#then the week it healed we went tubing in the creek

[constant-state-of-self-discovery]

So beautiful and yet watching her ride made my ass so sore

Description: [A video of a woman riding a galloping horse bareback while holding a large rainbow flag.]

[stevedonnellyfaith-blog]

Jesus I Trust In You (Post 41) 6-25-14

                        I had another scare last Wednesday afternoon. I was packing up at the end of my shift at Sealy and received a call from Abby who had been staying in the hospital with Nick 24-7.  She told me that as she was sitting at his bedside, Nick’s blood pressure suddenly dropped and his heart rate simultaneously escalated dramatically. Something had blown and she had six nurses pumped with adrenaline in his room very quickly.

Evidently, tumors from testicular cancer grow fast and are very vascular – blood filled (thankfully, testicular tumors also shrink rapidly with treatment.)  The doctors tell us that one or two large tumorous masses on Nick’s liver ruptured and began draining into his abdomen.  Abby needed me to come to the hospital immediately.

Unlike my morbid flight from Ohio, the first miles of my drive from Richmond to Walnut Creek were full of desperate prayers.  I rattled off the Memorare, the Divine Mercy Chaplet and began invoking the litany of saints stored in the rolodex of my cerebrum to intercede on Nick’s behalf.

Then I considered the words printed under the Divine Mercy Image which hangs to the left of the altar at IHM: “Jesus, I Trust in You.”

In Matthew 8: 23-27 Jesus rebukes the waves and calms the sea, but he also rebukes his disciples for not trusting that he would protect them from harm.  Christ assists all Christians as they sail through storms in their lives; Catholics and Eastern Orthodox Christians are especially privileged to travel through trouble with Jesus within their physical bodies in the form of the Eucharist. When the weather in my life starts getting rough, Jesus is in my passenger’s cabin and that’s very helpful.

As I drove, I calmed my desperation and instead prayed with confidence for an outcome pleasing to Jesus.  I expect that in prayer God prefers fervor to fear. I knew the result would be for the good even if unpleasant. My prayers have always been answered. In some cases the answer just happens to be no.  I pray not because I think that the answer will always be yes, but because it can never be yes if I fail to pray at all.  

I received a resounding yes to my prayers on Wednesday. Nicholas’ condition was stabilized when I arrived and the rupture tumor was starved of blood by plugging a redundant artery to his liver. Fluid was drained from another burst tumor on his lung using a catheter and then a chest tube over the next several days.  Jesus had placed things in the hands of very competent people at John Muir Hospital.

Some people would argue that based on the outcome I had, in fact, wasted my time praying altogether.  In their view any good or bad outcome had been determined since the beginning of time by God or by random chance – depending on their faith or lack thereof.  In their view I would have been just as well served by listening to Lady Gaga on the radio as praying.  I disagree; I believe in God’s conditional will.

I am convinced of the power of prayer by the biblical story in which God relents from destroying the Ninevites due to their penitent attitude (Jon 8:6-8.)  Certainly God knows what we will do, before we do it.  He has the best TEVO package available, God exists outside of time. While He knew that the Ninevites would chose to repent, that does not mean that God chose for them.  I had the choice to pray or not. I accept that God knew what my choice would be, but whether God chose to reward me on Wednesday night or before the dawn of creation is not my concern.   I prayed. Unfortunately, quite often, I confirm my free will by forgetting prayer or by choosing not to pray. In those cases I miss the opportunity to be God’s vehicle for releasing grace into the world.  My choice is unfortunate, but I am a sinner. On Wednesday night, though, during my drive to John Muir I did pray and my conscience tells me that I made the right decision - a modern person might say that you can’t win the lottery if you don’t buy a ticket.  

Oddly, I am not disheartened that my prayers for Pam’s survival were not also answered affirmatively.  I understood at the time very clearly that my will for her to survive might not be consistent with God’s will.  I tried to make a strong case for her survival in my intercessions for her healing, but I understood, as time went on, that my arguments might not be finally persuasive.  

