Here are some pictures from the annual Halloween party in big Roscoe, TX. I hope you enjoy them. We had a blast & as you can imagine, I loved wearing a kimono.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Other side of the window
October 15th was the one year mark of the death of Cassie, my cousin's daughter. This was the first of many losses my family would suffer over a 12 month period. I remember being awestruck as a line of people wrapped around the block waiting to show their respect to Cassie and to her parents. I watched as people I loved and people I never met were brought to their knees in grief and incomprehensible sorrow. It was one of many moments this year that I had to ask, "Why?"
I am very blessed to be close to my mom's side of the family. Though I am the youngest of, oh, about 100 cousins, we are close, we have each other's back, and we come together in times of joy and of mourning. This was true over this past year.
My grandpa, Dutch Eshbaugh, passed away early this year. We all gathered together and celebrated his 90+ years. We laughed, hugged, cried, told stories, and felt his presence in the space between each of us.
A few months later, my Aunt Maki passed away. I spoke of this in earlier postings.
Last month my cousin, Sgt. Dan Eshbaugh, was killed in a chanook helicopter crash while in service in Iraq. His funeral was my first military funeral experience. It blew my mind. The entire service was like a standing ovation for his service and his life. It is forever etched in my mind looking out my window during the funeral procession and seeing rows of people holding flags and saluting. The procession was led and ended by the patriot guard (big dudes and dudettes on awesome motorcycles). My word for this whole experience is "Overwhelming". Later that evening the family gathered for supper together. We laughed, shared memories, cried, hugged, and embraced life in the moment.
I have a different perspective after this year of losses (and gains). Here are some thoughts I'd like to pass on:
1. Live today as if you are not dead
2. Support your family, friends, neighbors, and people who do not have family, friends, and neighbors--when there is a death. Support by being there and standing for their loved one, marking that moment with them.
3. Your presence at a funeral is a standing ovation witnessed by the ones left behind.
4. Tell people you love them every chance you get
5. Forgive
6. Be present in the moment, slow down & experience people put in your path
7. Ask God to increase your faith
8. Embrace your own history, present & future
9. Think of the person on the inside of the car window in funeral processions. Pull your car over and pay respect & honor. It looks so different on the inside looking out.
10. This world is not our home, we are all in the process of dying...
Life is short, Go Live,
Gretchen
I am very blessed to be close to my mom's side of the family. Though I am the youngest of, oh, about 100 cousins, we are close, we have each other's back, and we come together in times of joy and of mourning. This was true over this past year.
My grandpa, Dutch Eshbaugh, passed away early this year. We all gathered together and celebrated his 90+ years. We laughed, hugged, cried, told stories, and felt his presence in the space between each of us.
A few months later, my Aunt Maki passed away. I spoke of this in earlier postings.
Last month my cousin, Sgt. Dan Eshbaugh, was killed in a chanook helicopter crash while in service in Iraq. His funeral was my first military funeral experience. It blew my mind. The entire service was like a standing ovation for his service and his life. It is forever etched in my mind looking out my window during the funeral procession and seeing rows of people holding flags and saluting. The procession was led and ended by the patriot guard (big dudes and dudettes on awesome motorcycles). My word for this whole experience is "Overwhelming". Later that evening the family gathered for supper together. We laughed, shared memories, cried, hugged, and embraced life in the moment.
I have a different perspective after this year of losses (and gains). Here are some thoughts I'd like to pass on:
1. Live today as if you are not dead
2. Support your family, friends, neighbors, and people who do not have family, friends, and neighbors--when there is a death. Support by being there and standing for their loved one, marking that moment with them.
3. Your presence at a funeral is a standing ovation witnessed by the ones left behind.
4. Tell people you love them every chance you get
5. Forgive
6. Be present in the moment, slow down & experience people put in your path
7. Ask God to increase your faith
8. Embrace your own history, present & future
9. Think of the person on the inside of the car window in funeral processions. Pull your car over and pay respect & honor. It looks so different on the inside looking out.
10. This world is not our home, we are all in the process of dying...
Life is short, Go Live,
Gretchen
Thursday, August 28, 2008
"The Rest of the story..."
