I am in the midst of celebrating my 59th birthday. The actual date of that event is January 25, but I continue to celebrate with a family dinner out tonight, since our youngest daughter Johanna was able to come for the weekend. What better way to celebrate than in the midst of cherished family?!!

On Thursday, my “real” birthday, I opened an email being circulated at work titled “Value”, expounding on the value of both large and small increments of time. I thought I might enjoy reading it. I’ve always liked Psalms 90:12 “So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” So much to be thankful for in all the days of our lives.

Halfway down the page came the example that brought me up short: “To realize the value of nine months, ask a mother who gave birth to a stillborn.”

It has been almost 40 years since that day, my birthday, when I went into labor with our much-loved and much anticipated first child. No ultrasounds in those days that informed of the baby’s sex, or more soberly, of anomalies in a baby’s development. We just knew we wanted a healthy baby — and what a way to celebrate my birthday! By early evening, the doctor told us it was time to get to the hospital, and we were so excited.

All checked in, we went to the labor room assigned to us and a friendly nurse came in to check on baby and me. Chatting happily with her, I rested between contractions for her to listen to baby’s heartbeat. IT WASN’T THERE! How could that be? The baby had spent the day kicking and telling me it was time to get out of there. The nurse’s demeanor changed and she called immediately for back-up. By the time our OB-GYN arrived, mere minutes later, having been informed of what was going on, I was whisked away for an emergency C-section, leaving a white-faced Harold behind. Our most important moment and we were separated.

When I woke up, I didn’t even need to ask. Harold sat there, had been there through the night, as had our dear doctor, who waited with him. I knew from the tears running down Harold’s face–”Susie, they tried but they couldn’t save our little girl”. The doctor briefly told us that her condition had been so weakened by a dying placenta giving her virtually no nourishment, that the stress of labor had been too much for her little heart. Other questions would wait and he left us alone to grieve together.

Nearly 40 years and I sit here with tears coursing down my cheeks, the unimaginable pain and loss recalled. It doesn’t happen as often as it once did, but that loss will always be a part of me, of us. Something will happen and it will be there again…as if it happened yesterday…

Nine months, 3/4 of a year — maybe not much time when seen against the background of an entire lifetime — but in that nine months, baby Amy became a part of me, of us. We liked nothing better than sitting on the couch, feeling her kick, and envisioning the day we’d hold this active child on our laps. Nine months was her whole lifetime, and those nine months forever changed ours.

Thursday I read an email, and it was as if it happened yesterday…

Tonight, at OUR birthday dinner, Amy will be with her family, just as she has always been and always will be.

Much of my reading of late has been somewhat on the heavy side, what with both of my reading groups and some books that I’ve chosen as well. My group reads include Naomi Wolf’s The Treehouse and Pinkola-Estes’ Women Who Run with the Wolves, as well as one not quite as serious but also introspective in Bender’s Plain and Simple. Independent from the groups I’ve read Sue Monk Kidd’s Dance of the Dissident Daughter and Holy Hunger by Margaret Bullitt-Jones.

This serious stack is a bit unusual for me, especially all at one time. In looking it over, I began to wonder what drew me to this selection. I could argue that at least the first three were because of the reading groups. True, but they’re still done voluntarily - I’m not facilitating any of the three, and I’ve skipped books before — but not these.

Dance is really a re-read — I wanted to delve into it more deeply for two reasons. First, it’s been a while since I read it and in the meantime, I’ve read two of Kidd’s wonderful fiction offerings. She (Kidd) and I go back a long way. As a younger wife and mother, I read her devotional writings monthly in a magazine I subscribed to; she was also a younger wife and mother then and her writing really spoke to me. When I read Dance the first time, I had trouble reconciling the two very different aspects of the same woman. And, while I loved her novels, they did not fit with the Kidd I had known either. I needed to re-acquaint myself. Second, I learned that this book was important to my daughter Rebecca and I wanted to be able to discuss it with her. Haven’t had that discussion yet but hope to soon.

