On dreams and nightmares

Last night I had one of those dreams again, a dream involving my sisters and their families; the plot and the setting change, but the characters are always the same: my dad, my stepmom, my mother, and my sisters. It was a happy dream, and I woke feeling at peace, more content than I had felt in six years. The general storyline was a bit silly, as they are in most dreams, but the characters were so real I could see their faces and hear their voices. My sister Mary Beth was getting married and I was helping her get ready on the big day; everyone was dressed and ready to go, but in true Mary Beth-fashion, the bride was not: she arrived late, still in a set of blue scrubs and crocs, hair and makeup definitely not done. Fast forward to the reception, and the whole family is there--mine, hers, Nancy's--and everyone is having a great time, laughing, smiling, looking like one of those Hallmark movie endings. My nephew Joe's twins were playing hide and seek, my granddaughters were coloring and dancing, and I was so, well, happy, happier than I had been in years. Then I woke up. At first, the dream euphoria continued, as if everything had actually happened and I had just awakened from a pleasant reverie of past events. 

Suddenly though, without warning, I snapped out of it, and realized it was, after all, only a dream, and I simultaneously felt silly and angry and sad, because the reality is my sisters have not spoken to me (not kindly, anyway) in over six years; they have completely shut me and my family out of their lives and the lives of their children, as if I have never existed. If there was any wedding, I would not even know about it, let alone be invited; although Nancy's daughter and youngest son celebrated weddings this year, I was not welcome, nor was any of my family.  Joe's four boys, including the twins I have never met, will never know me or Alex or my daughters and their children. My stepmom was the glue that held our fragile family together, and when she died, so did the family; we splintered apart into our own separate worlds. And so we remain, with little left of what once existed other than a few memories, and all the worst for it. 

Theories abound as to why we dream and what these dreams mean. Some say dreams are how we process memories, they reflect life experiences, or work through difficult and unsettling emotions. Still others propose dreams have a biochemical component, or they provide a protection to prepare us to face threats and danger. I think they all have a valid basis, but regardless of why we dream what we dream, I just want someone to tell me how to stop the dreams. Unlike most of my dreams and nightmares, these recurring dreams peopled by those I used to call family are so vivid, so detailed, and so realistic I wake up believing the dream is real, and it takes me a good 30 minutes to realize it was, after all, just a dream.  

More like a nightmare. A nightmare that never ends.

The unbreakable bond

"Urgent...Call me. ASAP. Not a scam, spam or joke." This was the message we received Sunday morning, sent to our Top Three, a bunch of retired senior noncommissioned officers who 20 years ago formed an unbreakable bond while working in the intel division at Shaw AFB, SC. All of us were in the top three of the enlisted tier; some were active duty at the time, some retired and working as contractors, but we all had one thing in common: our love for the military and each other. What started as an official group quickly morphed into something more intimate, having frequent get togethers at each others' homes as one member would announce "Top three at so and so's house this weekend!" These much anticipated gatherings involved a lot of food (usually ribs or brisket BBQ'd by Bill), beer, and fellowship, punctuated of course by comical hijinks (usually Tim, Kevin, and Liz). Some of my best memories are from these top three parties, and are etched into my brain forever. To an outsider these "parties" looked like any other party, but they were oh so much more; there was an unspoken promise to members to always be there for each other and their families, no matter what. Despite living separate lives miles apart and rarely seeing each other, if at all, that bond has persisted to this day.

As we get older, the group has dwindled as first one, then another, dies. We've lost Tim, Ronshella, and Steve. Someone notifies those of us remaining via a Facebook message to the group, and we gather to say farewell to yet another brother or sister. If we are lucky we have one final top three with someone who we know won't be around much longer, but usually the announcement of a death comes as a jolting shock. Such was the message on Sunday: one of our brothers was killed in a motorcycle accident the night before, leaving a wife of nearly 30 years, a son, daughter, and a brand new grandson. 

