Debra and her three little children started coming to our church several years ago.  A young women of exotic beauty and charisma with a quick smile, she exuded joy and love.  She was new to this small town but easily got a job at a local daycare.  She quickly became involved in church activities, joined the praise band and became friends with the youth pastor.  It wasn't long before she met a sweet young man, a plumber named Filandro and started bringing him to church with her.  He was very shy but she brought such joy and hope to his life.  He began to open up and also become involved, in his humble, quiet way. 

She soon moved in with Filandro and he treated her children as his own.  When this happened it was a bit of an ethical problem for the youth pastor since Debra had become role model for the youth and was teaching a Bible study.

The father of her youngest child, a baby, started coming to our church, too.  Debra was unhappy about that, saying he wasn't a good father.  Then it wasn't long before we heard about the custody battle in Texas over her oldest child, the four-year-old.  Lena's father was making some terrible accusations about Debra and also claimed that she had taken her from the state illegally.  She claimed that she had done so in order to escape from his brutality.  There was a fundraiser for them arranged by our youth pastor, so that she could fly back for court, hire an attorney.  Two folks from church flew themselves down twice to give testimony on her behalf.  Filandro kept the kids each time.

Well, one day Debra took off.  Disappeared.  Took her kids and was gone.  Left Fil with  alot of debt and no word at all.  We'd all been duped.  A con artist.  She moved on.

A lot of people felt betrayed.  The worst of it all was poor heartbroken Fil.  He had truly loved her and her children had become like his own.  He had love and a family and it had been taken away from him in the crueliest of ways.

Fil withdrew into himself, coming to church less and less often.  He decided to move back to Oklahoma where he'd grown up, where his mom still lived.  We lost track of Fil after that.

Yesterday at church it was announced that Filandro had taken his own life.  I gasped out loud and tears instantly came.  I was sobbing silently most of the rest of the service.  Fil was the kind of man who would never be able to recover from such heartache without deep and dedicated love.  Had we done all we could for him?  Did we love him back to life again?  Did we abandon him after Debra left?  Did we call and check on him?  Did we even notice when he fell away?  Did we all dessert Filandro? Did I?

Ash Wednesday ~ A time to remember that we are ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  To remember our fraility and our sinfulness and the sacrifice that was made for us.

Lent ~ The 40 days when we intentionally remember the sacrifice Jesus made willingly (his very life) and the love with which it was given.  We might even make a small sacrifice (willingly, lovingly give up something precious to us) in order to get a better idea of the difficulty and the grace involved in Jesus' sacrifice.  

I am feeling closer to that Lenten meaning today better than I ever have before.  I knew Fil pretty well.  I knew his character and, if I'd have given it much thought, I'd have known that he was a truly broken man.  He was a tender soul.  I failed him.  We all did.  We all thought or hoped that someone else was taking care of him or didn't even notice.  There are no excuses. 

Sometimes I think we think "Oh, I'm a good person."  Honestly, I don't even give sin much thought.  My sins "aren't that bad".  But maybe the sins of not doing are the very worst kind.  We know better, but we are busy, tired or lazy.  Selfish.         But......

God loves me anyway.

Wow.     

"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" Jesus replied: " 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."                      

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 "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.

This is kind of a long story that I have needed to tell for awhile but just couldn't. Thank you to Shelly at Can I Borrow Your Life for nudging me.

In August of 2003 I lost my dear friend, Sandy, in a car crash. It was my first experience with a close, unexpected death. I took it hard. I dropped about 10 pounds in two weeks because I forgot to eat and wasn't hungry. My thoughts were consumed with Sandy and what she was and what the world, my world, would be like without her in it? Had I appreciated her enough? (no) Did she know I loved her? (yes) What would her kids do? (she had 4) What would her parents do? (she was their only) My mind just would not stop.

She worked right beside me every day. One evening her family came in and cleaned out her area without our knowing. I walked into our small office the following morning and it was such a shock to look over there and see nothing of her! I burst into sobbing and just turned around and went home without saying a word.

I really started thinking about the value of life and how we live it and how we should be living it. I thought about Sandy and how she was one of those people that wasn't very involved in her church and didn't go to church all the time and I really didn't know how deep her faith was. But she lived the way we ought to.

She was kind to everyone without exception, even those who didn't have her best interest at heart (like her Ex). She knew the name of every salesman or repairman that walked in, if not when he arrived then by the time he left. ...And how many kids he had and probably their names, too!

People she barely knew would stop by just to say hello to her and she was never too busy for them no matter how much she had on her plate. We joked about "Here comes your new best friend" when we saw some of them walking up to the door, but that's the thing... She treated everyone, and I mean it, everyone, as if they were her family.