One of Pam’s closest friends from childhood wrote a prayer for Pam that began, “if it is Your will….”  I used that prayer daily for the last five months of Pam’s life.  Last year when the doctor, who I passed outside Nicholas’ room on Sunday, transferred Pam to hospice care, I knew that it was God’s will that Pam cross the veil of death into heaven.  I still believe that my prayers had some effect and brought her spiritual peace in that transition if not the earthly physical healing for which I hoped.

With Nick I pray with much more confidence that he will be physically healed.  Nick’s cancer feels to me to be part of God’s shaping of my son into something spiritually stronger than he was before.  My self-assurance about Nicholas’ return to health probably appears foolish to any objective observer of the Job-like quality of the Donnelly family’s track record over the last several years.  Even though my life must resemble the black knight in Monty Python’s Holy Grail to horrified onlookers, my buoyancy of spirit remains.  The Donnellys see blessings where others see curses.  We are very happy, for instance, that Wednesday’s rupture happened in a hospital where the problem was handled safely and competently. Had the incident happened at home, the positive outcome would certainly not have been assured.  Father Jerry would call Nick’s readmission into the hospital for treatment “providential.” God blessed us.  We remain sheep that trust the Good Shepherd even when the neighborhood looks dicey.

Finally, some people including my daughter Abby wonder why I continue to write through all this chaos in our lives.  I have decided to keep writing in part because it helps me, but also because although I can’t thank all the people of IHM enough, I can continue to write for the parish each week.  Thank you all for everything.

Yours in Christ

Steve

[madiletio]

When we Fall | Ch.4

Summary: Everyone had their own suspicions as to what had happened on the night of the accident. But the fact of the matter was Katie had simply been there at the wrong place and time. And now? Lance was struggling to make it through the semester while she fought to live through another year.

 “Stay.”

Anxiety ran through Lance as he suddenly jolted upwards in his bed, desperately looking around his room for any hints that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t just been dreaming. But the truth was pretty clear. It was a nothing but a fabrication of what he wanted to so desperately to happen.

For Katie to wake up.

Tears fell down his cheeks as Lance settled back down in his bed, hugging his pillow tightly.

This had been the third night in a row that week that he had woken up from these dreams. It was almost as if his mind was enjoying making him feel like complete and utter shit. The worst part about it all was the fact that Katie was showing little to no signs of waking up, and the more the days dragged on, the more concerned everyone got.

A soft knock at the door pulled Lance from his thoughts and looked up to see Lacie standing there, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Quickly wiping the tears from his cheeks he got out from underneath his covers and approached his little sister.

“Lacie you okay? It’s early in the morning.”

Lacie burst into tears as she hugged her brother tightly with trembling arms.

“ I had a nightmare and I don’t want to awaken momma.”

His heart ached when Lacie cried into his shirt more. Whatever the dream had been, it had truly shaken her up. But what made Lance tear up was the fact that he couldn’t protect his baby sister from bad dreams, even if more than anything he wanted to.

Hugging her tightly to his chest, he kissed the top of her head and brushed away some of her many curls from her face.

“Want to sleep in my bed?”

Lacie nodded, still sniffling as Lance took her hand in his and walked her to the bed. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but most of his younger siblings found his bed comforting. Maybe it was the two blankets he refused to sleep without or the insane amount of pokemon plushies he had since he was twelve that made them feel safe, whatever it was, it helped them and that’s all that really mattered.

The two snuggled up together underneath the blankets, still refusing to let go of one another.

“Lance?”

He was tired and his eyes hurt, but there was no way in hell he was going to go to sleep before Lacie.

“Hm?”

“Will Katie be alright?”

His heart dropped at the question. Lacie was still so young and had never experienced anything like this before. And on top of that? Lacie had no idea just how bad of a state Katie was in, and it wasn’t like they could just outright explain it to her either.

