MOM

I haven't posted anything in quite a while. The pain in my life has been a little too raw to share. My Mom was diagnosed with cancer last spring, and she died on February 15. With Mother's Day close at hand, the following post was extremely hard for me to write. I hope it helps someone out there. First, reflections from the Bard.

"To be, or not to be: That is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them. To die; to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep we say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to; 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die; to sleep;--
To sleep? Perchance to dream..."
-Hamlet, Act III, i

"O weary night! O long and tedious night,
Abate thy hours! Shine comforts from the east!
...And sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eyes,
Steal me awhile from mine own company."
-A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act III, ii

SHE SLEPT

I used to ask my Mom, "Was I a good baby?" She would smile and say "Well...you were good, but you fought sleep." I wonder if this is learned behavior because I still fight sleep when I've got a lot on my mind, when I'm overly anxious. Fighting sleep. Maybe I could un-learn this horrible habit. I tell people I'm "having trouble" sleeping, but the truth is; I fight it. Why? I think it's fear of missing out on something. Maybe I have a lack of trust, and subconsciously, I think I have to stay awake to make sure the the world keeps turning.

In the weeks leading up to my Mom's death when I was staying in my parents house with them, it made sense to fight sleep. I didn't want to miss a second of interaction with her. If she needed me, I wanted to rush in and save the day, to cater to her every whim. I knew that if she died without me by her side I would be uncontrollable. I couldn't miss out. As strange as this sounds, I wanted to participate in that moment. After reflection, I think I assumed my presence might somehow stop this horrible thing from happening.

The night before she died I remember getting into the car to make the longest six hour drive of my life. I was told that she had been nonresponsive for a few days. I wanted her to see me, to respond to me. I wanted to get there in time for her to know I was there beside her. I foolishly assumed I could give her the strength she needed. I leaned over her bed when I arrived, "I'm here Mom! Mom, I'm here." She opened her beautiful blue eyes, saw me, and closed them for the last time. And she slept.

Dad and I stayed up all night with her and watched her sleep a deep deep sleep. We talked. We even laughed. We held her hand. We brushed tears away and tried to be strong. For her. But she simply slept. She didn't fight. She didn't need my strength. Her strength was in her acceptance of this final sleep. She was stronger than I have ever been. Her death was gentle, a release of pain and tension. Her "fight" against pain was won. There were no tears. Only surrender. Only peace. And sleep.

RESCUE

My last several posts have been what one might refer to as...heavy. Ok, here's a little light, albeit soap-boxish, moment in my blogging history.

He was thin, shy and starved for attention when I saw him at the pound in his 2'x5' chain link cage with a concrete floor. His long legs and floppy ears made a somewhat comical contrast. He sniffed my hand nervously when I bent down to pet him. As I passed dog after dog who was bouncing off the walls and barking (probably the right dog for someone, but not me), I wondered at his shyness, his lack of "pick ME, pick ME!" barking. After nervous deliberation, I finally pulled the adoption card above the cage belonging to a jet black schnauzer-mix with glistening, pearl-black eyes and tossled fur. (He was a quiet one too.) I got in line and stood there as a girl and her dad adopted a tabby cat. Then a family with three chubby children took home a miniature pincher puppy who looked rather intimidated by the three fat munchkins who were arguing over who would hold her. As I got closer and closer to the counter, I could not get those sweet brown eyes, those silly long legs and those floppy ears out of my mind. I left the line, put the schauzer's card back, and ran to Sammy's pen. I realize now that I was afraid he would already be gone. I opened his chain link cell, and he bounded out almost before I could get the unfashionable (free) purple leash around his neck. Following his nose at the end of the leash, we made our way to the door and got back in line. Together.

It hurts me to think of the little black schnauzer. I hope someone took him home that day, and in my mind that's what I have to believe or I'll cry! "Why didn't I just take both of them home?" Because I can't save them ALL. They need other people, children, families, seniors who feel lonely to go rescue the perfect friend. That's what Sammy has been to me. I don't know how I would have gotten through a few of the rougher nights alone without him curled up next to me.

People see me with Sammy and ask, "What kind of dog is he?" Am I embarrassed that I can't recite his pedigree? Am I ashamed of his missing tooth? Am I hoping they won't notice the scars on his nose from his former owner/abuser? Far from it. I usually just smile and say, "I have no idea what kind of dog he is. His name is Sammy. He's just a pound puppy. A mutt, I guess, and he's the greatest!"

So why are so many people patronizing these pure-breed puppy farms instead of going down to the shelter and picking out some loveable, sweet little soul who just needs a home? What is it? Are we too good to own a used dog like we're too good to buy a used car? You can get some delicate, fastidious dog, and take the chance that he'll end up owning YOU! OR you could give a "used" dog a home. They call it "rescue." Well, that's exactly what it is, and the DOG senses that YOU are the one who rescued him. He'll thank you for it every day of his life.

