I am grateful for this particular smiley face that takes me back to the 1970’s.

Every time you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing. ~ Mother Teresa

I am grateful for my husband’s smile. It is the first thing I see in the morning, and the last thing I see at night.

I am grateful when a stranger smiles at me, making eye contact. Eye contact in a busy world is becoming a novelty anymore, and that is sad to me.

I am grateful for dog smiles. They are real, and a smiling dog is contagious.

I am grateful for the times I see my Dad smile. It usually follows his standard, “Oh I’m okay but I’ll get over it.”

I am grateful to see two people smile at each other across the room, and I am just the observer of their unspoken conversation.

I am grateful to be part of a group of people who work together and spend time smiling at each other across the conference room table, because we genuinely like each other.

I am grateful for a brother who texts/harasses me when my teams lose because it DOES make me smile.

And I am grateful for reasons to smile. No matter our circumstance, we all have reasons to smile, if we just notice.

Be the living expression of God’s kindness; kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile. ~ Mother Teresa

The simple things in life.

Looking at your phone to see your favorite number THREE times.

Having a boss ask if you would like a pizza for lunch.

Breathing in cold air after what feels like an entire year of summer.

Talking to a granddaughter on the phone and hearing another in the background say she loves Ama so much.

Feeling excitement about new adventures on the calendar.

Taking your place in stall #3 and minding your own business, only to find a visitor the size of your hand who decided to share space, and a co-worker names her Lucy Long Legs.

The smell of wet leaves and hearing them crunch under foot as you walk.

Soft cat fur between your fingers and the feel of a purr.

Friend hugs on Thursday night piano and bingo.

Having the best Dad. And having a Dad who is so very thoughtful and realizing he is loved by everyone who knows him.

Reading a reallllly good book.

Going back to the cancer center for the regular 4 month CT scan and follow-up, always with a little trepidation and bizarre “out of body” feeling that we’ve been here before but we no longer belong…only to hear that the scans are completely clear once again, and Sam is coming up on TWO YEARS post chemo.

…He surrounds me with loving-kindness and tender mercies. He fills my life with good things! – Psalm 103: 4-5, TLB

(Photo used without her permission, but I know she won’t mind – thank you, Karen.)

I am a college student once again, and I just had a twinge of heartache because I wanted to call Mom and tell her I am following in her footsteps…and I can’t call her.

/twinj/

a sudden short feeling of emotion, especially an unpleasant one. a twinge of guilt/sadness/regret.

I daily twinge, actually.

It might be something I have said or thought that was not kind or thoughtful, or it could be something I failed to say in my haste and pre-occupied self-centeredness.

Quite often it is something I thought about doing but never got around to, and so now I twinge guilt and regret. That happens A LOT – cards I didn’t send, texts and emails I neglected to respond to, words left unwritten…

If I happen to see a cardinal or hear His Eye is on the Sparrow or I Surrender All or pull out a recipe card with Mom’s handwriting or see my bookmark with her picture on it, I twinge sadness and heartache.

If I hear someone laugh who sounds just like my daughter, or if I walk through the little girl section at Dillard’s and see all the cuteness and wish for those days to return, if I look at my video screen of scrolling pictures in my kitchen and see a picture of Nadia, my Italian Greyhound, I twinge.

If my mind takes me back to my past self and all my sins – TWINGE.

God makes everything come out right;
    he puts victims back on their feet.
He showed Moses how he went about his work,
    opened up his plans to all Israel.
God is sheer mercy and grace;
    not easily angered, he’s rich in love.
He doesn’t endlessly nag and scold,
    nor hold grudges forever.
He doesn’t treat us as our sins deserve,
    nor pay us back in full for our wrongs.
As high as heaven is over the earth,
    so strong is his love to those who fear him.
And as far as sunrise is from sunset,
    he has separated us from our sins.
As parents feel for their children,
    God feels for those who fear him.
He knows us inside and out,
    keeps in mind that we’re made of mud.
Men and women don’t live very long;
    like wildflowers they spring up and blossom,
But a storm snuffs them out just as quickly,
    leaving nothing to show they were here.
God’s love, though, is ever and always,
    eternally present to all who fear him,
Making everything right for them and their children
    as they follow his Covenant ways
    and remember to do whatever he said. – Psalm 103:12-18 (The Message)

I experience twinges quite often, and I suppose that comes with age. The more we live, the more guilt/sadness/regret we feel.

