morning together. The girls will be wearing their matching pajamas, which I surprised them with, giving us all a good laugh. Matching pajamas were a tradition every Christmas as they grew up, and it’s been awhile. I am so blessed to have this precious time with them together this year. 

I needed some spiritual refreshment and was looking forward to going to Mass. But Christmas Eve Mass was a disappointment as holiday Masses usually are.  A ridiculous number of people crowded the church, and we were forced into a small side room where you could neither see nor hear anything that was going on. Although it was annoying for us and all the regulars, I know God was probably glad to see everyone. Besides, maybe the extraordinary abundance was just family visiting family. 

Three children of different ages took turns distracting us in the tiny room.  A rambunctious four-year-old girl in the pew directly in front of us alternated between tormenting her older brother, stomping her feet, talking loudly and feigning anger.  Her tired mother with sad eyes had no control over her. She seemed drained and seemed to have given up trying. An older couple was with them, I’m thinking her parents.  Where is her husband? Is she divorced?  Is he working the night shift or serving overseas?  I’ll never know.  Intermittently, a two-year-old girl in front of them squirmed and cried and rambled on loudly as her grandmother and parents doted on her without reprimanding her at all.  She, in turn, was distracted by a newborn infant in the pew in front of her. “Yook, daddy, Yook,” she tells her father.  “See the baby? I want a baby! Maybe Santa will bring me a baby tonight.” I couldn’t contain my laughter.  I know God is probably getting a kick out of all of this.

My daughter Megan lays her head on my shoulder, and I lay my head on hers. We stay that way for a long time.  Uncontrollable tears flow.  Soon she’ll return to Florida where she lives. I miss her so much already that my heart is aching. I look over at my other daughter Katie who smiles at me. When did they become such mature young women?  Wasn’t it only yesterday that they were those little girls in church?

Time passes much too quickly. I miss the days when they were little –  when each Christmas morning was a magical time filled with so much excitement and wonder. Things have changed – life has altered. Time and distance have become a circumstance of life. But my family is with me today, and I am grateful. I am blessed with this precious present of all of us being together to celebrate the birth of a loving Savior who keeps us close in heart and soul.

Katie and Megan

To you and yours, Merry Christmas!

Thought for the Day:  Carpe Diem

Every morning I take my exuberant yellow lab Bella for a walk along the grassy causeway down to the bay.  It is usually very early, sometimes even before the sun has risen. Most of the world is still fast asleep, and the silence enfolds me. The tall sea grasses rustle in the gentle breeze.  A lonely seagull flying above lets out a mournful wail. A foghorn groans in the distance.  A young deer scampers in and out of the brush while a cat perches on a mooring, intently stalking an invisible prey. I take a deep breath and fill my lungs with the cleansing coolness of the ocean air.  I can taste the salt on my tongue.

As I make my way to the bay, I thank God for a good night’s rest, if I’ve had one.  Otherwise, I thank Him for my cozy, warm bed and that the night is over. I thank Him for the people in my life and the love He’s blessed me with.  I tell Him my troubles and rattle off a litany of my doubts and fears.  A little while later my soul is satisfied and calmness overshadows the worries on my mind.

If I’m lucky enough and it’s early enough, I get to see the sun peak over the darkness of the water with a bright orange hue that paints the clouds a purpled pink.  I watch intently as it majestically rises from the water to take its place high in the sky. The rays stretch down like tentacles through the clouds, and I close my eyes, feeling the warmth upon my face. 

Searching the horizon to the right, I spy a glimpse of the Barnegat Bay lighthouse.  There it is – its beam of light guiding ships in and out of the inlet. On some foggy days, I can’t see it at all.  But then a shaft of light rotates over the water, and it’s comforting to know it is there doing what it is created to do.

A buzz from a motorboat of an early morning fisherman breaks the silence.  I watch as he maneuvers his boat over the foaming ripples to where he will cast his line for the morning catch.  I take another deep breath and gaze over the bay beholding its astounding beauty as the sunrays shimmer across the deep blue of the water.  The seagulls circle above, more boats go by, the lighthouse stands stoically in the distance and the cool sea breeze ruffles my hair. God is all around me.