I recieved an e-mail from my cousin in California after she read the post about the socks I recieved from her mother. I have to include what she had to say about the socks. I have to tell you, I've never felt so honored to recieve such a simple gift. Below is my cousin Susan's response:
Hi Gretchen~Another thought just came to mind, and I wanted to share with you...She was interesting. She would always say how no one gave her anything when they got married, not even a pair of socks (Mitchell side and her family's--I assume because she married a Caucasian--- when they found out she was pregnant with me, they told her to dump me in the well and none of the neighbors would know). When they moved to America, she felt very poor and impoverished. She said that even so they loaned money to the Mitchell grandparents so that Kathy could have an operation and were never paid back. She always told me that people wouldn't even give her a pair of socks.... Interesting. I didn't know that she attached so much value to socks until I read your blog. Growing up during the war, she was given hand me downs. She had four older sisters. By the time she got anything they were worn and threadbare. This is the reason why she went into sewing. So she could wear the gorgeous clothes that you saw in the Power Point. Even after she got married, she continued to say no one gave her anything, not even a pair of socks... Funny how she put such high value on a pair of socks. Growing up during the war probably impacted her in ways we will never imagine. I don't think my father experienced war quite like she did.
Susan, if you are reading this, I hope you don't mind I shared the rest of this story. I think it is an important piece and I think it teaches all of us a little about ourselves and others. As each of us live our lives it is all to easy too lose sight of all the other perspectives, experiences, and needs that exist around us.
Ge
Hi Gretchen~Another thought just came to mind, and I wanted to share with you...She was interesting. She would always say how no one gave her anything when they got married, not even a pair of socks (Mitchell side and her family's--I assume because she married a Caucasian--- when they found out she was pregnant with me, they told her to dump me in the well and none of the neighbors would know). When they moved to America, she felt very poor and impoverished. She said that even so they loaned money to the Mitchell grandparents so that Kathy could have an operation and were never paid back. She always told me that people wouldn't even give her a pair of socks.... Interesting. I didn't know that she attached so much value to socks until I read your blog. Growing up during the war, she was given hand me downs. She had four older sisters. By the time she got anything they were worn and threadbare. This is the reason why she went into sewing. So she could wear the gorgeous clothes that you saw in the Power Point. Even after she got married, she continued to say no one gave her anything, not even a pair of socks... Funny how she put such high value on a pair of socks. Growing up during the war probably impacted her in ways we will never imagine. I don't think my father experienced war quite like she did.
Susan, if you are reading this, I hope you don't mind I shared the rest of this story. I think it is an important piece and I think it teaches all of us a little about ourselves and others. As each of us live our lives it is all to easy too lose sight of all the other perspectives, experiences, and needs that exist around us.
Ge
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Memories, Gifts & Surprises
A few posts back I talked about my Aunt Maki. This post has been brewing most of the summer. However, I have been too busy to write it. I decided today is the day to release it from that chamber in my mind that kept it from disappearing into my forgetfulness.
One of the clearest memories I have of my Aunt Maki is from around Christmas time in Mississippi when I was a little girl. I did not share this memory in my previous post. Mostly, because it is a random memory that only holds significance to me. You know how sometimes you remember something that appears to be completely unimportant yet there it is year after year just as clear as the year before. Nevermind the fact that I often can't remember what I did last week! Anyway, I digress. This is one of those memories.
Get ready to be completely unimpressed with how little I actually remember of this little but clear memory nugget. When I was a little girl my Aunt Maki was the antithesis of everything I knew and understood about people, culture, and especially my father's family. It was Awesome! We usually went to Mississippi about twice a year to visit my father's family. This usually was around Christmas and the Fourth of July. I have to admit, with the exception of the time we spent gathered around singing hymns together, I really really did not like going to my grandpa's house. (One of those reflections that show me how self-absorbed I was as a youngster). The exceptions to the boring, hum drum of these visits always included my Uncle Eddie, next his children, then on at least this occasion, his wife, Maki. My Uncle Eddie was also the antithesis to the rest of my dad's family. He was so unconventional, knowledgeable, and FUN and his presence could fill the entire house. I don't remember much in the way of conversation with my Aunt Maki. For one thing, when I was younger she didn't speak English. In fact, that's what stands out most in this memory.
So, here's the nugget: I remember being in my grandpa Mitchell's kitchen with my Aunt Maki. She is handing me a gift and saying something that I do not understand. She repeats the same thing over and over and each time getting a little louder. This frightened me. I held the little gift in my hand unsure what I was supposed to do. I wasn't even sure if the gift was for me. Someone eventually came in and facilitated the gift exchange. I don't remember who. However, I do remember my fear instantly melting and being ecstatic that I was getting a gift from my exotic and exciting Japanese aunt. My imagination was exploding with the thought of what it could be (a Japanese fan or a cool trinket). I slowly opened this spectacular surprise...I reached in...I felt around...then I dumped out the contents to find what was inside and out fell a pair of socks. About that time my Aunt Maki said the same word over and over again and I'm guessing she was telling me she got me some socks.
