Challenging fears

A woman once told me she never made left turns when she drove. “Never?” I asked incredulously. “Never,” she affirmed. “That must be somewhat limiting,” I remember saying.

I suppose we all have things that limit us.

One of mine is a fear of heights which I discovered when I climbed to the top of a pyramid near Mexico City. Getting to the top was no problem, but when I turned to go down and realized there was no handrail, I was paralyzed by fear. Someone offered me a hand, but I could not force myself to take that first step, and finally had to butt-walk down the steps.

Anyway, I thought of the woman who never made left turns when I was expressway driving four evenings last week, including two airport runs, one during rush hour.

Driving long distances is not my favorite thing to do, but it is one of those things that is a measure of my confidence level. When I was younger, I drove by myself from Philadelphia to Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, more than 1,600 miles each way—and I did that trip several times. Last fall, I drove to northern Michigan, about 250 miles each way, which is a more manageable trip for me now.

I was somewhat fearless in my youth, and hopefully I have gained enough wisdom to know what is prudent to do versus what is just plain foolish. What I don’t want to do, though, is to limit myself because of irrational fears.

I like to travel and am perfectly willing to travel by myself, by car or plane.

A few years ago, I went to the Cotswolds by myself, and the first day I went hiking, I realized it was foolish to come without a cell phone or trekking sticks—not out of some irrational fear, but rather because it is more prudent to carry a phone and stick.

I don’t watch the news on tv, but I hear enough to know that lots of fearmongering goes on—from the news snippets I hear on the car radio and the mailings I get for security systems and identity theft protection.

Crime happens everywhere, and in our country, it seems that one is as likely to get shot in a school as almost anywhere else.

Agreeing to the nonprofit fundraiser dance a few months ago helped me see how I had been putting limitations on my life, because my dance lessons were in the evenings and some nights dancing didn’t start until 8:30, which is when I am usually settling in with my knitting or a book. I had to challenge myself to go out at night.

I am glad I did because a whole new world has opened to me, one I would have missed if I had insisted on my being home by dark.

I want to keep challenging irrational fears so that I am living my life to the fullest, and trusting that the best is yet to come.

Living the questions

I have been trying to pay closer attention to the questions that resonate with me. Recently, I read what defines you? and that question keeps coming back to me.

What does define me? Is it my faith? My values and beliefs? The actions that spring from my faith, values and beliefs?

I was recently nominated for the Athena Award, and I was deeply honored. The Award is for a woman who supports other women in their professional lives.

I thought about the person who nominated me and what she saw in me that was worthy of the nomination.

At the Award luncheon, I chatted with the woman sitting next to me. She had heard me speak at another event and asked about my life and the challenges I have faced.

I found myself telling her about my going-away party when I left Pennsylvania ten years ago, and how people approached me throughout the evening and thanked me for something I had done for them. Many times, I could not even recall the incident they referred to, and I became aware as the night went on how honored I felt to have been asked for help, honored to be entrusted with someone’s struggle, honored to walk a part of someone’s journey.

As I recalled that party, I was filled with gratitude for the people who have touched my life, and I realized that gratitude is one of the things that defines me.

I didn’t win the Athena Award, but being nominated was a wonderful acknowledgement of how I have lived my life. And then recalling my Pennsylvania going-away party and the things people said to me was icing on the cake.

I think that another thing that defines me is that I have overcome the challenges of my younger life and remain open to helping others overcome their challenges.

Yesterday, I had lunch with a friend and her new grandbaby. My friend commented on how I was with the baby, and I admit I can be very silly when I am around children. I want them to know that I delight in them, in their smiles and laughs, and that I desire their happiness. Joy is something that defines me. I delight in babies, nature, beauty, art, food—really all of creation. I believe we were created to live joyfully—even when life is difficult.

I remember when my friend Jim had brain cancer, we laughed about something every day—and we were grateful for every day.

Another thing that defines me is that I try to live my life with nothing to fear, nothing to prove and nothing to hide. This intention is a main part of my spiritual life, a key to living in dependence on God. I set this intention more than thirty years ago, and it is a goal that continues to challenge me and help me move toward greater freedom. Living this way leads to letting go and living a life of transparency.

What defines you?

Wanting more

My nephew and his wife began teaching their daughter basic sign language when she was just an infant, and the sign my great-niece uses most frequently is the sign for more.

At fifteen months, she signs for more at mealtimes (she has a good appetite), and she also signs for more when she is delighted by something. At the end of a song or book, she wants more. When we finish a dance, she wants more. When I make a silly face or strange sound, she copies me and then signs for more.

Whatever makes her smile or laugh, she wants more.

I think she is modeling for me what God wants for me, and that is to experience in abundance those things that delight me, that bring me joy, that show me the goodness of my life.