Having Sammy has been like a reward to me, a gift straight from Heaven. Having Sammy has opened my heart and dried many tears. What has Sammy been to me? I call it "rescue."

I BELIEVE.

Some bad news came in May when we learned that my Mom has stage four Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma (cancer). She had her third chemo treatment yesterday, and we are all praying for the best. The situation is very serious but not hopeless. Her attitude and outlook are very positive, so we are all trying to learn from her example and be just as positive and upbeat as she is. My mother was aptly named "Grace." Mom is an incredible woman who has always taken joy in caring for others, so I'm sure it's rough on her to sit and let others take care of her. I'm going home to Arkansas to see her in July, and I know it will be hard for me to see her so weak with her hair all gone. Those outward signs of the illness will be the hardest things for me to handle. At the same time, all of this is a life lesson: "We are not our bodies. The best things in life...are not things. (that's from a little sign my Mom has sitting in her bathroom) Live and give in every moment. Old age is not a right or a guarantee, so get up, get off the couch, and live your life."

Soon after her diagnosis, it was my Sunday to sing on the Worship Team at church. One of the songs we sang that day was taken from Job 1:21. Those words were very hard for me to get out of my mouth that morning:

"Every blessing you pour out I'll turn back to praise; When the darkness closes in, Lord, still I will say: Blessed be the name of the Lord!...You give and take away; You give and take away; My heart will choose to say, 'Lord, blessed be Your name.'"

Obviously, my Mom hasn't been "taken away," so I was confused by my reaction to singing the song. After a little bit of thought on the subject, I realized why my tears welled up and my voice was shaky. Mom has not been taken away, but something of my innocence about the world has been obliterated. I guess I've lived a charmed life. Major illness has never attacked anyone close to me besides the elderly. When a shocking thing like this occurs, you're knocked down; you're breathless for a while. I felt like screaming, "Not fair! Not fair! Why?!? Why?!? Why?!?"

James says: "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." How am I supposed to "consider it pure joy" and praise God for this? I know, I know..."All things work together for good," right? But nothing about this is good, is it? I say: "God, couldn't I have learned this lesson another way?"

I'm not strong enough yet to thank God for this struggle, but just trying to believe in God's promises one day at a time is the most important lesson I'm learning so far. I'm thankful to my parents for instilling in me the instinct to trust and believe that God is in control, and he will not put any of us through anything we cannot bear. Besides, this time we have on earth is not all there is to life. We are eternal beings, and I can never be separated from my Mom or anyone I love because God is an eternal father of an immortal family. My fear is not doubt. My questioning is not a lack of faith. We fear because we are human. We question, so that God can answer. Simply believing in God's promises can feel like hard work. Sometimes all I have the strength to pray as I lie in bed at night is to quietly whisper "I believe." The simplicity in the words of John 6:29 have given me a lot of peace:

"Jesus answered, 'The work of God is this: to believe in the one he has sent.'"

Jesus, I believe in you.

INFORMATION OF VALUE

I used to consider myself a transparent person. I took pride in having no secrets, in always and in almost any situation, saying exactly what I think. Today, I tend to value my privacy and share less openly than I used to. Is this shift in my privacy policy a hardening of my heart due to the harshness and pain of the world - self-preservation in other words, OR have I just grown up and stopped being naive enough to think that honesty is always the best policy. I've been in two close relationships in my life (friendships) where my loyalty to those friends required deception, secrecy, and subterfuge. Now I'm not talking about industrial espionage or trading stock tips. I'm talking about personal things they were choosing to hide from other people, for whatever reason. Things I believed it was other peoples' right to know. Issues you can hide for a time, but always come out in the end, inevitably with harmful results. Why? Because in my experience (call me naive), people get hurt when they're tricked and deceived. They get angry. They may even take revenge or sever relationships. (Am I talking in too many circles for you to even understand the types of situations I'm describing? I am? Good.)

Does the rationale "It's none of my business" let me off the hook? Does telling myself that just because I have knowledge of a thing, I don't have any right to choose what I do with that information. And where does the value of loyalty and friendship fall in the priority list? Isn't it a positive character trait to be loyal to one's friends? To keep your friend's secrets? To keep your word once you've told them: "I will never tell." I guess I should've thought of that before I used the word "never." My grandfather took an oath during WWII swearing he'd never tell something so secret that I don't even know anything else about "it." He took the secret to his grave despite the fact that the events/facts he swore to hide were released to the public record before his death. I can't help admiring that. There's something almost romantic about taking a secret to the grave, right?

