Why I love working in a Middle School:

I am weaving through the
mass of kids in the 7th grade hall. They are
loud and rowdy and mostly
oblivious to everything around them. I have
one hand on the stair rail when I hear a
lone male voice behind me begin to sing
off key.

Six steps up the stairs and two more voices have
softly joined in. Before I reach the landing there is a
chorus below me singing out the
Taylor Swift song. Only in a small town
middle school will one witness, in the midst of
hormones and chaos, breakouts of joyous
spontaneous singing.

The sky is deep azure with a
few brushed cotton clouds. The contrast of
orange-peel leaves glowing against the
blue is striking. The air is warm with a crisp
breeze, smells faintly of smoke. There are people
out walking, walking their dog, pushing a carriage,
power walking.

Breathing the fresh air as if
it were the last of it. Like a dying man
enjoying his last meal, they
breathe life in as they crunch through the
dancing leaves.

Golden, coral and chartreuse leaves rain
down onto the grass sprinkling a perfect
circle under the Maple tree. I hear a faint sound of
teens laughing in the park nearby as they shoot baskets
in the sunshine.

Children scooping up mounds of leaves
into a pile. There is no rake in sight. Their intent is
not to clean up the clutter. Their
leave pile is small but so are they. Each
runs and jumps, laughing and falling, the leaves
flying and spreading. They scrape them together
and jump again.

Kevin and Andrew take to the woods
to explore. They return rosy cheeked and
smiling. Andrew proudly hands me an
amber sycamore leaf bigger than a
dinner plate. I leave it on the coffee table as a
centerpiece and a reminder to enjoy life now
before winter sets in and
steals life away.

He came to me with a sheepish smile. Only three weeks earlier his father had been killed in a car accident. I don't know if he had been a good Dad but I know that Austin had lived with him and his older step-sister and step-brother and also a little brother. Now he was back with mom, rumored to have a drinking problem.

I had met both Mom and Dad several times when Austin was in elementary school and the family was still all together. I had never seen his Dad smile although he did not seem harsh but like a man with heavy responsibilities. Mom was likable enough, came in with a new hair color and style every time I saw her. Sometimes she came in bouncy and well-groomed and other times... not so much.

All of this flashed through my mind as Austin shuffled into the library and looked at me across the circulation desk. Our eyes were level. When had he grown so tall? Though he smiled, there was pain behind his eyes. He hemmed and hawed a bit, "Ummm. Uh."

"What's up, Austin?"
"Well, uh, my library book was in my Dad's car when he had the wreck."
Crack! Was that my heart breaking or his?

We talked another minute as I looked him up in the computer. He was trying not to cry. I was trying not to cry. And then I told him "Sometimes I just have to let it go." and I deleted the missing book out of the system. I wish I could have wiped away his hurt as easily. I said a silent prayer for 11 year old Austin as he smiled his sad smile and left.

I hope you'll do the same.

My glasses were covered with white speckles which was messing with my vision almost as much as the fact that there was no light except what came through the shaded windows on the other side of the room. After finishing the priming of the sheet rock I was doing the ceiling. There was no electricity in the room yet so no light, no air conditioning. My arms ached, my neck hurt and the sweat was dripping down me from my forehead to my feet... I was having a great time. Really!

My brother has been remodeling their first home, which they'd been renting out. They plan to sell their newer house and move back in to house #1. He is doing almost all of the work himself and with the help of friends and family. Angus and a couple of the boys had helped a couple of times over the summer but this was my first effort.

We'd been driving home from church and Angus announced that he thought we should all go in to help Gino today. I am the only one who heard this announcement since one boy was home in bed still, one was at his home with the family, and the two others were off after church to grab donuts with friends. Good luck with that, I thought.

But little do I understand the power of a father who sees that his sons have nothing to do on a Sunday afternoon but loaf it away. That and the prospect of a little man-bonding time. All four sons showed up!

Gino was in heaven with the thought of an actual crew to help. Jenn and I painted... and painted and painted. Zeke and Kev and Bo installed lights and ceiling fans after some instruction from their grandpa. Angus and Zeke finished hanging the dry wall down the hall and the entire bathroom. Gino and CJ got to work on the new hard wood floors in the new garage-turned-bedroom. He had helped his friend lay them a week earlier and stopped by Judd's house to borrow some equipment that would make the job so much easier. Kev took over when CJ had to leave.