It is so interesting to me as I pass through one stage of life to another: the things I thought I knew about the season I am about to enter, I really have no clue. We only know what we know.

In my teens, I thought I knew so much more than my parents. In my 20’s, I began to realize maybe I didn’t know it all. In my 30’s, I thought I knew it all again as I worked full time and raised two girls and was in the muck and mire of a busy life. When I reached my 40’s with lots of baggage and hidden pain behind closed doors, I began to understand a little better the delicacy of marriage, the empty nest heartbreak, the rebuilding of a life after divorce.

And now in my 50’s, in process of defining who I am and who I want to be, I now sense the quiet of this season “post children” who have given me grandchildren that live far away and are all busy with their own lives. I find ways to fill heart void, assisting my 91-year-old Dad on occasion when he needs me and when he does not, volunteer my time where I can make a small difference in my corner of the world, and fight the urge to curl up on the couch and disappear into a mind-numbing TV show.

I have the sense to observe my Dad’s daily life and others in his apartment building, but until I am there, I will not know. It brings me back to my 40’s when I learned a deeply painful lesson that unless I have walked in someone else’s shoes, I really should not assume I am an authority on their life.

I see my Dad, and I twinge. But I also smile big on the inside. He has always been an incredible teacher without saying many words, if any at all. He lives his life by example.

But don’t just listen to God’s word. You must do what it says. Otherwise, you are only fooling yourselves. 
For if you listen to the word and don’t obey, it is like glancing at your face in a mirror. 
You see yourself, walk away, and forget what you look like. 
But if you look carefully into the perfect law that sets you free, and if you do what it says and don’t forget what you heard,
then God will bless you for doing it. – James 1:22-25 (NLT)

He is who God made him to be, and everyone loves that guy. And one of these days when I enter the sunset season, I will know what it is like, and I will finally understand. Until then, I will be his student and continue to learn from his example.

At the end of this week, I am grateful for that example – he helps me to be a better person now and was pivotal in my “rebuild.”

I am grateful for time spent with my Dad – he is the best Dad I could ever hope for.

I am grateful for a twinge now and then – I am alive and feel and appreciate.

I am grateful for the seasons of my life, even though I have blocked out so much.

I am grateful that as far as the sunrise is from the sunset, God has separated me from my sins.

I am grateful for cardinals and songs and windchimes and pictures and little girl clothes – all reminders of beautiful pieces of my life.

And finally, I am grateful for sunshine that highlights the brilliant yellows, oranges, and reds of autumn. Oh, and football season. Go K State, Go Chiefs, and yes, I can say it now that I will be one…Rock Chalk.

(This is not a depressing post. This is just a feelings post, good grief. – R)

My life has been defined by that description. It rears its ugly head every now and then, and when it does, God brings me back to myself and reminds me that I chose that definition.

When I was an elementary student, I dreaded PE class. I was not an athlete, and my memory holds the moments when I was among the last chosen for dodge ball teams or scooter relay races. When an organized game of Red Rover happened at recess, however, I remember being chosen – the weak ones rarely break through the line.

I attempted sports in junior high and was the bench warmer, mostly. Dr. Schrag, our coach, put me in when the game wasn’t on the line. I loved playing, I just didn’t love the suicides we had to run. I am not a fan of sweating.

One of my enduring positive memories from that time period was a beautiful “swish” from the perimeter, by me, seeing Dr. Schrag cheer me on in front of the scorer’s table, and hoping Mom had seen my moment of athleticism up in the stands. I was so starved for any attention and to “belong” to the team.