I recently visited a friend who is in his late eighties. As he talked about different periods of his life, what he seemed to cherish most were memories of people and experiences. He spoke lovingly of his mother’s sacrifices for her children after her husband died (when my friend was still young) and how extended family stepped in to help her.

He talked of how fortunate he was to go to Cooper Union and then to get into a good company that provided for his family. He spoke with deep gratitude of people along his path and memories from family trips and holiday celebrations.

Relationships enriched his life, and whether he was talking about people from eighty years ago or what his children and grandchildren are doing now, each person and memory brought joy to him. His gratitude shone through every memory, and he reminded me of the importance of relationships and the value of spending time with family and friends.

The struggles during the early years of building his career barely got mentioned in his life narrative, even though I know there were some lean years in the beginning of his career. Those struggles seem to have faded into the background and what he speaks of now are all those experiences that brought joy to his life.

Perhaps I came back from that visit with a heightened awareness of what enriches life, and so am more aware of great-niece’s signing for more. She wants more experiences that bring her joy, the joy that seems to settle in her belly and causes her to erupt in spontaneous movement, arms swinging and feed stomping. It is as though joy fills her to the point of overflowing, and then she gives into that joy and moves with abandon.

That, I think, is what God wants for each of us—to be so free that we can embody joy and let it pour out of us. I think my great-niece is modeling for me a way to live more spontaneously, more exuberantly.

What a great gift to the world it would be if each of us brought more joy to every encounter of every day.

Discovering my path

Ever since I was eight years old, I knew that God had called me in some special way. I didn’t know how the “call” happened. I just knew that God had chosen me, and I could see that I was different from my brothers and friends in certain ways—mostly in my desire to spend time in church and to talk to God.

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I felt a closeness to Jesus, and I knew instinctively that he was with me. I thought of him as a brother who “got me,” who related to my vulnerability and my feelings of helplessness.

When he cried out from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” I heard an echo of my own cry. Like me, Jesus was an innocent victim. And even though I felt chosen by God and closely connected to God, I still went through my life experiences on my own.

Knowing that God was with me was a comfort, but I understood that God was not going to take away the difficulties of my life. God was not going to make my dad stop drinking or make my mom protect me. God was not going to change my “bad-touch” uncle or prevent my being abused.

Yes, God was with me, Jesus was with me, and I was also on my own. It was a mystery.

Why God had chosen me was a mystery, too. Why me? A poor girl from the east side of Detroit who had no special talents or skills.

At one point, I thought I could escape to a convent, but I have a lousy singing voice and I thought being able to sing was a requirement of being a nun. (I did not go to Catholic school, so I had no first-hand experience with nuns.) I was stuck living the life I had, playing the hand I had been dealt.

I envied Jesus because he had a clear sense of his mission, of why God had sent him. Me? I had no sense of my mission.

Finding the path I was meant to walk has been a life-long quest.

When I read St. Paul’s letters about our different gifts (Romans 12:6) I could hardly relate. What gifts did I have that could help build God’s kingdom? I wasn’t a teacher, a healer, a prophet or a preacher. What was my gift? Another mystery.

Now, here I am at seventy years old, looking back on the path I have walked. Over time, my gifts and talents revealed themselves through the events of everyday life. Over time, I have been able to let go of unrealistic expectations, the “shoulds” and “oughts,” and accepted what is.

I am now comfortable in my own skin and grateful for my life.

I recently completed an Internship in Ignatian Spirituality and hope to help others discern the path God is inviting them to walk, to help identify their gifts and to affirm that God can be found in all things.

About love

Soon after we met,

Ted asked me out to dinner.

I said “yes;”

he heard “no,”

and forever after he was convinced

that I was not interested in him romantically.

Maybe I wasn’t,

because we became just friends.

Good friends,

travelling companions,

confidants,

soulmates in a way,

but never lovers.

In some ways, I think he knew me better than I knew myself.

He would tell me that I was crushing on someone before I had any idea—

or was it rather that because he suggested a crush, I developed one? Hmm.

He was always generous in his gift-giving

(I remember the day, soon after moving into my new house,

arriving home from work and seeing

a gigantic Tiffany’s box on my patio).

Ted ate at fine restaurants, traveled first-class and generally lived large.

But he never forgot his working-class roots—

he claimed to be the first man in his family to wear a tie to work

(having been a lawyer before he opened his bookstore).

He supported numerous non-profits and schools, usually requesting anonymity.

“Don’t let your right hand…”

Ted was a fan of all things Hitchcock.

One time, we met up in San Francisco to recapture the scenes in Vertigo.

We visited all the sights and stayed at the hotel in the movie.

He thought because I am a Madeline,

I should pose for the Madeline shots

(like pretending I was going to jump into the water beneath the Golden Gate Bridge).