The day ended with pizza about 7 pm. We were worn out but had accomplished much. The boys had all learned some new skills and some life lessons about work and family and giving.

It was such a good day.

A big truck rumbles around the corner, a dog barks in the distance as I pick tomatoes in the garden. A hummingbird buzzes by on his way to the feeder, the chimes tinkle gently in the breeze. I notice none of this, I'm thinking about what to make for dinner.

There's a golf ball in the grass and a piece of fur caught in a crack of the deck. A tiny puddle on the deck grows beneath a leak in the gutters above. I am lost in thought about the meeting tonight as I pull weeds among the flowers.

Sometimes I don't even notice when someone walks into the room! My grandson, Blue, notices all of the above. He catches everything. He is enamored by it all.

The very first time we blew up the kiddie pool and filled it, he was curious. What was this giant puddle? He stuck his hand in to test the water then lifted it and watched the water drip down his hand off the tip of his fingers and into the grass. He watched every detail of the traveling drop until it finally disappeared then dipped his hand again. He did it over and over again.

He is especially fascinated by the wind. He can be deep in play when the wind blows the leaves in the trees high above. They rustle; he stops and looks up to see. Blue can be riding his spring horse on the back deck when the breeze blows and he stops and points to his pinwheel laying on the table. I pick it up, turn it to find the wind 'til it is spinning furiously. He watches until it slows to a stop then continues his ride until the next gust of wind catches his attention.

Because Blue loves them so, I have hung wind chimes all around. He never fails to hear the chimes and points to make sure I am paying attention as well.

Having Blue around this summer has brought a new perspective to my life. I am beginning to pay attention. I am starting to notice the little things in life that add sugar and spice to the normal. I am observing the little details that bring a sense of wonder and give me balance. It slows me down and somehow makes me feel lighter and more grateful. Life is good. God is good.

There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million. ~Walt Streightiff

Angus called on his way home from work at 9 a.m. "I think I'm going to golf this morning."
"Oh, yeah? You goin' alone?" says me, knowing his golfing buddy is still out of town.
"Probably... unless you want to come. (pause) ....I'll get a golf cart. You can drive."

You need to understand, when Angus golfs he speed walks. For him it is not only about golf but about exercise, too. I went out with him a couple of times last year, just keeping him company, tagging along. I could not keep up, he walks so fast. I really tried to be tough and not show that my calves were on fire and I was panting as quietly as I could but finally I told him "Hey, you're killin' me." and he slowed down to a normal fast pace which was till a lot of exercise.

Today, when he offered the golf cart I knew he really did want me to come, so I went. Why not? I said I wanted to walk it, I'd been walking with the dog lately so felt up to the challenge When he saw me slip on my flip-flops he said "Are you going to wear those?" Man-speak for "Are you nuts?" "Yeah, I walk in these all the time." Woman-speak for "You can't tell me what to do."

It had rained earlier in the morning and the air was still heavy with humidity but the sky was overcast and there was a slight breeze. We begin the trek to the first hole. Before we had gone past the 2nd hole I had a blister on my left foot. Instead of being miserable for the next 6 holes I just slipped off my flips and Angus slid them wordlessly into a pocket on his cart.

Suddenly walking on a lush, thick green carpet. It was cool and slightly moist under my feet as I walked beside my husband in the peace of the late morning. I wondered if anyone else had ever walked this place barefoot and experienced the soft joy I was feeling. It occurred to me that here I was standing in a little piece of grassy heaven and no one was appreciating it in quite the way I was. By standing barefoot on it I was somehow a part of the environment I was in and I saw things differently than I'd have otherwise. I spotted a deer track near a marsh. I noticed the places where clover was trying to intrude. I felt the sun slip in and out between the clouds and I caught the breeze gently lift my hair ever so slightly. It occurred to me that a golf course is a part of nature, however manicured it may be, beauty is everywhere!

I am so glad I did not miss out on that opportunity so feel closer to Angus, nature and God.

We'd pitched our tent close to the creek and the rushing of the water over the little rapids just downstream was a soothing sound that made for peace-filled sleep. Just the night before we'd been sleeping in a dorm with a couple of dozen bunk beds occupied by others who'd come to the Appalachian Mountains to work. A week repairing houses and painting barns in the deep humidity of Kentucky, living in a community of friendly strangers had been great but we were eager to get on with our vacation and had headed to the nearby Smoky Mountains.