So with a forced smile, Lance gave a slight nod of his head and the two shortly fell asleep afterward.

And for the first time since the accident, Lance had slept soundly that night.

The hospital always seemed to be quiet in the morning. It was as if there was this unspoken solitude that just lingered there for a while before disappearing. Matt loved visiting Katie during this time. He was more relaxed and less on edge.

Closing the door behind him, Matt sat down on the chair next to Katie’s bed, taking her hand into his, gently.

His mind had been overwhelmed with various thoughts and emotions that were hard to see, like a street lamp hidden behind a sheet of fog. There was so much he wanted to say to his baby sister, to let her know that he was still there and so was everyone who cared about her.

At the start of the week he was in denial that anything this severe had happened to Katie, and by the end of it, with lots of tears, Matt had come to the conclusion of what he needed to do.

He had to let her go.

So even though he was breaking inside, Matt smiled at his sister and began to talk to her.

“Hiya kiddo. You’ve been asleep for a few days now..”

Taking a deep breath, he continued.

“I know that you probably can’t hear me but if there is a slight chance that you can...then..it’s worth a shot.”

Despite the countless tubes and cables connected to her, she looked peaceful. And that’s what tormented Matt the most.

She had already flatlined once, who was to say it wouldn’t happen again? And if it did, would it be fair on Katie to bring her back?

Because at the end of the day, Katie would be the one to live with her injuries. There would be countless therapy sessions and doctors appointments for months, years even.

And if Matt knew anything about his sister, he knew she would be miserable.

So if he had to be the one to let go, so she wouldn’t have to suffer, then he would.

He would do anything to protect his baby sister, even if it involved him sacrificing his happiness for a while.

Everyone would mourn, yes. But there would also be a sense of relief, knowing that she wasn’t in pain. Of course, time would slowly heal them and they would slowly but surely move on.

But they would never forget her.

“Do you remember when we were kids and dad used to take us up to his cabin in the summer? We would spend hours playing in the creek and making little stick houses for the frogs to ‘live in’. “

“Then one day we went running into the grass fields and you tripped and scraped your knee. It wasn’t bad or anything but you still cried.”

Matt choked up.

“So eight year old me picked you up and desperately tried to take you back to the safety of dad’s cabin. Yet halfway there you jumped down and gave me one of your biggest smiles and walked hand in hand with me to the cabin.”

Tears were on the brink of spilling.

“So, in a way, this is me taking you back to dad’s cabin. If you want to go and be safe with him, I understand. Mum and Lance will too. We love you Katie and that won't ever change. So if you want to let go, you can. We understand.”

Warm tears streaked down Matt’s cheeks as he looked at his sleeping sister. And for once he felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

And just like how five-year-old Katie had done with him that summers day, he gave her his biggest smile he could bring.

Everything would be okay.

[michelemoore]

Tahkuk

January 8, 2019

Michele Moore Veldhoen

 TWIST AND SHOUT

Hello and Happy New Year!

Stork watch update: still waiting for the little peanut to arrive - any day now!

I am writing this overdue blog on Friday, January 4, while nursing some very angry glute tendons, a TFL muscle and hip bursa. I got into this mess while doing some deep cleaning that required extraordinary twists and contortions of my body – think corner kitchen cupboards with those rotating shelf installations. I know. Nothing exciting about that at all. I would rather have a better story to tell, believe me.

This immobilized condition I’m in is, I admit, my own fault. I was warned. By my physiotherapist, the last time I needed her to stick those needles into my muscles and tape me up. That was a couple of years ago. She said then that I needed to strengthen my glute muscles in order to better distribute the load when I’m jogging or playing tennis. Or, apparently, cleaning cupboards. I have managed to build a stretching routine based on her advice that strengthens my core, keeps my hip flexers flexed, and my hamstrings happy, but I’ve been neglecting the glutes. I guess I have learned the lesson that our bodies are only as strong as the weakest link.