The Treehouse, Plain and Simple, and WWRWTW I did read for my groups, but also because I wanted to — something in them struck a chord within me as well. Wanted to read them — yes — but the truth comes closer to needing to read them.  Some thought, some idea, something to be discovered — it’s as though I’m being beckoned.
I acquired Holy Hunger after hearing the author speak on a great TV show “New Morning”, recommended to me by a friend. I didn’t need to read the book to know that the author and I had much in common — issues with parents, weight issues, food addiction… Since I’m currently going to Weight Watchers and trying to succeed, I hoped her book would shed some light on the whys of my compulsive eating. I know how to lose weight but I think I won’t be completely and finally successful unless I do a little more work on the reasons I got to this point.

So, that’s what I’m reading and some of the reasons for choosing to do so.

As I reflected on these books, I began to recognize a common thread. Though they all come at it from differing perspectives, all speak of a need to know one’s true self, to find the core of one’s being, to be comfortable with finding it, and to be able to express it in a creative, healthy, self-affirming way.

I’m struggling with my creative self. I want to express myself. I love to write. Yet, as oft as not lately, I am tongue-tied. It’s not that the words aren’t there. They are — whirling around at a dizzying rate inside my head. I tell myself I haven’t had time to work. I convince myself that other tasks need to be completed first, that my fulltime job leaves me too exhausted. Why the excuses? I’m working on finding the answer to that.

It’s not time, or the lack of it. I could find the time. It’s not that I don’t have the physical tools — I collect pens and papers — I love them! I have a desktop computer and a laptop computer. I have grammar books, dictionaries, several thesauri, shelves of reference books, blank and partly filled journals, and a score of books about writing. I even have this blog! For the first time in my adult life, I actually have a room set aside that I can call my own — not even a spare bed for guests. It’s my treehouse, going back to Wolf’s book. The space is mine. And I rarely use it…

Am I worried I don’t have the talent? For what it’s worth, that’s not the problem. I do know I can write — others have told me and it’s a knowing I have within me. I’m not looking for an audience or commercial success — I’m content to write for me and mine. It’s not that I’m not creative. Besides writing, I have a flair and passion for various needle arts and for cooking.

For now, I see several factors. One is giving myself the license to write — to overcome and/or ignore the voice that tells me I have other tasks to complete first, that I’m not pulling my load around the house. I don’t know why that pesky little voice bugs me about that — Harold certainly doesn’t and he’s the one who shares my space. He loves to see me writing. Of course, another insidious whispering sometimes mentions that I might not have anything worthwhile to say. I’m at the point of vanquishing that voice for good. If I write it, it’s worthwhile — even if no one else ever reads it. Of course, there’s the one that tells me not to dig too deeply into my past — that wants to scare me by implying I might not be able to handle what I find. So what, I say — if I find that I need to vent, even to spew venom on paper, I can do that, and I’ll be intact when I finish, because I am stronger than anything in my past. I’ve come to be not so afraid of true feelings, even though I know much exploration is still ahead. I’m learning, and healing and growing, from all I read and all I share with the wonderful wise women in my reading and writing circles. I’m on my way to finding the true authentic me. So far, I like what I’ve found.

I’ve come around to the one thing that stops me, and it is, I believe, closely related to my last post. I am not intentional, not resolute about taking the time and the space and the place to create. Do I need to find out WHY I don’t do that — or do I just need to write?

For now, I think I just need to do it. Naomi Wolf writes that her father Leonard believes that every one of us is an artist, whatever our creative medium might be. I find myself thinking back to these words from The Treehouse: “He wants to know you have put your emotion into it, driven your artist’s discipline into it, seen it through to completion and signed your name to it, if only in your own mind. If you do, he believes, your work comes alive, and gives life to those around you. And, it gives life, he is sure, to you.” And a bit farther on, “He (Leonard) believes that no amount of money or recognition can compensate you if you are not doing your life’s passionate creative work; and if you are not doing it, you had better draw everything to a complete stop until you can listen deeply to your soul, identify your true heart’s desire, and change direction. It’s that important.”

Yep, that sounds to me like just do it! I suspect the answers will follow. Off to my treehouse I go!

The new year has begun. With its arrival have come stirrings of wanting to make some changes. Resolutions perhaps?

I told my husband the other day that I disliked the celebration of New Year’s because it made me think of things left undone: changes not made, letters not written, calls not made, writing not done, a blog ignored, books not read, clutter not disposed of, resolutions not kept in the old year. He reminded me of the old comic — his name escapes me — who said the easiest way to keep resolutions was to make one that you wouldn’t make any. Cute, but that didn’t seem to fit my mood either. What would? I began to look into this idea of resolutions.