For those who have never served in the military, especially in the top enlisted tier, the camaraderie and closeness we share is incomprehensible. Our connection transcends distance, time, and station in life; it follows us to the grave, but does it stop there? Eating my breakfast in silence and prayer, memories flooded in about him--his love of life, spontaneity, loyalty, hilarious antics, dedication to the military and the United States, and most of all, his devotion and love for his family. Then it hits me...did he know Jesus? Will he be there when my time comes to leave this earth? Did I ever share my faith with him, or pray for him, or for the others, people I claim such a kinship? Am I doing all I can to carry that bond beyond the grave?

Sure, life is short, people get old, we die, and life goes on--on earth, anyway. But what about eternal life? Do I share the joy of my salvation with those I love and cherish, or do I hide my light under the proverbial bushel basket? When the message goes out to our group informing them I have died, what will their thoughts be? Will they be assured I am in heaven? Will they even remember me as a Christian, as one who was passionate about her love for Jesus? When they try to remember my face, will it be the image of someone who lived for Jesus or for the world? Will it shock them that I was a Christian?

Urgent...pray now. ASAP. 

Kevin...I will always remember you for your loyalty, professionalism, patriotism, your ability to make everyone laugh, your crazy antics, but most of all for your love and devotion for your family. Ride on, Kevin, ride on.

Aging with Grace (?)

When I was 20, 30, 40, heck even 50 years old, aging was something far off in the distance, and I did not really think much about it. I'd hear people over 65 complaining, talking about their ailments, and telling me things like "getting old is not for sissies!" I thought they were just over-exaggerating everything. 

Then I turned 65. I felt like the same me on the inside; in fact, I felt the same as I did when I was in my 30s (but smarter and a little slower). In my head, I still look like the same person, but then I look in the mirror and I wonder (sometimes out loud) "who is that old lady in there? Where did those wrinkles come from? What in the world are those brown spots on my face?" I mean, I'm not vain, and I know our bodies have an expiration date; we wear out. But for the love of Mike, I did not count on it happening so soon! Someone should give us (especially women) a handbook, much like the "You're a Young Lady Now" book our moms gave us when we hit puberty; it could be called "What to (not) look forward to after your 50s. 

My oldest daughter has asked me the same question every year for the past 5 or 6 years: "Mom, what do you wish you'd have known when you were my age?" I never have to struggle to come up with an answer. So, for those of you who do not know what I am talking about, here is a list to prepare you for your golden years.

Things I didn't count on when I got older:

Your hamstrings and quadriceps no longer have any useful function. We all hate doing burpees and squats, so these are the exercises we cheat on. As in "yeah I really did 25 burpees!" when we really only did six. You will regret slacking on those the first time you try to get up from a sitting position on the floor, or when you can't get out of the bathtub without doing a downward dog. You know those handles next to the toilets in hospital and doctor's office bathrooms? You will appreciate these. A lot.  

Your skin becomes very, very ugly. I used to think getting wrinkles was the only thing I had to worry about in my later years. Think again; wrinkles are the least of your issues. Age spots pop up everywhere overnight--on your face, hands, legs, toes, ears, chest...you name it, every body part will get these weird darker pigmented blotches, and no amount of makeup or concealer is going to hide them. Well, you try valiantly to cover them, desperately changing foundation brands and shades, to no avail. Those "skin lightening" creams? Forget it. It's a scam. And all those wrinkle treatments? Save your money for something useful. The worst surprise so far? Your skin is paper thin, dry, and your blood vessels are thinner and weaker as well, so the slightest bump and whatever body part you hit, if you're lucky, immediately turns purple with a bruise that lasts for weeks. If you aren't lucky, you get skin tears-- since your skin is tissue paper thin, bump your hand or arm or calf and the skin flaps open. We kept running out of bandaids (and they rip my skin too), so I just ordered a box of 100 Tegaderm. 