Why couldn't I do that? Me, who professed to be a Christian (with far more involvement and spirituality than she). I knew she had it right by the Great Commandment and I was still struggling with it all.

Three weeks after Sandy's death Vince and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary. We took a weekend getaway to Lawrence, Kansas. With all the thoughts of life and death and such I had also been reevaluating my marriage.

Vince and I are incredibly different in temperament and personality and even the way we think. We usually get to the same place but it often takes some negotiating. I decided it was worth it. It's kind of like that "Jerry McGuire" movie where he says "You complete me." I've heard people make wisecracks about that statement but it is why we are still hanging in there. When we do work together it can be amazing and wonderful. I wanted that to happen more.

While we were in the little college town that weekend, I got my tattoo. It was a plan, not spontaneous. I wanted a dragonfly rising from the water. I had designed the line of water with a "V" and an "S" gently curved into it. Whenever I looked at it I would be reminded that I love Vince and also to carry on Sandy's example for living.

A butterfly is too pretty and gentle for me. A dragonfly is born in the water and changes into a predatory flying insect. It is in the "good bug" category since it consumes huge numbers of nasty mosquitos. It is an amazing insect to me, to be so bold and tough and so full of life as it darts around the ponds ands fields. I am so not-prissy or gentle or beautiful (Is that why God gave me 4 sons?). I thought the dragonfly was a much better representation of who I am. No, I'm not a predator but I'll fight for what I believe in.

So, now you know the secret of my tattoo. Many people have asked why the tat and why the dragonfly but I never fill in the details. Now you know. (Shhhh~don't tell anyone.)

~~~~~~~~~

Okay, did any of you notice that my tattoo is not really a dragonfly? Most people think it is though and I wish it was so ... They told me it was a dragonfly and I was so excited and scared at the time that I didn't notice the antennae, which dragonflies do not have, and the wings are shaped wrong, too. Haha. A dragonfly that's not right. The jokes on me! I'm just pretending to know what's going on but in reality I am just skimming the surface. How just.

The tattoo is perfect for me.
~~~~~~~~~~

~P.S. Vince and I just hit #29 and still rollin'

For the Ones Who've Survived: I've resurrected this from the not so ancient past because I can't write anything better today than what I was feeling then. In honor of Memorial Day and the ones who came back but now have to live with it.

Dear Marine,
It's September here in Missouri, still hot but with a hint of Autumn in the air today. I walked out to get the mail this afternoon and couldn't resist the hammock in the shade of the peach tree on the trip back to the house. I laid across it, just for a few minutes, as I sorted through today's bills and flyers. There was a sweet thank you note from a friend who had left for college for the first time only 3 weeks ago. I recognized her big round letters and smiled before I even opened it, knowing that the small package I had sent had brought a tiny moment of joy into her exciting, new and homesick world. Then my thoughts turned to you, my faraway friend.

I remember the first time you went off to Iraq. You had no idea what to expect. I barely knew you then except through your mom. She was so upset when you enlisted but she also recognized that you had been having difficulty finding your place in life and prayed that the Marines would fill the hunger in you. You were so young and fresh and eager then.

I talked to your mom for a long time the other night. She didn't cry this time. You have just deployed for your third tour of Iraq. The fear inside her still fills her up for she, too, has lost her innocence. But she has had to learn to trust you and your instincts and your comrades... and God. There were times when I didn't think she would survive Iraq but she is a survivor. You get that from her.

As I lay in the hammock with that hint of late summer in the air...a few lone cicadas buzzing their constant circular song with a gentle breeze rustling the pages in my lap, I remember that you are over there. I send up a silent prayer, as I do every time you cross my mind, and wonder how you are faring. Your mom told me how, when you phoned last week, you told her about the new guys who jumped at the sound of mortars each time and were astounded at you guys who never even flinched. She chuckled.

Once upon a time the mortars frightened you something awful but you learned that most of them don't hit anyone. One time one hit right near you and your buddy and you never even blinked, you'd become so accustomed to them and perhaps to death, too, by then. But then you realized after that... your hands were shaking. Yes, Marine, you are still alive, amazingly and gratefully, still alive.

So, you are probably one of the old men in your unit this time, at 22 isn't it? Respected for your battle scars perhaps, even though they can't be seen. Are you able to sleep yet, friend? Do the nightmares still come? Can you put them aside and rest? Can you be a leader and a role model to these young men that look up to you and teach them the battle skills that they will need to survive the horror they will see out there?

The weight is heavy. I know that most of your buddies didn't survive the 2nd tour. I know that some of those that did are out now and that it was hard for you to see them escape, even as you rejoiced for them. I know that the memories haunt you. But I also know how strong you have become and how beautiful you still are. When you get through this next journey you will have learned some things that some people, most people, never know.