From Wikipedia : “A New Year’s resolution is a committment that an individual makes to a project or a habit, often a lifestyle change that is generally interpreted as advantageous. The name comes from the fact that these commitments normally go into effect on New Years Day and remain until the set goal has been achieved, although many resolutions go unachieved and are often broken fairly shortly after they are set.” OK, so that’s not so encouraging, but then neither is my assessment of the past year. I’ll try a word search…

Some definitions of resolution include: a firm decision to do something; firmness of mind and purpose; the quality of being resolute. Some synonyms are: conviction, intent, mettle, tenacity, grit, perseverance, heart, spirit, resoluteness…

Resolute isn’t a word I hear much of late. Do we use another word? It mean: possessing determination and purposefulness; firmly determined in purpose. Synonyms include: adamant, stalwart, loyal, fixed, persistent, steadfast, true, faithful…

To my mind, my above word search makes it pretty clear that a resolution is something of note; something of worth. And, to be resolute implies not only determination but integrity. Maybe along the lines of “don’t say it if you don’t mean it”, or as we say these days, “if you’re going to talk the talk, then walk the walk.”

Where does this lead me? To make resolutions or not? To make resolutions a matter of conscience? This brings to mind a passage of Scripture that may be the Christian equivalent of this matter of resolution. Colossians 3:23 says: “Whatever you do, do it enthusistically, as something done for the Lord…”, with a footnote that says “do it enthusiastically” translates literally as “do it from the soul”.

Cosidering all this, am I going to make resolutions for this new year of 2007? Perhaps only one, but not that of the old comic.

I resolve TO BE RESOLUTE. Whatever I undertake, I will be determined, purposeful, faithful. I will be intentional, trying to make all that I do a matter of conscience. If I can accomplish this, then perhaps at this time next year, I won’t be so discouraged about this year.

Does this mean more blog entries for 2007?  Check back to see!

I wish all a very happy New Year filled with blessings and joy and peace.

Soon after penning my last entry about loving the unlovable ones in my life, I came upon a quote that I had seen before — but today it really spoke volumes to me.  Seemed an appropriate add-on…  The Gospel is the story of God’s love for His children through the ages.  And haven’t we always been told that actions speak louder than words?

Preach the Gospel every day; if necessary, use words. (Francis of Assisi)

Did you ever hear something that didn’t just catch your attention, but instead just slapped you up the side of the head (as somebody’s grandma no doubt said)?

This morning Harold was listening to Dr. David Jeremiah on TV — I sat down to listen too.  He’s not one of those Bible-thumpin’, hell-fire and brimstone TV evangelists at all.  He’s more a straight-forward teacher of the Bible.  Much more my style.  (I happen to think that some of the Bible-thumpers need to stop thumpin’ and start readin’, but that’s for another day.)

Today, though, his teaching got personal and downright meddlesome.  He suggested — no, he said — that if I am a Christian as I profess (I am and I do), I must love the most unlovable person I know.

Now, I’m good at loving from a distance.  It’s easy to say — and truly mean it in my heart — that I love Muslims and alcoholics and even drug dealers – for I sincerely believe all of them are children of God even as I am His child.  I’ve always taught my girls to love the sinner and hate the sin — that’s what God did for me.  But, Dr J meant here and now, on a daily basis, with the most troublesome person at work or wherever on a one-to-one level.  Now, that’s going to be tough.

One of my biggest complaints about where I work is that there are loud, boisterous, mean-spirited, also-professing Christians that drive me up the wall.  If I can’t love these guys, who is more the hypocrite — them or me??  I know what God would say.  Cut to 1 John: 3:18 (NLT) — Dear children, let us stop just saying we love each other; let us really show it by our actions.  And, trust me, I know that actions include thoughts and talking (gossiping?) as well as overt acts.  I’m beginning to sense a problem…

Dr J cut to the quick when he asked if ______ is any more unlovable than I was when God first spoke His love and grace to me.  Well, gee, uh, stammer, stammer, the answer would have to be no, since I was a pretty big mess.

I think an attitude adjustment is in order before I go back to work on Thursday.