So, I am now making my first ever new year’s resolution.  It’s really only a new year’s resolution because I’m writing within days of the official kick off date for such promises, but I know I would make this deal with myself even if it was July. I have been in this condition enough times now. Dragging a leg around like a ball and chain and approaching the edge of my bed in the morning with more reticence and caution than I would use to approach a cliff in a 200 mile an hour wind. I have, actually, fallen off my bed when in this same compromised physical state.  I rolled to my side with the plan of swinging my good leg over and down to the floor first. (This really is the only way to get out of bed when one leg isn’t working.) On that occasion, I lost control of the roll when the inflamed hip/leg realized the trick I was trying to play. That side halted its cooperation at the critical moment and THUD, I hit the floor. With a shout.

This makes me think of another moment of physical distress I experienced just last year that I recounted to my daughter a few days ago. She and I were walking in Fish Creek on city cleared pathways and I mentioned to her that last winter while running along an ungroomed path in the forest near my house, I had to dodge quite a few patches of ice. I went on to say that I have found (and this has been confirmed by other runners), that it is easier to ‘run’ (lightly of course) over ice than walk. However, on that day last year, the ice was exceptionally slippery  – shiny and smooth as lip gloss - so I slowed right down. Just in time for my feet to fly out from under me which landed me flat on my back with a sharp hard smack to the back of my head. I actually saw stars. Once the daylight became evident again, I lay there on my back admiring the sky and the trees and the birds, and laughed at myself. In telling my daughter this story I laughed again. With a very serious face my daughter looked at me and said – Mom! That’s not funny, that’s just dumb! What are you doing running on ice at your age?’

Ah, there’s the rub. And I don’t mean A535, tiger balm, or Bengay. (Don’t think it’s because of my age that I know about Bengay – it’s only because I, along with 6 other kids once took a trip over the historic and long abandoned Cascade Highway and Dewdney Trail in the mountains of BC’s southern interior, in search of a tube of Bengay. It wasn’t for me, it was for my uncle, who was from Vancouver. He and his family were visiting my family in Christina Lake when, on that unforgettable Sunday afternoon, he could no longer tolerate some kind of soft tissue agony he was in and decided that, while the drug store in nearby Grand Forks might have been open on a Sunday, he was taking no chances and headed for the larger town of Trail. Rather than take Highway 3, he decided on a ‘shortcut’. Up the road behind our home we went and onto that narrow, overgrown, dirt road carved into the side of the mountains. His brother, my father, was in the front seat and we seven children had all piled in for the ride. Or had we been told by our mothers to go for the ride? Now, we were not in the back of a Jeep, or even a pickup truck. We were in the back of a station wagon. One of those early 70’s units, you know, with the fake wood paneling. Let’s say it was a 1971 Woody Wagon. Which are around 18’ long – I looked it up.  The trip was filled with danger and death defying feats of vehicular maneuvering. Imagine steering an 18’ long station wagon around boulders, blowouts, cave ins, and felled trees. For a tube of Bengay. What child could ever forget such an adventure and the holy grail for which it was launched?

Wow, that was a long digression.

Back to the rub of which I was writing.

My days of asking that question of my children, exactly what do you think you’re doing are long over. But where in the rule book does it state that my children get to ask me that question while I’m still in my right mind? I suppose if I was attempting to skate on an ice covered lake after a 3 week long chinook, it would be a fair question. Or if I jumped onto the ice at a Flames games and shouted, ‘it’s my turn!’ maybe they would be justified.  Although that would be kind of fun, now that I’m imagining it. I would have to sharpen up my skating skills first. And get a Flames Jersey. And a helmet. Never mind, it’s getting too complicated.

In fairness to my daughter, I’m quite sure I have used a similar expression in conversations with my own mother. I try to use a neutral tone and frame my questions like this: why are you doing that Mom?  Do you really think that’s a good idea? If she goes ahead with whatever plan it is and it’s one that I think is really off the wall, I might end up saying something like this: What! You actually went through with it?