The contrast was surreal. The calm, quiet and solitude were more needed than we had realized. The first morning we woke to rain. Well, every morning we woke to rain. We'd planned to do a lot of hiking but with the threat of rain looming

and the incredible humidity, only managed two good hikes. Vince was so sweaty after he looked as if he'd been through a rain shower! One cloudy morning we were driving around when we came across a path to Lookout Tower. We walked up the path and up the tower to see the view and all we could see were clouds below us... but above was blue sky!

The next day, cloudy again! We took the same path up to the tower and discovered a much clearer view of our surroundings and it was beautiful! We decided it wasn't going to rain any more and trotted back down to do some hiking.

That was the day we took our long hike. The trail to Abrams Falls was closed due to "bear activity" so we missed out on that but we found another that led us up to the heights and down in the valleys. We were so deep in the woods that at one point it was almost spooky. We never saw a sign of another person all day! If felt good to be so free and wild. There were interesting things of nature all around us.

We love camp cooking and we and some wonderful meals, some of which we ate under a lean-to as we watched the rain speckle the creek. We tried out a couple of new recipe ideas I'd found on the internet and they definitely earned their way onto our camp menu in the future. On the way down the highway we had stopped at a flea market where we ended up purchasing quite a bit of local produce.

We did end up leaving a couple of days early. We saw some great views, met many nice and friendly people and discovered much to love about the region. The rain, oppressive heat and humidity finally got to us though and we were ready to head home (to much of the same, more rain, heat and humidity).

Life is good.

They stood  there on the porch leaning into each other.  Ricky and Clarice.  They were definitely pleased that we had come to help them with repairs to their home.  They had expected the new dry wall but had gotten a solid floor, new sink cabinet and counter and a patched ceiling as well.  We had little gifts of pretty kitchen towels, oven mitt, dish cloths, slice rug, hanging flowers and a welcome mat for their front door which we had just presented to them.  They stood there together as people took  their picture, truly grateful but somewhat unsettled.  I doubt they much liked having their photos taken, obviously uncomfortable as flash after flash of our paparazzi popped in their faces.

I've been thinking lots about them and the whole mission trip and what I have learned and am taking away from it all. I've been on a few of these work-type trips and always come away feeling as if we could have done so much more, that there is so much need and we aren't doing enough.  But this trip has really thrown me a curve.  

Appalachia.  We've all heard stories about how some of the poorest people in the U.S. live there and until recent history, because of their isolation, greatly fell through the cracks in our system for helping them.  

We did see much poverty, horrible living conditions and bad health.  What I did not see was need.  When I say that I mean that they are satisfied with their lives, accepting of their condition and happy.  They help each other.  Their homes weren't much but I have never seen such fine gardens!  That is why I am feeling ambivalent.  

It made me uneasy to see our group taking photos of this sweet, loving couple whom we obviously pitied.  They knew it, too.  I could see it in Ricky's eyes.  I think we were self-righteous and judgmental of thei

r lifestyle.  Yes, we definitely improved their living conditions but I wonder if we really improved their lives.  Did we make them feel small? Were we condescending?    I pray that we were not.

Ricky had no teeth at all and his clothes were filthy. He had moved all the kitchen cabinets and appliances into the middle of the room out of the way, in anticipation of our arrival.  He was there almost always as we worked, not underfoot but ready to answer questions, eager to help in any way he could.  He got us a broom to sweep up, he found us a hammer when we needed an extra for pulling out all those nails.  "Grampa's crow bar" was indispensible.  He found us the phone number for the lumber yard when we unexpectedly needed plywood to repair the rotten floor beneath the sink and freezer areas.  

On our second work day we arrived at the house to find a hole in the corner of the  kitchen floor.  Ricky was moving the refrigerator more out of the way the night before and had actually gone through the floor!  Worried, I asked him how far he had gone through.  He replied "About half way.  But it was my bad leg."  Oh no!  But he said that was a good thing.  He was totally sincere.  He'd been hurt but it was on his already damaged leg and not his good leg, so no biggie.  The man has an attitude of gratitude that I can only dream of.  He looks for the good in life and he finds it.  Oh, how I need to learn from that man!