As I reluctantly turn to head for home, I drink in the majesty of it all one more time. Walking in the other direction, if I’m lucky enough, I can see the outline of the night moon fading into the morning brightness of the sky.  It’s smiling down at me.  I turn down the road along a lagoon to the house and see a robin up on the telephone line and grin.  I don’t really understand why she would be in this area in December.

Most mornings I want to stay in bed as all of us do. Today I awoke with a headache and didn’t want to extract myself from my warm cocoon to brave the early morning chill.  But Bella beckoned me for our walk, and it’s my duty to take her out to do her doody.  As usual, I’m glad I did because now that I have returned, I am refreshed and renewed and ready to take on what the day beholds.

Thought for the Day:  Keep hopeful.

My spirits were low the other afternoon as I walked my dog Bella. Glancing up into a tree almost barren of leaves, I noticed a flock of robins flittering about.  Robins aren’t usually a bird you see this time of year. You’re more likely to spot a turkey or a turtledove, so I was pleasantly surprised. Instantly my mood lightened, filling my heart with expectation because to me they are symbolic of hope and good things to come in new seasons in life.

This sighting reminded me of something I had written one early spring day not too long ago:

As I pulled into my driveway that gloomy March evening after a particularly bad day at work, it came to mind that I hadn’t seen my first robin of spring.  Sighting that first robin each year was a ritual when I was growing up. As a kid, the hunt for the elusive, red-breasted bird began every January, even though it would be months until a sighting.  My mother was usually the first to see one and point it out.  “Look in the yard,” she would say as she peered excitedly out the window, “it’s the first robin of spring. No more winter – spring has sprung!”

Then I remembered the day I went into the hospital to give birth to my daughter Megan on February 27. I was feeling nervous and anxious until I glanced down and saw my first little robin of spring, picking at the ground outside of the hospital door.  It seemed way too early to see one, but it filled me with hope and calmed my fear of giving birth.  It gave me the strength I needed to deliver my beautiful baby.

So on that cold, dank evening of unusual glumness, all I could think about was retreating to an early bedtime.  It was just as well with the “woe is me” attitude I was harboring.  Tomorrow’s another day, I thought.  “Thank you, Lord, for helping me through a rough one,” was the only prayer I could whisper before I feel asleep.

The next morning I lifted the blinds in my bedroom and glanced out onto the front lawn in disbelief. I saw not one but a whole flock of robins!  Never had I seen so many together at one time.  Spring had sprung, and hope was in the air once more.

When those bad days come along as they always do, keep your bird-watching binoculars focused because that red, red robin will come bob, bob, bobbing along before you know it.

Measurement of a truly rich life is not attained from inanimate objects, expensive trinkets, career success or position in the community. Riches are made out of flesh and blood, hearts that pulse and souls that faithfully surround you with love.

So on this Thanksgiving I would like to take the liberty to express my thankfulness for each of my blessings and to God for providing every one of them. I am truly blessed.

For faith in my generous, loving God Who sees me through every challenge and joy, providing all that I need and always in His perfect timing.

For my daughters Katie and Megan, who have taught me how to be a mother, who love and encourage me and make my heart gush with pride at the women they’ve become.  They are the reason why my life has meaning.

For my wonderful brother Ken, a kind and generous soul, who is always there for me, going over and above the threshold of true giving and caring.

For my sons-in-law to be Blake and Matt – there are no finer gentlemen and husbands for my daughters then them.

For my dear Aunt Joan who is my hero, showering me with love and kindness, and demonstrating how to live your life your way.

For so many friends who push me through to the next day with their love and encouragement.

For my band of pets who take turns providing laughter and entertainment in this three-ring circus called my life.

For food to eat, clothes to wear and a safe, warm place to live.

For the opportunity to serve others who need a hand up.

For the gift of spending time with my family on this special day.

For holding close in my heart those who live too far to be with me.

For those who have passed…Mom and Dad who raised me to be a woman with a soft heart and a strong will.  Aunt Vi, my generous godmother, who always kept me laughing, toasting every Thanksgiving Day with a pretty strong egg nog and gravy so thick it ate like a meal. Mr. Murphy, my mentor and lifelong friend – always and forever in my heart. For Bob who treated me like a daughter from the very start. My grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends who will never be forgotten.

 Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

I was on my way to help with Thanksgiving food box deliveries for people who had no means of transportation. 

When I arrived at the auditorium, the room was bustling with good-hearted people busily packing boxes.  Mountain of all types of food was stacked high on tables as far as the eye could see. I immediately jumped in and helped, then loaded my car with the deliveries.

My first stop was at an apartment complex inhabited by the elderly.  The lobby was filled with white-haired women very curious as to who I was and what I was doing there.  I made my way to the fourth floor where a tiny, fragile-looking woman in a worn quilted robe opened the door.  She smiled weakly as I entered her small, cramped apartment.  I noticed portable oxygen tanks on the floor and a walker propped in the corner. Her bent frame shuffled along showing me the way to a table on which to place the groceries. Her voice was no more than a whisper as she thanked me and mentioned her son might come over later for a visit.  I hoped that he would.

My second stop was at a worn, low income apartment complex. I was making two deliveries there, and as I entered the lobby, two women with apparent health issues met me in the lobby with portable shopping carts ready and waiting.  I had only one of the deliveries in my hands, and the woman receiving them protested that I should have food for her friend as well.  I looked at the sad face of the other woman and assured her that hers was in my car, and she would be next.  When I came back into the lobby, the woman smiled broadly and eagerly took the food from my hands.  She thanked me profusely and wished me a good day as she happily wheeled her groceries onto the elevator.

Stop three was in another apartment complex along a desolate country road.  I drove to the back where the woman had directed me, saying she would be working but her sixteen year old son would be home to accept the delivery.  The overweight boy came out in bare feet – his hair cut into a Mohawk, tattoos up his arms and silver rings in his ears.  I couldn’t help but question what the future would hold for him.  He took the box looking at the contents curiously.  I wondered what would be left by the time his mom came home from work, but I wished him well and hoped he would enjoy. 

My last stop was to a run-down trailer park.  In a word, it was shabby, and I don’t mean to be unkind.  A petite, dark-haired woman in her forties answered the door and eagerly took the box.  She questioned me about whether my organization could provide transportation for her since epilepsy prevented her from driving.  I told her I would have the counselor contact her to answer her questions.  I got into my car and drove off wishing I could have done more for h

I reflected on the gifts God has given me as I drove home. Although my finances were not great, I was driving my own car.  I had my health, a warm home to go to, food in the pantry and my family to love. I passed a church along the way with a marquee that said, “Whatsoever you do for the least of my brothers, that you do unto me.”   I may have delivered food today to people in need, but they, in fact, did something greater for me by humbling my heart.

Thought for the day:  Be who you must – that’s a part of the plan.

Dan Fogelberg

Many years ago, when I was trying to figure out the rest of my life, I did a lot of soul searching and a lot of traveling.  During that time a new artist named Dan Fogelberg had just released his first big hit – “Part of the Plan.”  This song spoke to my soul and became my road song as I drove cross country to California trying to find myself.  Everyone seemed to be traveling to California in those days, as if it were some kind of promised land. I don’t think I ever really did – find myself, that is.  I’m still searching and still finding hope in this song. 

I have these moments

All steady and strong

I’m feeling so holy and humble

The next thing I know

I’m all worried and weak

And I feel myself

Starting to crumble

The meaning gets lost

And the teachings get tossed

And I don’t know what I’m going to do next

I wait for the sun, but it never quite comes

Some kind of message comes through to me

Some kind of message comes through

And it says:

Love when you can

Cry when you have to

Be who you must

That’s a part of the plan

Await your arrival

With simple survival

And one day we’ll all understand

When I start to worry (and I’ve been doing a lot of that lately), I make a conscious effort to choose faith over fear.  It’s only then that I become steady and strong.

P.S.  Thanks, Dan

Thought for the day:  The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple.