I suppose at some point in all our lives, a genetic program is switched on that changes the lens through which we see our parents. They are no longer the invincible people we knew them to be. Had they fallen on ice and smacked their heads when we were twenty, we would have known without any doubt they would simply get up again and keep going in the same nonchalant manner we would ourselves. Perhaps it is the multiple knocks we inevitably experience in our own lives that causes that switch of the lens to take place. And I suppose some parents revel in throwing mud at those lens. Here’s to mud throwing!

It is now Monday, January 7, as I wrap up this blog. My hip and leg are healing very well. I am grateful. But I will be adding those glute exercises into my stretching routine as soon as I’m able to get back down on my yoga mat. And I will keep running on ice, but maybe not the lip gloss variety.

I hope if you have made a new year’s resolution that it is one you are able to keep. If not, don’t worry, something will come along to remind you to make it again next year!

I may not be back here for a couple of weeks. I expect to be preoccupied with a new grandchild!

www.thetreeswallow.com

[saltandvacancy-blog]

bulletproof glass, perhaps

4.29.17 // 1:17 AM

Who knew glass could be so strong? Who knew emotions could be so fragile yet so powerful? 

Tonight I tried to shatter a glass plate.

Call me immature, maybe I am, but it all felt so cathartic at the time. My friend invited me to paint plates with her, plates we would later smash. Naturally, I painted my ex’s face on my place. We didn’t have time to go smash them, so I was left to do so on my own. 

Lacking a car, I walked to a hidden part of campus behind a building--with trees and a creek and a trail. The last time I went back there was with him. We noticed that some construction had taken place, leaving a huge mound of dirt, tubing, and concrete.

So tonight I climbed up on that mound in the dark by myself ready to let it all go, ready to throw out my emotions, the emotions I’ve long been tired of feeling. 

Lo and behold, the plate wouldn’t break.

I know, I know, you’re doubting me. But I assure you I chucked that son of a bitch at a pile of concrete slabs repeatedly, over and over and over, and nothing. Not a chip or a crack or a scratch. The only damage done was a bit of paint peeling. 

I had walked out there ready. I stood atop the dirt mound, which felt like a mountain, momentarily before my first attempt and took it all in. It was cool and windy. I could hear the sound of the highway in the distance but mostly the sound of the crickets in the forest surrounding me. The sky was a grayish, purplish hue because of how much it had rained over the past couple of days (or I assume that’s why.) I stared out and let my mind wander. 

I’d been back in those woods with him countless times. We went out there for the first time almost exactly a year ago, before we were out in the open romantically. We left our dorms at 5 a.m. to meet up and hammock. We napped and did other *things* until mid-afternoon. It was a perfect day.

 I thought back to the last time we’d gone out there, only a couple of weeks ago. I asked him to go hammock with me and he agreed. I had wanted to just lie there with him for a while. Instead, we just had sex--he fucked, I made love--and then rested there together for maybe 15 minutes. It was nowhere near a perfect day, but I was (am) taking anything I could (can) get of him. I just wanted (want) to feel like I still had (have) him, even a little bit. 

All I wanted to do was smash that goddamn plate along with my persistent desire to mend our relationship. But I couldn’t. Not by choice, I literally couldn’t. And I think that describes my emotional healing process to a t. No matter how badly I’ve wanted to be able to let it all go and feel okay again, I can’t. Who knew emotions could be so fragile yet so powerful? 

I’m tired of feeling and I’m tired of dwelling on all of this tonight. I’m running a bath so that I can wash all of the dried paint and dirt off of me, so that I can wash off the day. 

I’m prone to overthinking, and all of this makes me wonder--is the plate’s inability to break a sign that it’s not yet time for me to let it all go, that I should hold out a little while longer? I thought that maybe I was ready, but I’m not so sure anymore. The only thing I’m certain about nowadays is how much I still love that stupid boy who once told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.