On day 3, an old woman called because her electricity and gone out the night before and she called Ricky.  He went over and figured out the problem for her.  He is also the church caretaker. The Settlement would have come and gotten the huge pile of old sheet rock, paneling and debris we'd hauled out of his house but Ricky's brother showed up with his pickup to haul it off.

Clarice was overweight with the dirtiest feet I have ever seen.  She has a gaping hole in her quick smile and gorgeous blue eyes surrounded by long dark lashes.  You notice their beauty in spite of her teeth. Her health is poor and there were several oxygen tanks in their living room for her.  She teaches a Bible Study for the teenagers that go to her church.  The day she went to the doctor she wore a pretty dress that I commented on.  I wish I'd taken of picture of her that day.  I wish I'd taken a picture of those eyes.  She has quick smile and a joie de vivre

 about her that can't be missed.  Do I value life that much?  

On the final day, we wouldn't let Clarice in the kitchen while we worked.  We wanted to surprise her.  We made Ricky promise to keep her out while we went back for lunch.  We painted all day and put in the new cabinet and counter.  I painted a quick border of vines and flowers.  Someone found an old wooden heart laying in their yard, cleaned it up and painted it white.  They brought it to me to "do something with" so I painted the same viney flowers and the words "God bless this happy home".  We hung it above the sink.

When we had finished it all, we led Vicki in for her surprise.  She was delighted with the border and gave me a big ol' hug.  She was thrilled with her "new" kitchen.  We gave them the gifts and a new broom which she handed right off to Ricky "I cook, you clean."  We got a good laugh out of that.  We blessed their home, gave hugs (Ricky got a little teary) and headed back to the Settlement.

We'd had a good week of hard work and tons of sweat.  There was lots of kidding and fun.  Lots of jokes about no teeth and Mountain  Dew and how the mountain folks just "make due".  There had been lots of comments about the incredulity of the living conditions.  Smug?  

I came away thinking I had learned SO much.  If we had never come along I don't think they'd be much worse off.  They seemed satisfied with the life they live.  Yes, they accepted the things we gave them gratefully.  They were glad to have it all but did they need it?  Not really.  They were happy.  They were in love.  They appreciate the smallest things and look for the good in life, in people.  And they find it.

We were there to work, to get as much done in our 4 days as possible.  There were 17 of us and they started us off with two projects.  If we finished those they'd find something more.  There's always more to be repaired, replaced, renewed in these Appalachian communities in southeastern Kentucky and Northeastern Tennessee.

Our jobs were to sheetrock and a kitchen and put skirting and a porch roof on the house next door.  We all kind of gravitated to a job and set to work.  Ted was a retired sheet rock man who had owned his own business for many years.  We could not have done it without his expertise.  He was flat out amazing.  Seriously we hardly had to sand at all due to his incredible mudding skills!

But I've gotten ahead of myself.  We went on in to tear out the old paneling (a kind of cardboard) and sheet rock, discovering a horrible mess of mold and rot in one corner.  Ricky, the homeowner told us the creek had flooded the house in '93. 

The floor was squishy in several places so we had to be careful where we placed our feet.  There was already a patched area near the door, a piece of vinyl nailed over the hole.  We were able to tear out all the sheet rock and pull out the dozens of nails as well as vacuum up a lot of the debris.  Everything was crumbly.

 The skirting crew was making slow but steady progress.  Who knew it was such a tedious job?  The porch crew did more discussin' than workin' but that's what happens when you have too many chiefs.   They were working well together and enjoying themselves!  

                                                                                             The heat and humidity were barely tolerable for us but no one was complaining.

 
When we arrived at the house the next day to work on the house we found a big hole in the floor.  Ricky had gone right through the floor while trying to move the refrigerator!  

Fortunately, he was not badly injured but now we had floor boards to replace.  As they tore out the rotted floor boards they found more and more rot.  

A 2 foot (ish... nothing is square or level or uniform) piece of floor along the wall and the old hole by the door, as well.

The day ended with most of the insulation installed (There'd been none before!) most of the sheet rock was hung and most of the flooring in place.  

The following day was to be our day off, our site-seeing day, but we spent all morning working on getting needed items for our projects.  We traveling to a Lowe's where we could purchase a replacement sink cabinet, a counter top, some more quick-dry sheet rock mud and some odds and ends.  