You will fall--accept it.  You will be walking across a parking lot and when you reach the sidewalk you step up, and the next thing you know you are flat on your face. Your feet do not like you anymore. Or you are walking down steps and for some reason only known to God your foot slips out from under you and you are on your butt. Remember that part about thin skin and bruising? Yeah, you will look like the losing end of a bar fight. 

You get short arm disease. Remember when your dad would hold something away from him and try to read the print on a medicine bottle? Trust me, your arms are not long enough. First you will be in denial and buy those "readers" at the dollar store, but eventually, yes you will need bifocals. If you don't like those lined glasses, be prepared to spend over $400 for progressive lenses. Oh and in a few years after that you will need cataract surgery anyway. 

You will say "huh?" and "what" a lot. Unless you are Superman, your hearing will get bad enough to require you to wear hearing aids, and boy, are they expensive. And Medicare does not cover them. These aren't your grandmother's hearing either--you know, the yellowish box she had on a lanyard around her neck? These are high tech and nearly invisible, they do not require constant battery changes, and they have bluetooth--they really do work wonders. The downside? Wearing them in busy loud places is torture, and those tiny little rubber domes come off sometimes and get stuck in your ear canal. But, the cool part is I can listen to music or podcasts or GPS directions in my ear, and block out annoying people or husbands. 

Closed captions become your best friend. Watching any movie where the actors have ANY accent necessitates captions, and it has nothing to do with hearing loss. It has to do with your brain getting old. The worst accent? British. (Sorry Liz)

You become anxious driving in new places.  GPS is your second best friend (but also can leave you hanging if there isn't good service.) Your mind can no longer process directions like it used to, so getting lost is not hard. You don't even have to have Alzheimer's. Again, aging brain. Luckily, my husband is 10 years younger so I can count on him for at least 5 more years. 

You will get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.  This is not limited to men. Some nights you will get up two or three times. Clear the path of all obstacles, and make sure your husband never leaves the seat up.

Your adult children will patronize you.  Yes I know it is because they love me. But seriously, I get sort of tired of all the questions and warnings, "Mom, are you sure you're up to a walk?", or "That box is too heavy for you", or "Mom, are you OK?" every time you bump a toe or drop something or start bleeding all over from a skin tear. I would say get thicker skin for all these comments, but that ship sailed a long time ago.

I haven't even covered aching joints, arthritis, greying hair, and acid reflux, because those are a given. I expected those. There are benefits, though...senior discounts at restaurants, amusement parks, movie theaters, concerts, you name it! The best part? You don't even have to prove you are a senior citizen. They believe you! You can sleep longer. You can take naps without being judged. And usually, if they were raised right, people actually listen to you. (Unless they are older than you).

Seriously though, approach aging with grace and kindess and patience. Lots and lots of patience, for those around you and for yourself. You are not obsolete. God has a purpose for you no matter what your age. 

It's just hard to remember what it is. :-)

"Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you." Isaiah 46:4

Crossroads

Friends are an integral part of life. Some friends are for life, others just fade into the background, and some just grow apart. If you’re lucky enough you’ll have a friend who gets you, who knows what you’re feeling without you saying a word, who shares similar interests and values. In my life I’ve experienced all of these. I’ve kept friends, gained new friends, even lost a friend or two; I even have one friend, my best friend in high school, who I’ve known for 50 years…half a century…who I only see once every 15 years or so, but we can pick up where we left off without missing a beat. What I’ve learned though is as I get older and grow as a person and a Christian, I get closer to God while growing away from some of my friends, which is fine if they’re casual friendships, but what if those friends don't share your faith or your values or morals?  

It is so difficult to ascertain how to respond, or even IF to respond, when friends brag about sexual exploits, express anger over the Supreme Court overturning Roe v Wade, or even just share cruel gossip. Sometimes I feel myself getting pulled into their conversations, even if just passively, and that makes me just as culpable. Do I speak up? Do I walk away? Change the subject? Or do I just wanly smile at their "jokes" and feel superior?