You will know how to rejoice in every day and in every person around you for you know how fragile life is. You won't take anything or anyone for granted the way the rest of us often do. You will have learned that human beings are capable of things that we can't imagine, both great and horrible. You will know that one can survive anything as long as there is hope. You will learn to hope again. You will learn to push aside the most awful of things your memory tries to show you but you will retain it in the back of your mind to make you into a kinder more aware person. You will have learned to trust God in all things and give your burdens to him.

It was a beautiful day here. My prayer for you today is that you find a small piece of beauty out there and share it with someone else.

Go with God.

Today I saw the faces of the 8 students (A.J. Jackson, Michael Tompkins, Ryan Mohler, Michael Bowen, Katie Strunk, Michelle Wilson, Jamie Ann Vidensek and Peter Dunn) who lost their lives in the tornado that hit the high school in Enterprise, Alabama. I read the stories of the heroic acts of the teacher who threw herself over one of her students. I read about the students who had just survived the tornado themselves running to the collapsed hallway to get the injured out long before any authorities arrived with rescue units. I read about the finger pointing and second guessing regarding the administration’s decisions. As I read all of this the tears were streaming down my face.

I prayed for all those children and teachers, administrators and families, neighbors and communities that are all suffering from the aftermath. Lives forever changed. They are going to need a lot of prayers and assistance and support… and love.

I have a deep fear of tornados that goes back to my childhood. I have lived on the edge of Tornado Alley most of my life but have never seen one. You’d think having lived for half a century in a high tornado region and not ever having seen one I’d be pretty skeptical, but here’s the thing. We have all either seen one from a distance or seen the aftermath and destruction. We’ve all been through “close calls”, tornados that came down for a few minutes and then lifted back into the sky… tornados that run wild through a nearby trailer park or through a farm. They are real and they tease and threaten and veer off from where they are headed… they jump over a house and flatten the one next door… they will snatch up a man covering his nephew in a ditch and leave the boy there (true story)... They can drop out of the sky with no warning no matter how much the weather man thinks he knows. You don’t have to experience it to recognize the power. And, of course, there are always the annual tornado warnings.

There were no big sirens that blared out to the whole community. No, it was every police car in town driving up and down the streets screaming their sirens through the black streets of the night. You’d wake in the night and hear the siren… a fire? A crash? But then you’d hear another siren a bit farther away, then another and another from all different directions and you knew…TORNADO! TAKE COVER!

Here is the one memory that I can’t escape. I grew up in a nice suburban neighborhood. I am not sure how old I was…maybe 8 or 10 years old. I was awakened by my obviously frightened mother who grabbed my little sister and me out of deep slumber and told us to “Run to the Fulks’ basement. Don’t stop. There was a tornado sighted on North Oak.”

The Fulks were the only people in the neighborhood who had a basement. Everyone gathered there during take-cover warnings.

We ran! I was old enough to know that North Oak Street was not far from our house (about 8 blocks). We ran through the rain in our nightgowns in the dark all alone down the street. We ran for our lives. We ran while our parents gathered up our young twin brothers.

We were welcomed into the basement where others had already congregated and were huddled about. I don’t think I have ever been so physically frightened. Other neighbors arrived and soon my parents joined us safely, too.

The tornado did not come. We went home. But the fear remained.

You knew death was coming and you tried to prepare… but somehow making those decisions while he was still living seemed callous and scared you both… as if to put it off would put off the inevitable that the doctors, for months now, said could happen at any time. “The heart is just worn out” they said. If you thought about it too much or planned for it, might that hasten it somehow? No! Don’t think about it!

Cemetery plots and head stones and funeral homes and lost pensions (he died a day too soon) and the loss of your own social security checks. And do you want a limousine and little memory cards and laminated obituaries? How many people will come and how do we get them here? Hotel rooms or house guests? The airline tickets... the gasoline expense... who will go get them? Lost work time and lost class time and food, food, food for all of the very large family and the many guests. The fee for the church and a stipend for the priest and the singers and the organist and the printing of the funeral order of service. The photos and enlargements and photo frames and the mourning clothes for family; the black suits and ties and belts and shoes for the pall bearers . Thank you notes and postage and … and … and... there is always one more thing to decide, something to pay for, something pressing.

You thought you were prepared, but you had no idea… all the little incidental expenses… All the things to think about when your brain is still numb. Important decisions that must be made with no time to think. Decisions that do not seem important at all but still must also be made. All of these years your role has been the caregiver, the advice giver for all and you are still trying... but you are so tired.

All of the decisions and expenses do not fall to you but you are aware of them and feel burdened by it. You understand that others who care about you have taken on an added burden to keep the weight from you. They are hurting too and you know this but you let them help you because your heart is heavy and your hands are heavy and your mind is dull. You are coping from day to day, from minute to minute.