That's the end of the memory, or so I thought.
After my Aunt Maki passed away my cousin Sharon brought by several items from my aunt's home for me and my children. My Japanese inheritance you could say. I picked up all these great gifts which were in Japanese boxes and bags. My kids were outside playing so I was able to pour over these gifts on my own. Suddenly, I was a little girl again. I slowly and methodically opened each bag and box. All the containers had Japanese writing on them, with each item I unwrapped I could feel myself getting younger and younger and filled with more awe and fascination. Sharon had truly given me a valuable inheritance from her mother. Among these gifts was a beautiful Japanese tea set with an elaborately carved wooden tray, two pair of geta (wooden clogs), a t-shirt, and delicate handkerchiefs. I sat at the table and stared at all the beautiful gifts. I soaked it in. As I began cleaning up my mess, I decided to neatly fold each bag, because of course, I want to keep anything with the Japanese writing on it (haha). My kitchen table became clear and with the exception of one last bag, everything was in a neat stack. When I got to the last sack I realized there was something left inside keeping me from a flat fold. I unfolded the bag and held it upside down to check the contents from inside...and out fell a brand-new, still in it's plastic wrapper with Japanese writing, a pair of socks.
One of the clearest memories I have of my Aunt Maki is from around Christmas time in Mississippi when I was a little girl. I did not share this memory in my previous post. Mostly, because it is a random memory that only holds significance to me. You know how sometimes you remember something that appears to be completely unimportant yet there it is year after year just as clear as the year before. Nevermind the fact that I often can't remember what I did last week! Anyway, I digress. This is one of those memories.
Get ready to be completely unimpressed with how little I actually remember of this little but clear memory nugget. When I was a little girl my Aunt Maki was the antithesis of everything I knew and understood about people, culture, and especially my father's family. It was Awesome! We usually went to Mississippi about twice a year to visit my father's family. This usually was around Christmas and the Fourth of July. I have to admit, with the exception of the time we spent gathered around singing hymns together, I really really did not like going to my grandpa's house. (One of those reflections that show me how self-absorbed I was as a youngster). The exceptions to the boring, hum drum of these visits always included my Uncle Eddie, next his children, then on at least this occasion, his wife, Maki. My Uncle Eddie was also the antithesis to the rest of my dad's family. He was so unconventional, knowledgeable, and FUN and his presence could fill the entire house. I don't remember much in the way of conversation with my Aunt Maki. For one thing, when I was younger she didn't speak English. In fact, that's what stands out most in this memory.
So, here's the nugget: I remember being in my grandpa Mitchell's kitchen with my Aunt Maki. She is handing me a gift and saying something that I do not understand. She repeats the same thing over and over and each time getting a little louder. This frightened me. I held the little gift in my hand unsure what I was supposed to do. I wasn't even sure if the gift was for me. Someone eventually came in and facilitated the gift exchange. I don't remember who. However, I do remember my fear instantly melting and being ecstatic that I was getting a gift from my exotic and exciting Japanese aunt. My imagination was exploding with the thought of what it could be (a Japanese fan or a cool trinket). I slowly opened this spectacular surprise...I reached in...I felt around...then I dumped out the contents to find what was inside and out fell a pair of socks. About that time my Aunt Maki said the same word over and over again and I'm guessing she was telling me she got me some socks.
That's the end of the memory, or so I thought.
After my Aunt Maki passed away my cousin Sharon brought by several items from my aunt's home for me and my children. My Japanese inheritance you could say. I picked up all these great gifts which were in Japanese boxes and bags. My kids were outside playing so I was able to pour over these gifts on my own. Suddenly, I was a little girl again. I slowly and methodically opened each bag and box. All the containers had Japanese writing on them, with each item I unwrapped I could feel myself getting younger and younger and filled with more awe and fascination. Sharon had truly given me a valuable inheritance from her mother. Among these gifts was a beautiful Japanese tea set with an elaborately carved wooden tray, two pair of geta (wooden clogs), a t-shirt, and delicate handkerchiefs. I sat at the table and stared at all the beautiful gifts. I soaked it in. As I began cleaning up my mess, I decided to neatly fold each bag, because of course, I want to keep anything with the Japanese writing on it (haha). My kitchen table became clear and with the exception of one last bag, everything was in a neat stack. When I got to the last sack I realized there was something left inside keeping me from a flat fold. I unfolded the bag and held it upside down to check the contents from inside...and out fell a brand-new, still in it's plastic wrapper with Japanese writing, a pair of socks.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Summer...Can't wait for school to start!