Next door was a WalMart and we decided to stop in there to pick up a new broom for Ricky and Clarice. Their's was shot!


We all separated and wandered to the check out with little items to dress up their kitchen.  Towels and towel hangers, a kitchen rug, hanging flower baskets for the porches and a welcome mat for the front door.  

I picked up some paints and brushes thinking, that if there was time, I'd throw up a quick little vining   border to add a little cheer to the plain white walls.

Thursday was crunch day.  Everything had to be finished enough to get the painting done. The carpenters and mudders and skirters went back to the work site and several others of us stayed behind to work at the Settlement.

We were given the job to paint the inside of the big barn "nude Tan" (a pinky white").  The barn will soon be used for a Farmer's Market and the ladies who'll run it were thrilled to get rid of the drab gray cinderblock walls.

We worked and sweated and joked and laughed all day.  Some teens worked outside the barn hauling a huge pile of gravel to the playground area so we had their music and laughter as background in our efforts.

Friday, our final day! All work needed to be completed or left for another group to finish.  We were determined to get it all done.  Several of the most dedicated and talented had skipped lunch on Thursday to finish the mudding.  

We did some light sanding, cleaned up the dust and began a coat of primer before lunch.  The "Nude Tan" paint (again) went on easily with the many hands working while the new cabinet, sink and plumbing were installed.   The skirting was finished, complete with a "gate" so Michael (the coal miner whose family lives in the trailer) could continue to use the space underneath for storage.  The railing was completed for the porch and the flower baskets hung.

We ended with prayers and blessings for the families we had come to know.

Kentucky.  Tennessee.  Angus had two weeks vacation and we would spend the first week of it working on homes in Appalachia  with a group from Missouri, then head on for some camping and hiking in the Smoky Mountains.  We were excited and we were on our way!  The rented van held 8 and Angus and I were in our car heading to Evansville, Indiana where we would meet up with folks from Nixa, Missouri who were also going to the Henderson Settlement.  We stayed the night, sleeping on the gym floor of a church there and then caravanned on, heading east.  We were silly with our walkie-talkies and having fun along the way.  

We stopped for lunch in Somerset, Kentucky.  That's when I discovered it.  My purse was missing... my purse with pretty much all of our cash for the trip.  I remembered putting up on the towel holder in a gas station restroom at our last stop.  We had the receipt and called information to get the phone number.  The rest of the group went on in to order at Smokey's BBQ.  We called and they looked.  No purse.  A hundred thoughts were running through my head.  We don't use credit cards anymore so the loss of the cash was big.  Angus had his debit card but mine was in my purse, so was our check book, of course.  If we canceled mine would he still be able to get money with his card or did it put a hold on the account?  It was Sunday,the bank was closed.   

We live in a small town and so we know our banker and we called him at home.  He told us to call the bank first thing in the morning, any charges would be covered.  Not very comforted by that information, we went back to the table.  We discussed it all.  I told them that for me, the worst of it was knowing people do stuff like that.  I kind of shakes your faith in humanity.  That sounds dumb, I know, but I want to believe, I do believe that most folks do the right thing when they can.  Jenita told us that when her purse was stolen, they had grabbed all the cash out of it and tossed it in the nearest dumpster.  Perhaps we could call the police in that town and they could find the purse, maybe the debit card and check book would still be within.  

That sounded promising so we went back outside to make the call.  Angus had his new early Father's Day gift, a Garmin, and it gave us the local Police number for Morgantown, Kentucky.  The officer who answered was efficient and polite with his deep southern drawl.  He  didn't make me feel like an idiot (okay, not any more of an idiot than I already did).  He took our phone number and said would send someone out to check on it.

My head was still spinning.  I kept thinking of more and more things that had been in that bag.  My digital camera. My school keys.  Angus was quiet and calm, he's used to me doing dumb stuff.  We headed back in and sat down with the rest of the crew.  There, laying on the table between us was a stack of bills.  I didn't know what to say when I saw it.  I looked searchingly at Angus who hadn't  seen it yet.  They'd taken up a little collection for us, these people... most of whom we barely knew.  They had collected $300 in those few minutes we were out.  Tears welled in my eyes.  I had been pretty careful about how I was feeling, nothing seemed real until then.  Their generosity moved me back to my faith in humanity again.  Yes, I know there are bad people, lots of them.  But I still think that they are outnumbered by normal people who do the right thing.  It just doesn't get the attention.