He would have been happy if I wore a blond wig for the picture,

but I drew the line.

He wanted me to move to southern Oregon

and work with him in his bookstore.

If that was a test, I failed.

Oregon?

Too far (three flights each way).

Still, we talked several times a week

until he got esophageal cancer,

and then we talked several times a day

until he had to get a trach

and talking was too difficult for him.

Then just I talked.

We only argued once in the thirty-two years I knew him.

Mostly, he made me laugh and helped me enjoy life.

He trusted me, and he loved me.

I loved him, too,

and I miss him every day.

Ode to Sadie

Belgium’s greatest gift to the world,

I used to think,

was chocolate,

rich and sweet,

an explosion of flavor

melting on my tongue.

And then I met Sadie,

a Belgian Malinois,

as sweet as chocolate and so much more.

She was bred to herd sheep,

but with no sheep in sight,

she now shepherds me,

walking by my side,

in case I think to wander,

keeping me line and in sight,

making sure I am safe.

Smart, strong, fearless, loyal,

lots of energy and anxious to play,

risking everything for a mid-air catch,

heedless of any danger,

running as fast as the wind.

So much fun to watch,

as I pop another

Belgium chocolate into my mouth.

Black-eyed Susans

My late-blooming Black-eyed Susans (Rudbekia), which grow along my front porch, have bloomed. I will be dividing these next spring as they need more room to grow.

Lots of flowers and many buds yet to bloom

Give us joy

Give us joy to balance our affliction, for the years when we knew misfortune. Psalm 90:15

A few months ago, I was talking with a man who had lived a charmed life. He had grown up in a loving home with parents who cared deeply for him and desired the best for him. He had a wonderful education and excelled in his career. He had good friends, got married, had children, travelled and basically did all the things he wanted to do. Everything was going so well—until he was diagnosed with an illness that ended his career and eventually his marriage. As the disease progressed, he became more physically incapacitated and had to hire aides to help him at home.

He told me about one of his aides, a woman whose life had the opposite trajectory from his. Her early life was full of affliction and misfortune. She had grown up in a home without love where she was abused in every way imaginable. She lacked education and family support. Eventually, she ended up in prison. After leaving prison, she entered a treatment program that enabled her to turn her life around and move in a different direction. Now she supports herself by taking care of vulnerable people. She has found love and is engaged to be married.

This man, with his Job-like challenges, has a wonderful attitude and outlook on life. When his career ended, he went back to school so he could begin a second career, one that was not dependent on his physical abilities. His body is failing, but his mind is still thriving.

As he and I talked, I thought about how some of us know affliction and misfortune early in life, while others face them later.

This man told me he and his aide talk about how their lives have intersected because of his illness, how they would never have gotten to know one another in the way they do if he had not become sick. He believes that her story is the more amazing because she has overcome so much; he is in awe of her.

I stand in awe of both of them. He, for his positive attitude in the face of a debilitating disease; she, for her determination to overcome her past and create a new life for herself.

Not anywhere as extreme as his aide’s, but my early life was marked by chaos and trauma. I was a shy child and very anxious. School was a nightmare to me socially, although I loved learning, and being in school felt safe. My unresolved childhood trauma made me vulnerable to abuse as a young adult.

Like his aide, I finally feel I have come into my own. I am confident in what I learned from my career, pursuing things that interest me, comfortable in my own skin and living in joy.

How about you? Did you know misfortune early in life or later? Do you know joy now which balances out past afflictions?

Some pics from my garden

Black-eyed Susans (Rudbekia) were a friend’s favorite and I imagine he would love this early-blooming variety.

Early-blooming black-eyes Susans (Rudbekia)

My enclosed sunporch had to come down, which required moving one of my perenniel beds. The daisies got spread out along a side fence and seem quite content.

Daisies along the side fence

The purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) that got moved are late in blooming, but this one took up residence among the black-eyed Susans a few years ago (and I forgot to move it–next year).

Purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) among the black-eyes Susans

This phlox had been dwarfed by the daisies when it was next to the sunporch. I hope it will thrive in this new spot with room to grow.

Swamp milkweed (Asclepias Incarnata) is one of the butterfly attractors in my yard.

Swamp milkweed

Whimsical France

My back yard garden is dotted with bits of whimsy–yard art and wind chimes tucked in among the flowers–so imagine my joy at discovering bits of whimsy during my travels around France. Here is a sampling.

It is not uncommon to see animals on roof tops–here are two cats in Honfleur.

Blue snail in Bayeux

A person beneath an umbrella in a fountain in Bayeux.

Giant-sized gardening tools in LeMans

Blue gorilla in the Beau Arts Gardens in Angers

Church gate in Albi