Mother, May I? August 19, 2008

Life is rolling along and I suddenly realize that my days are numbered. I sit and chat numbly with my mother and soberly realize she too was 36 once. She had, at one time, been middle-aged and exhausted, taking care of her babies and wondering (hoping?) what peace tomorrow might bring? When peace never showed up, she began resenting me, resenting us, resenting her husband (most), resenting his family, her family, resenting everyone… everything. She hid it under mounds upon mounds of incomprehensible clutter, literal or otherwise. She fooled friends and neighbors with her illusory facade, a calloused veneer conveying only fantasized order along with an insincere (so as to go undetected) appreciation of her leftover blessings.

Apparently, that’s when disease showed up. Dis-ease: the absence of ease. Being ill at ease. A plague of the mind, body or soul… or in this case, all of the above.

I wish my mother would pray. If she did or does, I wish Mary would show her kind, merciful face to my mother and assure her that everything is, was, and will be okay. That despite all the confusion, despair and grief, her pain hasn’t been all for naught. I wish Mary would show herself and tell my mother it is time to stop bearing the burden of decades upon decades of pain. It’s time for her to live as she was destined to live. To release the past and embrace her current place in the natural order of things. To celebrate the victory that has been her life, and the life that we all have through the death of her son, Jesus Christ.

God… Mother Mary… please comfort your daughter, my mother. Please go to her and grant her peace and understanding. Grant we, her children, the patience and wisdom to support her without judgment, without bitterness, without impatience. May we realize her needs and deliver them to her with compassion and kindness. Bless us with a quiet knowing that she continues to do the very best with what she has.

Protect me, dear God, from any illness of ease. May my children never see in me any deep chasms of unnavigable distances, impenetrable fortresses of resistance, fear and pain. May I always seek ways to navigate through the valleys, my eyes set on purposes far larger than whatever my willful mind might fashion for it’s own limited sake.

As I age, may my mind be ever present and focused on the ebb and flow that are my family’s basic needs. May I encourage them to seek out peace and solace for the benefit of their own brilliant minds. May they see in me, the means of why and how to retreat into silence and reflection for the protection of their treasured souls. May I help them learn to make wise choices so they might preserve the health of their able bodies. May they come to depend upon a mother who is benevolent, patient and strong in mind, body and spirit, but not so much as to sacrifice her gentleness and humility.

May I know gentleness. May I know humility. May I crave it always for my very thirsty soul.

Good Morning August 15, 2008

“Do or do not. There is no try.” – Yoda

My first triathlon is 2 weeks from tomorrow. I’m ridiculously uprepared, but determined to at least “tri” and finish. (Ha. Pun.)

In an effort to embrace this impending reality, I decided to ride my fancy new road bike to work this morning. As I was getting ready to leave, I did some stretching and admired the still quiet of the morning. I realized that the small space in between dawn and morning is magical. That kind of peace and calm at dawn must be why some people become early risers. It’s one of those simple things I’ve missed out on my entire life. “Missed” would actually be putting it gently. “Emphatically avoided and resisted” is probably more like it. I’m no morning person. In fact, my mother used to call me a vampire, because when she’d enter my teenage bedroom on any given Saturday around noon to wake me up for the day, I’d make horrible, gutteral sounds as she ruthlessly snapped up my blinds in one swift, cruel motion. My face would wrinkle into evil contortions and wicked screeches would emanate from the back of my throat… if you can visualize the monstrous sound effects from the movie, “Alien”? My mother would then put on her dreadfully sarcastic and mockingly cheerful voice while hovering over me saying, “Ah… there’s nothing like natural sunlight!” I spewed hatred at her as I clawed at my burning eyes, growling in shock and horror.

So as I stood there stretching and breathing and appreciating the dew on the grassblades, I thought about how much magic I must have missed by always sleeping in. To think my mother could have actually been right about something. Just then, my buddy Bob, the Red-tailed Hawk, landed on a wire over my head and bid me good morning.

I looked up at him, smiled and thought to myself, “Hi Bob. Good morning indeed.”