I was driving my friend home after visiting with her dad in the hospital.  He was battling squaemous cell cancer and lymphoma.  The once strong, virile, opinionated man now lay fragile and weak, barely able to lift a fork to feed himself.  His face was distorted from surgery.  Tubes hung from his arms.  It was sad to see him struggling to be the man he used to be, trying to chat and joke, only to lose his grip to the sleepiness that randomly overtook him.  It was hard to watch.

My friend was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster.  She asked me as she blankly stared out into the darkness, “Remember how you told me that even though your parents seemed to always be fighting and never seemed to get along, that when your dad got sick the confrontations stopped – that your mom doted on him as if she couldn’t survive without him?”  I nodded because I remembered it well.  She continued to relate that her parents were the same way, and now she was having trouble understanding.  She asked me why I thought it was that even though she and her father had a rocky father/daughter relationship, much like my father and me, that you put it all aside when they get sick.  They were not easy questions to answer.

I escaped into deep thought before I answered. My parents didn’t seem to have a good marriage.  They seemed to be nothing more than roommates – people who lived together and tolerated each other.  They fought about stupid, irrelevant things.  My dad had a quick temper and my mother knew which buttons to push to set it off.  She almost seemed to relish that power she had over him.  And yet, when he got sick, she was always by his side, getting him whatever he needed or just sitting quietly watching him.  When he died, I thought that maybe it would be freeing for her.  That now she could relax and enjoy her life without all the bickering and tension that always seemed to be in the house.  But instead, she plummeted onto a downward spiral of depression, eating little and mixing up or not taking her medicines correctly, even though she was well able to do so.  We didn’t realize this until it was too late.  My mom was admitted to the hospital for dehydration four months after my dad died, even though we thought we were keeping a watchful eye on her.  I then prepared a place in my house for her to live so I could help her, of which she was in agreement.  On the morning I was to pick her up to bring her home, the hospital called to say she had taken a turn for the worse.  By the time we arrived, she had died.

You don’t realize how fragile life is until the shadow of death is looming.  When you find yourself in that position, all the trivial stuff disappears.  All you remember and hold on to is the very basic thing, and that is that your parents loved you. They loved you the only way they knew how to.  And right or wrong, good or bad, they did the best they could, even if you thought they could have done better.  The confrontations they had with you were probably caused by the fact that they did love you and wanted more from you and a better life for you.  They didn’t want you to go off and put yourself in danger or be in relationships that they thought would hurt you.  And instead of communicating that to you, they instead expressed their anger and tried to bully you out of it.  That, I think, is how that generation was.  There was no talking it out like there is today.  Raising children was very different then, and a child’s opinion didn’t matter. There was a pompous arrogance about a parent’s position of authority – they knew best, and you had better accept it or else!  That’s the only way they knew how to be. 

You don’t come to this level of acceptance of the way your parents were until you are well into your adulthood.  It is only then that you begin to understand why they said and did the things they did.  And the why is rarely pure and never simple but boils down to the fact that they loved you.  And in the end, that’s all that matters.

Megan, Me and Katie

I had a text from my daughter Megan this morning.  She’s engaged and living in Florida with her fiancé Matt who is a wonderful man.  She has a great job and a good life.  My older daughter Katie is also engaged to a good guy Blake.  They are happy as well, and I’m so proud that both of my girls are not afraid to take a chance on love.

Meg said:  Good Morning…had a dream you and I were sight seeing on the Golden Gate Bridge, and I was terrified of heights.

I answered:  I’m terrified of heights, but the bridge is worth it. (I saw the bridge when I was in San Francisco years ago, and it is a magnificent sight to behold.) 

What does this mean?!  I ask her.

She answers:  U weren’t scared of heights in the dream!  I dunno?!

I say:  Maybe I’m willing to take a chance now without being afraid.  How about U?

She says:  U showing me not to be afraid of anything.

I answer:  Crying…

She says:  Why am I doing that lately?!  Love U to be happy.

I say:  I am.  

I’ve been through hell and back in the last couple of years both emotionally and financially.  I’ve lost mostly everything I built in the past 30 years, but I’m still standing.  I am still strong and most of all, still hopeful.  If showing my daughters not to be afraid of anything is what’s come out of all that I’ve been through, then it was worth it.