Well, this summer has been a bit more stressful than last year. Last year I spent the whole summer voluntarily unemployed and I planted flower beds, cleaned my house, visited family, volunteered, sowed and reaped vegetables from a large garden, learned how to make the family recipe for spaghetti sauce and homeade rotel with those vegetables, and most importantly spent precious and fun time with my children. This year, I am voluntarily in grad school. A summer ride my child are on unvoluntarily. Between class and more homework than I've had all year, my kids get a quite frazzled mom. My house is a wreck and there is grass growing in my flower beds. The back pasture has grass to my knees (only a little exaggeration) and the only gardening I've helped with is to take vegetables to the clinic to share. My kids are so bored they actually look forward to shelling peas.
I say all that to say, I can't wait for August!
I say all that to say, I can't wait for August!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Stepping Into the space
Last Sunday Richard Beck was a guest speaker at Highland C of C. Admittedly, my first thought was "Uh oh, am I going to understand any of this?" Because quite frankly he is pretty brilliant and his intelligence is evident in his language and message. Yes, I know what you are thinking, Gretchen, you too are brilliant! Okay, yes, yes, I am. Haha! Even in my brilliance at times I need some things dumbed down for me to really track and allow to soak in.
Sunday the lesson was about finding God in the space between you and another person. This is great for me because I am very visual, so I can actually picture the space and imagine stepping into it. I've had that vision with me all this week. As I was climbing the stairs to the MFI clinic for the 3rd time yesterday, I thought about how blessed I am in my vocation as a therapist. I am given the opportunity to step into that space with those who are hurting on a daily basis. That space, where God is...if I can treat that space as God's dwelling imagine the amazing things He can do while we are there! Being brave enough to intentionally step into that space between myself and my clients, my peers, my family, and strangers, I believe that is how to change the world.
I want to challenge you to step into that sacred space between you and each person you encounter. Meet God in that space. What does it look like for you?
Blessings on your day and on the space between you and me.
ge
Sunday the lesson was about finding God in the space between you and another person. This is great for me because I am very visual, so I can actually picture the space and imagine stepping into it. I've had that vision with me all this week. As I was climbing the stairs to the MFI clinic for the 3rd time yesterday, I thought about how blessed I am in my vocation as a therapist. I am given the opportunity to step into that space with those who are hurting on a daily basis. That space, where God is...if I can treat that space as God's dwelling imagine the amazing things He can do while we are there! Being brave enough to intentionally step into that space between myself and my clients, my peers, my family, and strangers, I believe that is how to change the world.
I want to challenge you to step into that sacred space between you and each person you encounter. Meet God in that space. What does it look like for you?
Blessings on your day and on the space between you and me.
ge
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Aunt Maki
If you've been around long enough to hear many "Gretchen" stories then you know I grew up thinking I was part Japanese. I was embaressingly old when I realized that while my beautiful, exotic, and exciting cousins were half Japanese, I had absolutely no Japanese blood in my veins. (Well, techniquely our family trees all have the same root, but that's an arguement for another time.) I grew up very proud that I had a Japanese Aunt. Complete with the inability to speak English (when I was younger). I loved every moment spent with this fascinating woman. Everything from the way she spoke, the words I didn't understand, the strange smells from the kitchen, and the colorful way she decorated. Growing up I thought she was the most exotic and exciting woman I ever met...she even smoked...AND she was related to me!
It's been years since I heard my aunt's voice. I settled for my brother's excellent impersonation of her. I regret not being more proactive in maintaining a relationship with her after my uncle passed away several years ago. She'll never know the impact her presence made on my life. I have so much to be thankful for because of her. I am amazed at how God has truly blessed me through this woman I can't claim to have ever really known. For one thing, she gave birth to 3 beautiful girls who grew up being my mentors and my reason for wishing I too was Japanese. I love my cousins like sisters. My uncle, their father, died when I was in Junior High and they were newly weds. I've always felt like our families meshed in a special and unique way at that point through my father.
I'm writing this blog today in honor of my Aunt Maki who passed away in my cousin's arms early on Tuesday morning. I do not have words for the sense of awe, imagination, excitement, and pride I derived from this strong woman. Thank you, God, for your wisdom in geneology, for your guidance of a young service man so many years ago, and for the servants who were born out of that union.
ge
神はあなたが植えた種およびあなたを賛美する。
God bless you and the seeds you planted.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Squirrels: A Story for Hinson
Most of you know I worked in the admissions department at ACU for 5 years. I had several interested things happen to me during my tenure, but perhaps none more disturbing than my accidental peak into, then subsequent taunting by, the secret society of campus squirrels (SSCS).