As we were finishing up our meal Angus got the call back.  The purse had been found.  It appeared that everything was intact he said.  We decided to go back the 88 miles to retrieve it.  The rest of the group would go on and we'd, hopefully, meet them at the Henderson Settlement before dark.

In all the excitement we almost forgot to pay for our meal but when we went back to check on it one of the people from Nixa had paid already paid for it.

We called the police when we got into the tiny town and he met us in the parking lot of the local Dollar Store.  He was a big ol' boy and pulled up in his big black SUV.  He didn't even get out of the vehicle, just reached his arm out and handed it out the window, telling me again, he thought it hadn't been messed with but he didn't know what it had looked like before.  Sure enough, everything was there.  Everything.  I was thrilled.  He told us there are two of that gas station in town and we'd probably been given the phone number of the wrong one.  I said I'd sure like to give him a big hug.  He laughed and told us that "Oh, no.  This is a small town and everyone'll hear about it."  Laughed again and was on his way.  

That's it.  We returned all the money given us but we kept the love that had come with it.  Our hearts were filled with such gratitude that every one of those 15 people felt like kin.  The couple who'd bought  our meal refused to be reimbursed.  We missed the evening devotions but arrived at our destination just as it was growing dark.  Heard our names called out from a porch swing as we drove slowly through the peaceful Settlement in the foggy dusk of the surrounding hills.  We were greeted and hugged and settled in quickly. It was peace And we felt ready for whatever adventures lay ahead.

I've been accused of being an idealist so many times.  It's always used in a derogatory manner which puzzles me.  So I looked up the word to make sure it meant what I thought it meant.

i⋅de⋅al⋅ist

  [ahy-dee-uh-list] 

–noun

1.	a person who cherishes or pursues high or noble principles, purposes, goals, etc.

2.	a visionary or impractical person.

3.	a person who represents things as they might or should be rather than as they are.

4.	a writer or artist who treats subjects imaginatively.

5.	a person who accepts the doctrines of idealism. What's so wrong with that?  -to believe that people can change?  that there is hope for the future?  that life is good and should be treasured?  Guilty.

One bird chirps outside my window. One bird in the dark. He chirps again, proud to be the one who calls forth the morning. A gentle breeze filters through the screen and as it brushes over me I arise. I close the window and lower the shades so Angus will sleep another few hours after working through much of the night.

I don’t want to miss a moment of the awakening world so I hurry, grab my robe and tiptoe down the stairs. Not wanting to invade my world with artificial light, I maneuver easily through the darkness to the kitchen. The numerals shine at me from the microwave clock, 5:55. By the glow I choose a mug, the one Zeke brought me back from the Petrified Forest, fill it with yesterday’s coffee and zap it for 50 seconds. It is stuffy in the house and I am impatient to get outside. I open the back door and step into the place between night and morning.

My wake-up bird is still calling, singing out his joy. I hear “This is the day the Lord hath made!” in his four little notes and my mind sings the answering “Let us rejoice and be glad in it!” The chairs are still stored for winter so I sit cross-legged on the deck, facing the woods beyond and listen to the world wake up. The silhouettes of the trees stand out against the gray sky. Another bird sings out from the Hackberry tree beside me and the duet begins.

There is a refreshing breeze and it plays with the little dragonfly chimes and sprinkles tinkling notes as more birds begin to join the chorus. Now and then the breeze picks up and the bamboo chimes chunk its bass tones into the melody. An owl barks out a single “hoot” and a turkey “gobbles” every few bars. He must’ve been roosting in the trees out back and knowing this sends a wave of pleasure through me.

I notice the tops of the trees waving their arms to the morning music. The sky is already lightening into a pale gray and I can make out the lovely white branches of the sycamore by the creek. There is still no color in the dawning sky so the Red Bud, in full bloom looks as if it has been swallowed by a cloud. The slender branches of the Maple sway gently and even the knobby, angled branches of the Hickory dance.