I don't know. I guess I'm struggling with this question right now, and I'm not sure I'll ever have the answer. Maybe you can learn from the mess I've gotten myself into the next time a friend asks: "Are you my friend? Will you promise NEVER to tell? Will you keep my personal secret FOREVER?" And maybe you'll think about it before you ask a friend to compromise her integrity to keep your friendship.

TODAY IS A HOLY DAY
Ok, I know. I KNOW! Where have I been? I haven't written a syllable on this blog since November! Strangely, the wonder and excitement of my life (while it would have been interesting reading) kept me buried, tired, drained and...secretive, happily secretive. My joy felt too intimate to share, BUT today -- TODAY the weather, the tender green things emerging from sleep, the breeze carrying birdsong through my window...I want to sing out the thoughts I've held inside! You didn't hear from me on January 1st because TODAY is my New Year's Day. My life, my world is beginning a new phase, a new path. Back in January I had a thought in the dim moments of the night just before sleep fell: "Can any of us choose a day at random, declare it holy, and make a resolution that changes our life?" That's what January 1st seems like -- a day chosen at random, but a day chosen at random FOR us. One day we're supposed to wake up and suddenly resolve to never do this or that again, to floss, to cut down on dairy, to jog everyday, to lose 20 pounds? Maybe the reason none of us ever keeps these resolutions past Groundhog Day is because it was chosen at random FOR us. When are you ready for a change? Do you have to wait until December 31, 2007? Or could you wake up one day on June 12th, September 5th, or tomorrow April 4th, and just say: "My life is new. Starting today, I am different. This day is holy, and I choose to change."
Soon I'll be starting new career, a career I never would have imagined for myself in a million years had it not been for the choices I've made over the last eight months to take hold of my life and stop floating on the waves of chance and the winds of the past. I'm not going to share my resolution with you. It's mine. And yours can be yours too, but make it. Don't wait. You know what you want for your life, and you have the power to choose your life's course. Today is a holy day.

I'M THANKFUL FOR

Sisters: Wendi, Jessica, Agata, Jolie Beth, Auvrey, Jeanise, Barbara, Shelley, Kim and many others
Josh, Mama and Daddy
my childhood, my grandparents, my education, my past
Modern travel, namely airplanes
Modern communication
Antique communication (letters from home)
Tears and the peace that resolves them
Clean rooms and dishes in the dishwasher
Turning a key and hearing an engine start
Samuel Beckett and Shakespeare
Dogs and cats
Singing in the car, singing in the shower, singing in church
Students, sweet souls who teach me as I attempt to teach them
Language
Joni Mitchell, The Beatles, Led Zepplin, and Jesus Christ Superstar
Jasmine Tea, Orange Tea, Green Tea
Bottles of water beside my bed
Clean sheets and soft pillows
Chocolate, cereal, milk and Campbell's tomato soup
Sunny windows
Soaking in hot water
Soft white towels, perfume and lotion
Hands on my shoulders, arms around my neck
Eyes that look into mine and see me
Deep breaths
Parties
Solitude
New days
"There is a time for everything, and a season for every purpose under heaven."
Hope you had a happy Thanksgiving.

"I CAN'T. I HAVE REHEARSAL."

Educational and community theatre can be the most demanding work to be had. Last weekend the musical I directed opened at a local University, and tonight the show in which I'm appearing is opening. This Monday I will be conducting auditions for the next show I'm directing. My best friend and roommate is directing and costuming, so this month I found myself directing a show, helping out a friend by being in a show, shopping for costumes and props, and staying in the costume shop until 6:30 in the morning to make sure the actors have everything they need for opening night. People say, "Slow down! Life is about people, not work." And secretly, they call me a work-aholic.

They just don't get it. I can't imagine a better way to spend my life. You might think that's crazy, but since theatre is about community and creation, giving yourself to it seems as natural to me as loving a child in my womb. The work is a part of me - as close to me as the blood in my veins. I do it because I love the artistic process. I love the people by my side (my students, fellow actors and artists). I care about the community who sees our work. It's my home. They are my family. And opening night is Christmas morning.

So, am I a work-aholic, or am I just in love?

SUNDAY MORNING IMPROMPTU

It has been raining...storming since around 6pm last night, and little Sam hasn't been out, so when I got up to pace the floor he sprang from his bed and ran to the back door to see if the rain had slowed. We went outside together where the storm had calmed to a gentle dropping rain. My bare feet slapped the wet pavement of the concrete patio as we ran around it together. I inhaled the scent of wet red clay soaked with rain. My cotton gown began to weigh with rainwater as strands of damp hair clung to my face and shoulders, but the warmth of the August night shielded me from chill. An angel in white cotton, I began to spin, arms outstretched, under the branches of an elm tree. It is Sunday morning, and I worship.