In softball, I could catch the fly balls, field the grounders…but I wasn’t one of those who could throw to home plate from the outfield, and I was delegated to right field, always. Track, I don’t remember a lot, because it involved running, and I sucked at running. Sweat and me do not agree.

I recall that I was the in-between friend, and I guess that is a good thing…I guess. I was sometimes friends with the popular girls, and sometimes friends with the not-quite-as-popular girls, but my perception is that I was never really a part of either group completely. That trait carried on into high school, too. I wanted to fit in so badly, and I adapted to whomever would have me. Oh, if I could go back and re-do.

Most of high school is a blocked out blur, and I think God designed us with that added shield of protection so we are not crushed by the weight of our past, when our past is a heavy chain of regret. I conformed to fit in, in an attempt to rid myself of “odd man out,” all the while craving the attention I desperately wanted, hoping someone would love me. My life was defined by that title, it seems. Choices I made, words I spoke, patterns I built, all in an attempt to fit in and be included.

It defined my adulthood, those choices I made. And my adulthood became a reality of living with that definition and figuring out a way to be okay with the path I had chosen. If you know me, you know…

Fortunately for me, I had two parents who did not give up, a family who did not turn their backs, and a God who saw me, not as I saw myself – as the odd man out – but as He created me, one of His own.

Over the years, I continued to crave the unattainable in this personality that is background material, but I also learned to find comfort in the aloneness. I mostly prefer time by myself now. It is time that I do not have to worry that I am the third wheel, the odd man out. It is easier.

The chapters of my life cannot be re-written. My experiences, my memories, my choices – they are part of who I am now. My identity includes all the experiences, not just those I want to hold onto, but also those I wish I could forget or remake. I am the benchwarmer. I am the 3rd string. I am the worker bee, not the Queen. I am the third wheel. I am the one on the side, looking in. But I also hope I am always the friend to all, the one in the middle.

I look up to the mountains—does my help come from there? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth! He will not let you stumble; the one who watches over you will not slumber. Indeed, he who watches over Israel never slumbers or sleeps. The Lord himself watches over you! The Lord stands beside you as your protective shade. The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon at night. The Lord keeps you from all harm and watches over your life. The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go, both now and forever.
– Psalm 121, NLT

On these days when I am definitely the odd man out and feeling like the third wheel, I am grateful God sits on the bench beside me.

I am grateful He chooses me to be on His team.

I am grateful He is throwing the ball to me to “make the basket.”

I am grateful God is cheering me on.

Let’s build bridges, not walls. – MLK, Jr.

Neighbors are trying to finish their back patio. Our son offered to help move dirt…for free. It didn’t hurt that they had rented a machine that lights up a 20-year-old’s enthusiasm, but still.

Same neighbor needed help with his lawnmower. Sam did not hesitate.

Dad’s neighbor needed help cleaning and sorting in her apartment, an opportunity for my sister and I to do something nice, just because.

We needed help pulling off a wedding shower this summer, and I needed help knowing what to wear to the wedding. Karen gave me time off from work, took a day off and helped me shop and prepare for the shower, and then she let me borrow shoes and a beautiful outfit for the big day, because that is who she is.

Michelle cleared her weekend calendar, drove 3 1/2 hours, just to hold my hand the weekend of the wedding. She wasn’t invited to the big event. She just came to help us feel loved and less stressed, because that is who she is.

My sister lives here, but here is relative. It is a good 30 minute drive from her home to ours. And still. When we are out of town for more than two days, she drives the drive to check on Banana and Split, because that is who she is.

Thursdays are piano therapy day for me. After work, I drive over to Dad’s to play my piano for awhile. I am usually greeted by a handful of residents who graciously sit and listen to my hymns and random musical therapy. Now, I have added in an hour of Bingo calling, because it has been missed – by me, and by the residents who need something different to do in the evenings. It makes for a long day, but it also makes for a full heart day, too.