The breeze is growing stronger, probably bringing with it the rain predicted later in the day. The chimes become a frenzy of tinkles and clunking and the birds are a full choir now. A squirrel chatters at me and urges me to get on with my day. I reluctantly stand, my mug now empty but my heart is full. I have been gladdened and feel grateful for life. Today I start my day with joy.

My "baby" sister, Pete, is 14 years younger than I. When I was off to college she would save her pie crust in a tupperware in the fridge, because I loved pie crust. Of course, I didn't love old stale pie crust all by itself but... guess what? When I'd come home she'd run to me, excitedly carrying that little square dish with the treasure inside! So pleased was she with her offering that what could I do but sit and gag it down pretending to love every bite? That's how much I love her.

Last night I dreamed that Pete had died and I was dealing with it well when suddenly it came to me how she is the glue that holds our family together. There are five of us "kids" and my parents and 16 neices and nephews and at least 6 great-neices and newphews by now in our family. It occurred to me how she is the one who calls when someone is in the hospital, she is the one who shoots out the newsy emails, she is the one who pulls together the family get-togethers and sets in motion the big events. I also suddenly realized ( all this in a dream!) how very much I would miss her if she were gone. That's when I suddenly couldn't breathe and that woke me..

I woke and started breathing again, realizing it had been a dream and recognizing that I had dreamed this before but not remembered. In the confusion of waking, with taht ache still in my heart, I wondered if I had dreamed it because it had really happened and for a few moments, trying to wake up, trying to remember, I came to the conclusion that she is fine and dandy living with her young family in the city. Oh, but those few moments...

I thought about my friend, El, who has those dreams about her son and wakes with that fuzz, hoping it was just a dream, only to conclude that it is her new reality. The death of Dane is real. I sent up another prayer for his family.

I thought about how very much I love Pete, and how I take that so for granted. I thought about how death can snatch any of us away in an instant. Who else do I love don't even think about it? There are so many!

I'll call my sister, Pete, today. By the way, I'm the only one who calls her Pete and she loves me enough to like that (I think). I'll tell her that I notice all she does and I'll tell her that I love her.

Two weeks ago tomorrow the most horrible tragedy occurred. Our closest friends' 22 year old son was killed. Their only son. Their beloved, full-of-joy, so-much-potential son. My four sons' "other brother".

Grief is mostly unfamiliar to me so as I watched that awful day unfold I was totally awed by, well, everything. I hugged them both at once as they cried those raw words into my ears, the words I hear over and over again with the same agony and despair "I don't know what to do. I just don't know what to do." I didn't either. Helpless.

There were many other things wept out that day with the same anguish as they tried to grasp, to understand. In the history of me it was the worst day, the worst week, of my life... and he wasn't even my son. How does one go on from that? How do you be a friend through that?

But, oh, there was so much good as well. People came. Some jumped into their cars as soon as they heard. Others brought food. People answered phones. Made lists. Made plans. The house was filled with love and respect. And, while I was there the whole day I did nothing but stay by El's side. I would move away when someone new came in to give her love but would move back as soon as they moved on. She needed touch. She needed love. But I felt useless. She needed something none of us could give her.

It haunts me. Sleep eludes. Work is meaningless. People around me don't "get it". My God and music have gotten me through. It is amazing to me how healing music can be. As if, someone else out there understands what this family, this friendship, is going through.

I came across this beautiful song, lyrics below, sung by Greg Long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Help Somebody Cry

Someone you care about has a broken heart
You want to be a friend but you don’t know where to start
There are no words to speak that could ever be enough
How can you show them your love?

Help somebody cry
Be there for the tears
God will use your life
To show them he is near
There’s no easy way
To make it feel alright
When you don’t have the answer to why
Help somebody cry

Time may heal the wound
But that doesn’t matter now
So lend a friend your faith
Walk them through the doubt

Help somebody cry
Be there for the tears
God will use your life
To show that he is near
There’s no easy way
To make it feel alright
When you don’t have the answer to why
Help somebody cry

Sometimes there’s nothing you can do
But hold somebody’s hand and pray them through
There are no words to speak
That can ever be enough
How can you show them your love?
Help somebody cry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today is El's birthday. There will be no celebrating. If you pray, please do so for the family of Dane Nelson ~ his parents, sister & brother-in-law, his bride of 6 months, his friends, and his students. And realize how fragile life is and how quickly it can be snatched away. Go hug your loved ones right now.