TRAVEL TRIP
or I AM BLESSED
I flew out to Indiana last week to visit my younger brother and his lovely wife. (Thanks for your hospitality, guys.)

I was overwhelmed by their simple but simply extravagant hospitality. I slept on an airmattress on the floor of their living room, but I couldn't have been more comfortable in a suite at the Ritz. The highlighted activities of the week were
1) taking a walk around Wabash College in Crawfordsville, Indiana
2) going shopping with my brother and sister-in-law to buy a new TV
3) eating, drinking, and making merry

And here's my icing on the cake: During the trip home, I got to have a sleepover in Dallas with my cousins (they are 2 and 4 months). One of them generously gave up his bed to me while he slept in his brother's crib. Their mom (also my cousin) fed me Campbell's soup, peanut butter and jelly, and apple juice. I also had brunch at Denny's with a favorite aunt. Fancy, huh?

Don't misunderstand me! I am NOT scoffing! Would you believe me if I told you that last week was one of the most enjoyable weeks of my life?

Despite terror threats, flight delays, and (still) lost baggage...I was in the Atlanta airport for 9 hours, and folks, that's 9 hours with no lipgloss, and yes, I'm still waiting on my suitcase. Thanks, AirTran!...Despite ALL this, I wouldn't have changed that trip for the world.

I made new and deeper connections with some of the people in this world who love me the most. I got to have 15 precious spur-of-the-moment minutes in Atlanta during my layover with my dearest and oldest friend. (I love you, baby!) I even made a new friend on the plane between Atlanta and Indy who made that leg of the journey literally fly. Just a few of the many ways Heaven shines down when we open our hearts, shrug off discomfort, and smile at airline employees.

I am blessed.

INFLUENCE
I celebrate my birthday this month, and instead of naming my exact age I'll just say that I'm well established as a "thirtysomething." I got an iPod for my birthday, so I'm fully a part of the 21st century. As soon as I figure out how it works, I'll let you know how I'm enjoying it.

July is one of my favorite months; fireworks and hotdogs, watermelon and cookouts, outdoor theatre at Oklahoma Shakespeare in the Park sitting on a blanket under a starry southwestern sky.

At the end of last month I had the pleasure of accompanying a group of Oklahoma Christian students on a trip to Stratford, Ontario to take in the Stratford Shakespeare Festival with a brief excursion to the Niagara Falls area to see Arms and the Man at the Shaw Festival. I saw eight plays in five days. In addition to Arms, I saw Henry IV Part I, The Duchess of Malfi (a Jacobean play, not Shakespeare), Coriolanus, Oliver (yeah, a musical...I'm not sure why I did that), Much Ado About Nothing, The Glass Menagerie, and a modern experimental play by a Canadian playwright entitled Harlem Duets. For a theatre artist like me it was a nourishing experience. I now want to save up all year so that I can return to the festival annually.

While seeing the shows through the eyes of a younger generation was illuminating, I also enjoyed contributing to the students' experience by sharing my views and observations about the plays we were seeing and allowing them to share their thoughts with me in return. My favorite show at the festival was Coriolanus starring Colm Feore in the title role. When I sat down to read Coriolanus before the trip, I couldn't even get through it which is a tribute to the brilliance of the acting and directing of the Stratford production.

After my immersion in stunning visual and theatrical art, I found myself shifting between pure ectasy and becoming completely despondent with thoughts running through my head like "I've been working my entire life to create art that can't possibly compare with the work these people are doing." This is an important lesson on the dangers of comparing oneself to others. I find myself playing the "comparison game" in many areas of my life, and it is purely destructive. What makes me feel that what I do isn't as valuable a contribution as the contributions of the Stratford artists? Lately, I've been trying to remind myself that I influence student artists around me on a daily basis, possibly a future Colm Feore among them. I've really lost my sense of humor with the attitude toward teachers that they are "those who can't do." Is this an appropriate attitude to take toward those people who on a daily basis inspire, challenge, and give their lives to the pursuit of making the world a smarter place?

Granted, all teachers aren't perfect, but most of us could have been successful in many other areas but chose education because we found within ourselves the drive to give back-to pass on our passion and talent for understanding literature, math, biology, music or theatre. I don't know who I'd be without Mrs. Guy (Kindergarten), Mrs. Beth VanRheenan (High School English), Mr. Craig Jones (7th-12th grade Chorus), Miss Linda Arnold (9th grade History), Dr. Ellis (Technical Theatre), Prof. Robin Miller (Acting and Directing) and many others too numerous to name from elementary school through two graduate school programs.

THOSE WHO CAN'T DO TEACH.
I'd love to wipe this destructive and negative phrase out of our cultural vocabulary, but for now I'll have to settle for tweaking the phrase:
THOSE WHO CAN TEACH US PLEASE DO, and thanks.