I’m not holy, I’m not perfect, and I try so hard to avoid being self-righteous when I share the gospel. Well, when I THINK I am sharing the gospel. In actuality, when someone says something that makes me cringe, something completely unbiblical, I will sometimes mutter some platitude or watered down gospel, because I am afraid if I share the unadulterated truth, I will be laughed at or shunned. In other words, I have just made friendship and social acceptance, more important than their souls. Worse yet, I am trying to change hearts, instead of planting seeds, living the gospel, and then praying for the Holy Spirit to do His work. 

My answer? Love. Just love my friends, my family, and strangers whether or not they are believers. Let them see Christ through my actions, not just my words.

Do you ever...

Do you ever wonder what I’m doing, or where I’m living now?

Do you stop and think “perhaps she’s sick,” or “I wonder if her hair has gone grey?” 

Do you ever wish bygones could really be bygones, or you could turn back the clock? 

Do you think about the times we spent together, the Thanksgivings, that Christmas in 2010, the times I watched your kids or the time you rode the train with mine?

 

Do you ever wonder how things got so out of hand? 

Do you ever miss picking up the phone and telling me all your problems, and sharing your joys? 

Do you ever want to just talk about memories and laugh, or cry over those we’ve lost? 

Do you ever think I miss them too? 

Do you wonder if maybe, just maybe, this was all just a giant, cosmic misunderstanding gone horribly wrong? 

Do you ever stop and think how wrong this all is? 

Do you ever feel regrets instead of resentment?

Do you think we’ll ever see each other before we die?

Do you know I think about you and miss you? 

Do you even care?

...questions that will never be answered...at least not in this lifetime.

Hey Mom!

From the time they’re born, our kids demand our attention in all sorts of ways: crying, yelling, throwing up, smiling, etc.  Calls of “hey Mom” and “Mom look!” and “watch this mom!” and “Mom make him stop/where’s my blue shirt?/can I have $20” and “mom what’s the square root of 2,452?” and “How do you spell chameleon?” echo in our heads throughout their growing up. When moms talk to the kids though, it’s in one ear and out the other; it’s as if we’re talking to ourselves half the time. We repeat ourselves endlessly, we get eyes rolled at us if we initiate conversation at the wrong time, but we are still there , on standby, ready for that “Mom I need you!”  

Does it stop when they move away? Nope. They call. At all hours, with no respect to time zones or sleep schedules. Moms of course answer, because we are, after all, moms, and we are always waiting for that  “mom I need you come quick!” call, worried about their safety. They could be bleeding and need a blood transfusion. Or a kidney. Or help with their taxes. We are crazy that way. They call about a rash, a plant, advice on boiling water, how to get cat pee out of a sofa, and “what’s my blood type?” Our kids call us, text us, FaceBook message us, video-chat with us, and if we don’t pick up, they reach out via another method or call Dad and ask “where’s mom?”  We are on call 24/7. It’s our job. For life. But when Mom calls or texts or wants to chat with her children, there’s only a 12.3472% chance she’ll get an answer; the rest of the time, she is put in a queue or gets “”ttyl.” Or forgotten. 

Like I said, it’s lonely up here. Which is why moms talk to themselves a lot. Sometimes we’re the only person we have to talk to. Except Siri. At least Siri answers us.  

Getting the Normal Back

It's happened to most of us, probably all of us. You're going through life, humming and strolling along, or maybe mumbling and just dragging your feet, everything the same, when all of the sudden, BAM! Seemingly out of nowhere, your life changes drastically, and not for the better. It's a shock, and you just stop where you are; life as you know it is defined by that moment in time, and it changes you forever. Personally, I have had many such moments in my life: JFK's assassination, my parents' divorce, personal trauma as a teenager, a former foster child's false accusations against my husband that precipitated court-martial proceedings, our child's cancer diagnosis, the events of 9/11/2001, the betrayal of family and subsequent estrangement, the death of our parents. When I look back at these events, I see a clear demarkation line of life before and life after, and there was no going back. 