You are vaguely aware of all the busyness around you. You are in the midst of it but feel as if everyone is a blur around you and you sit alone. You feel alone with all the people around you. Your children and grandchildren are here by your side every minute but he isn’t here. You feel so alone and you say so. We all stop in mid-sentence, in mid-step, and pause. We are stunned. Suddenly we recognize the truth in your words and we weep in our hearts. We know it is true and that our arms around you and our words of love cannot replace those of the man who was at your side for 60 years.

It is as if you are being pummeled when you have already fallen to your knees and begged for mercy. Your friends and family are here in the circle with you trying to hold back the beating, taking many of the blows, but it is not enough. You will have to gather your strength… You will look over and see God in your corner and it will give you hope and you will rise to your feet again. We will cheer and hold you up and the weight will be shared by all of us. You will realize, we will realize, that together we can endure it.

My father-in-law died at home on Halloween. He was surrounded by loved ones and went peacefully. A few observations and more later when my head is clearer:

1) If you call a funeral home on Halloween and ask them to come get the body they think it is a Halloween prank.

2) You never really know how much you are loved until you are gone.

3) When you think you can't hold up, you can... if there are enough caring people around you to hold you up.

4) Those caring people always show up supporting you in small ways that you never thought were important, but they are. The smallest acts of kindness are magnified.

5) Laughter is great medicine.

6) It is very expensive to die in the USA.

7) Cardiac Hospice Care is a beautiful thing.

The 911 call came in... a domestic violence call. The officer pulled up to the house just as a little red car quickly pulled out. The officer followed and it was soon apparent that the car was fleeing, so the officer gave chase. Out through the North side of town they sped, through the winding rural roads and through the local State Park. They exited the park at high speeds right onto the road where it would all end...the road I live on. My road. For twelve minutes it was all a fun car chase.

They exited the park and came out onto a straight away. The little red car gathered speed as it raced toward the state highway with the police car in pursuit. It flew across the highway without stopping at the stop sign. The people in the red pickup truck never saw what hit them...in fact they never saw anything again on this earth.

The wreckage was horrific...the Pickup split in two pieces. The little red car? All that was left was red vehicle debris; truck and car all mingled into a mangled mess. Four lives ended instantly that day. So many more lives were forever changed: The families and coworkers of the dead. The woman who made that original 911 call. The witnesses to the crash and those that came to rescue the unrescuable. Those that came upon the wreckage realizing...it could have been them if the timing had been just a few minutes later. The officer who himself was devastated by what happened. He had followed policy but had he done the right thing?

Four small town communities all agonized over the senselessness of it all: the town nearest where the wreck occured, the town where the 911 call originated (my town), the town where the people in the truck were employeed (heading back to work after a job), the town where the young men in the red car lived (the driver had several outstanding traffic violations).

The big city sent up its' news reporter'd to add to the controversy and hurt. The police cruiser's video cam recorded it all and the crash was seen by all on the local news and on the internet.

There is lots of anger, lots of fingerpointing, lots of guilt, lots of pain. There is sorrow, there is remorse, there is blame, there is fear. There are so many questions... so many "whys?" that can't be answered by anyone.

It is definitely a wake up call in so many ways. There are people that blame God when bad stuff happens and there are those who turn to God in the same circumstance. There are lots of people that think that this kind of thing is God's plan but I know God let's us all make choices...even bad ones. I know his plan for us can be messed up by bad choices, even the bad choices of other people.

Yes, he could intervene on our behalf and prevent the bad stuff. I know that he does this sometimes and sometimes he doesn't. I believe that God knows better than we do about what is best. I don't know why that is. Sometimes that is hard to take, though.

I also know that God makes something good out of every bad thing, but we might be in too deeply into our pain to see it. It may not be possible to be seen from where we are. The benefit may be somewhere else to someone else. We have to trust.

Only one sports team can win the game but both believe they should win. The loser can say "I should have won" and be bitter and blame the coach or the ref or the sun in his eyes or the wind or the injuries or they can learn from the loss and move on and work harder and be better and be stronger. The next time they can win even with the sun in their eyes and the wind in their face and a bad call by the ref.

We hate wake up calls but we need them. It takes us off of automatic, at least for awhile. It stops us taking life for granted. It makes us value our time here and love better and live better and do more good. We need wake up calls. Don't hit that snooze button. Wake up!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James 4:14-17
You don't even know what your life tomorrow will be! You are like a puff of smoke, which appears for a moment and then disappears. What you should say is this: "If the Lord is willing, we will live and do this or that." But now you are proud, and you boast; all such boasting is wrong. So then, if we do not do the good we know we should do, we are guilty of sin.