Great acts of love are done by those who are habitually performing small acts of kindness.

I am grateful for opportunities to extend a hand and cross a bridge. It is nice to extend & receive, to cross & be on the other side, welcoming.

I am also grateful for a deer this morning that wasn’t too scared to let us get a little closer as we walked.

And of course, I am grateful for tonight when Cindy and Keith are on our couch and we are all watching the CHIEFS.

For the mountains may depart and the hills disappear, but My kindness shall not leave you.
My promise of peace for you will never be broken,” says the Lord who has mercy upon you. – Isaiah 54:10

Last night at 10 pm, my husband did something that not many people would do at bedtime. He got in his pickup and drove 20 minutes to go check on someone who was not answering their phone, and then helped them find their phone, got it plugged in to the charger, reset their bedside clock, and left with a promise to check in again in a couple days.

He has a heart as big as Dallas, and I am so very grateful for my husband.

Compassion means to lay a bridge over to the other without knowing whether he wants to be reached. – Henri J. Nouwen

What started out as just another routine appointment accompanying my husband, turned out to be a few of my least favorite adventures ever.

What a morning. I feel like between 8:00 am and 9:30 am, I was in a battle. Whew. I survived, barely.

If you know me at all, you know I have a very strong aversion and traumatic inner response to guns, among a host of other things. And balloons. But most definitely guns. Long story for a chapter in a someday book, but not here. HOWEVER. We arrived at the doctor’s office on this beautiful and sunny Monday morning and after filling out the forms and visiting with the elderly lady about how cold she gets, another patient walked in the office and stood at the counter to check in. Sam looked at me wide-eyed. I had not noticed…yet.

I know it to be true and among us, I just had not experienced “open carry.”

Cue the inner alarm sweaty palms heart palpitation response for no reason other than my visual trigger.

I only panicked internally, and shortly thereafter, the nurse was at the gate, calling Sam’s name. Most definitely, I went with him and left the wild, wild west out in the waiting room.

This appointment was not earth-shattering like so many of his appointments in the past five years. This was just a simple, “Doctor, please do something about my toenail fungus” appointment. Easy peasy, look at the feet, write a ‘script, see-ya-later-alligator-toes.

Au contraire mon frere. Not when Rhonda’s already in distress enough.

If you know me at all, you know I have a very strong aversion and traumatic inner response to all things toe nails, among a host of other things. And balloons. But most definitely toe nails. Never have I ever had a pedicure. Never have I ever clipped nails of any kind in public. It is meant to happen in the privacy of a sound proof bathroom…if you ask MY opinion. Apparently, most people do not care about my opinion.

When the doctor and Sam and Rhonda determined the treatment at the conclusion of the exam, and he finished with, “The nurse will be in to trim down the nails before the laser treatment begins,” Rhonda must have been in La-La Land, or else she is in love.

Ohmagoodness.

trau·ma

/ˈtroumə,ˈtrômə/

1. a deeply distressing or disturbing experience.

When the nurse entered the room with gardening pruners and began her work, my stomach began to flip. When a nail flew through the air and landed on my jacket, I gripped the chair. Sam suddenly realized Rhonda was in distress, began laughing, and insisted I step out of the room. I COULD NOT EXIT FAST ENOUGH.

I stood outside the door and listened to him explain my ailment to the nurse, while I braced myself against the wall to keep from nauseating in my mask. The doctor walked by and asked if they had kicked me out. Sheepishly, I had to explain my “issue.” Another nurse was nearby and offered me a chair so I wouldn’t faint.

As soon as the gardening was done, the nurse exited, and I re-entered the room to take my seat once again. When the next nurse arrived to begin the laser treatments, I was more than happy to put on the dark glasses and stare at the floor. He was such a nice nurse, telling us all about his jaunts around Colorado, explaining the meaning of his really cool tattoos, taking my mind off the elephant in the room.