Right now my daughter and her family are facing such a turning point in their lives, a turn of events that arose out of nowhere, a sucker punch nearly knocking the air out of them. Their lives completely disrupted, nothing seems certain any longer. Where they’ll be tomorrow, next week, next month, is anybody’s guess, our much anticipated visit next month has lost its joy. Molly said it best: “ever since  the talk about the visa, it’s hard to get the normal back.”

Praying for them. Yes we know the God of the universe controls every molecule, every spin of the planet, every second of our lives, and that nothing, and I mean nothing, surprises him. They also know this, and are not under any sense of delusion they can control the outcome. But God created us with emotions, and as humans we still have attachments to things on this earth, and we want to understand WHY. Praying for comfort and peace and understanding from the God of comfort, peace, and understanding.

Oh, and right after this happened, my other daughter's dog died very suddenly and unexpectedly...not the same, perhaps, but still, a HUGE disruption. 

Joy

Having joy is so much more than happiness. Happiness is fleeting, situational, fickle, and temporary. I used to search for happiness, for things and people and relationships to make me happy, and if I was not happy, I blamed it on circumstances or my past or the events of the day or whoever I was with, what side of the bed I got up on, how much I weighed, whether my hair was behaving, if I could pay all my bills on time, etc. In other words, happiness was a measure of meeting the world’s standards of success. Then I discovered Jesus, and formed an intimate relationship with Him, and I discovered how empty happiness is. I discovered joy. Joy in the midst of suffering, in the midst of pain, in the midst of loss, in the midst of, yes, betrayal. Joy during and after struggles. I was not always happy during these times, and still, believe it or not, there are many times I am not happy.  But I am joyful, FULL OF JOY, joy of the Lord, joy in my salvation, joy in knowing my future home is with Him, that I have a place with Him, that He has forgiven me, paid my debts, and gives me more grace. 

Am I always the perfect picture of a joyful Christian, focused forward on my Jesus, and not looking on my struggles? No, I am not. Sometimes I get wrapped up in that tunnel of self, and the trap of being a victim, the Eyore attitude of “woe is me, woe is me,” and I bemoan all my faults and struggles and pains and losses. Luckily though I have my husband and my friends in Christ and my church who snap me out of that, and my God who I go to daily, to remind me and to refocus me on my joy. My everlasting joy. 

Yesterday we drove to Pigeon Forge and drove through some tunnels on I-40, long tunnels, and the sign before the tunnel warns drivers to turn on headlights and remove sunglasses. Why? So they can see better in the darkness. But you are still driving in a dark tunnel closed in by concrete walls, and if it is a long tunnel you cannot even see the light at the end of it; I don’t know about you, but I hate tunnels and get claustrophobic in them and worry another car or truck is gong to hit the wall and ricochet into me, or I will never get out of the tunnel. I cannot see the end of it, the reality outside the tunnel. That is how I feel when I get trapped inside the tunnel vision of looking inward onto my hurts and struggles and pain—trapped, confused, no sense of direction. Even though I have lights on and have tried to clear my vision. 

The answer? Stay out of the tunnels. But if you do find yourself in one, and your feel yourself being sucked into that self-pity mode, smack yourself on the back of the head, open your bible, fall on your knees, and focus on Jesus. He is our everlasting joy. We are no good to others when we are wallowing in a tunnel of self-flagellation. But, when others see our joy in Christ, despite our trials, they will want all the more to find out what makes us so joyful, so they too can experience it. 

I have suffered from serious clinical depression nearly my entire life, yet I still have more joy than I can explain. Am I sad at times? Yes. Depressed? Yes. Unhappy? Yes. But, I am full of joy.

"Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation." Habakkuk 3:17-18