Nay, nay, I say. Not when Rhonda’s already in distress enough.

If you know me at all, you know I have a very strong aversion and traumatic inner response to women being treated as possessions, among a host of other things. And balloons. But most definitely to women being treated as possessions.

He said the unsayable. As the lovely nurse is going over the next steps in treating this horrific malady, he explained the $35 cream that is recommended but not required. Being the concerned partner I am and wanting Sam to have the best possible outcome since I have had to endure such trauma, I gave the nurse an energetic thumbs up yes-we-want-the-stuff-add-it-to-the-bill. Sam was going to be Sam and decline because $35 is $35 and no he doesn’t need it. HOWEVER. The nurse saw my gesture…and he said…

“The wife says yes.”

The WHO???

I am not a THE.

I have a name.

I am not Sam’s possession.

And you, lovely, kind nurse, are now in MY internal red hot laser beam of trauma therapy.

All this…because of love.

Weatherwoman last night: Tomorrow morning will be a GIFT of cooler temps and no humidity! Enjoy it, Kansas City!

This morning at 5:45 am, it was 93% humid awful, so I decided to be intentionally grateful all along the way. I listened to my book and took pictures of everything that made me smile, from the sky above to the grass below…and as I walked, memories came flooding back.

In my former life, between a small town in Western Oklahoma and the nearest Walmart, out in a field, there was a lone tree that stood like a sentry. When my internal world was slowly beginning to fall apart and I was the passenger in a contentious environment along that stretch of highway, I would silently make up stories in my mind about that tree…anything to take my mind off misery. Some days, the tree was the last standing in an apocalyptic world. Other days, the tree was lost and was trying to find its way back home, or it was standing guard for all the young seedlings that were not yet visible from the road.

After awhile, I began making up internal stories about any group of trees when we traveled for hours in silence. Crazy and delusional, probably. But it worked to put my mind in another place that was not filled with trauma and loneliness. I would tell myself that this was MY story and I could write it however I wanted.

I am grateful for the trees who had stories created so I could withstand the pain.

I am grateful for their beauty with clothes on, and in the winter when their natural beauty and structure bares in all glory for the rest of us to appreciate.

I am grateful for early morning ground cover fog with Friday Night Lights practicing across the field in the pre-dawn.

I am grateful for predator hawks who, like trees, gave me a reason to create stories today.

I am grateful for neighborhoods with peaceful water features.

I am grateful for evergreen berries that were reminders of my childhood when I would run around the Friends Church after Sunday evening services playing tag with Lori and David and Leroy and Kim and Denise and Dawnita and a host of others, taking a break to pull berries and then smell their wonderfulness before chasing or being chased again.

I am grateful for the beauty of dew.

I am grateful for the softness of white pine needles.

And I am grateful for the reminder that even in the hard, and especially in the hard, growth happens.

…when I am missing my mom. I wish I could just pick up the phone and call her. I can no longer remember what her voice sounded like, and that makes me so, so sad.

…to take a long walk and enjoy the sounds of the birds and the locusts and soak up the sunshine.

…to send a card in the actual mail.

…to count the blessings parts and not the yucky parts.

…to belly laugh.

…that reminded me of my Bingo days on Tuesday nights with all my substitute moms, and I am looking forward to creating new memories with B-14, I-29, N-35, G-60, and O-72.

It has been a beautiful weekend celebrating a beautiful couple, the marriage of Sam’s daughter. I am so grateful for the favor God has shown to her and her groom.

I am grateful for the path they are now on.

I am grateful to have been a witness to it all.

I am grateful for our family.

I am grateful for Sam’s great nephews and our son who made the party even more fun and then stuck around to help load all the things at the end of the night.

And I am grateful for Ken and Karen, our close friends who spent the evening with us at our table so we wouldn’t be alone in our happiness, and for my closest friend who drove a very long way to just be here at the house for emotional support for Sam and I…and hair help if needed.

We are living happily ever after, indeed.