Have you ever wondered why ACU has so many squirrels? How they seem so bold, like they run the joint? It's because they are union.
What I am about to share with you may put my very life in jeopardy. I write this with the blinds closed and my doors locked. I can only hope they haven't figured out how to access the internet or that they aren't gnawing through my cable wires as I sit here unaware in the safety of my home.
It started on a beautiful Spring day, not unlike yesterday. I was helping escort visitors to their appointments for the campus visits office. As we approached McKenzie Hall, a squirrel ran out to the end of the big wooden cross. One of the visitors pointed to this fluffy creature, and said look how cute. At that point I looked up and our eyes locked. It was as if the world was suddenly in slow motion. I think he thought I could read his mind. Suddenly, he began lurching forward and barking, this loud, shrieking, high-pitched and rabid bark. We all jumped back. I immediately led the family away from this obviously deranged squirrel. He continued to bark at us until we were safely inside Foster Science building. I remember our quick pace as we silently rushed to the building. I remember my heart pounding, wondering if he'd be there on my solitary return. I decided to take an alternate route back...I didn't want to find out. I was troubled by this incident throughout the day. I couldn't get that squirrel's knowing and fixed gaze out of my head.
A couple days passed and as the trauma began to fade, I resumed my normal behavior. I typically left for lunch alone and I was usually somewhat in my own world thinking about everything I needed to get done, etc. On this particular day I remember I was walking with my head down, deep in thought. The next thing I saw was...a squirrel. Yes, a squirrel. Right there in front of me, on the sidewalk on my way to the parking lot. He stood there, frozen in this challenging stance, all four feet firmly planted on the sidewalk, as if to say, "Walk around, this is my sidewalk". I mean he was maybe a foot from my foot. Again, mistakenly, I made eye contact. The world again slowed way down. We stared, frozen, neither of us moving. Suddenly, I had a flashback to the barking and the rabid lurching, and my adrenaline started pumping. I thought, don't be like the dumb kids in a horror movie! Get off the path! So, I walked around. He didn't move. In my head, I could sense him saying "Boo!"
Needless to say, at this point I am somewhat freaked out by our campus squirrels. My awareness of them was keenly heightened. They seemed to be everywhere, chattering, mocking me, taunting me not to share their secret.
The following week I was on the first floor of Zellner fixing my morning coffee. The coffee is located under the stairwell beside a big glass exterior door that faces McKenzie Hall. If your wondering, yes, it faces the big wooden cross. I was tearing open a packet of creamer when I heard a knocking sound. I look around and didn't see anything so I continued my ritual. Next, I tore open a sugar packet. Again, I heard a rapping, an ever so slight rapping upon a door. This time I didn't turn my head. I just moved my eyes to the right, then to the left. My heart began to thump in my chest and I couldn't explain to myself why the reaction. I reached for a stir stick, then I heard a "Rap, tap, tap". This time I turned my whole body and looked out the door. Surely, someone wants to come in! I looked and no one was there. I stared in disbelief. Am I hearing things? All of a sudden I had this intense feeling I was being watched. I stood there looking through the glass. Do I dare? Do I dare look down? I dared. Slowly I allowed my gaze to move down the pane of the glass door. There at the bottom, back feet firmly planted on pavement, and front paws defiantly pushing against the door, each pad pressed with confidence against the glass...was a squirrel! I jumped! I mean literally, jumped. I did not dare make eye contact. I put my head down, backed away, then, I threw caution, and my coffee, to the wind, and ran up the stairs.
It took over an hour to regain my composure. Not only was it disturbing...I knew no one would ever believe I was being stalked by squirrels. That was my last encounter with this secret society. I only hope I haven't angered them.
God bless & whatever you do, DO NOT make eye contact with the squirrels!
Have you ever wondered why ACU has so many squirrels? How they seem so bold, like they run the joint? It's because they are union.
What I am about to share with you may put my very life in jeopardy. I write this with the blinds closed and my doors locked. I can only hope they haven't figured out how to access the internet or that they aren't gnawing through my cable wires as I sit here unaware in the safety of my home.
It started on a beautiful Spring day, not unlike yesterday. I was helping escort visitors to their appointments for the campus visits office. As we approached McKenzie Hall, a squirrel ran out to the end of the big wooden cross. One of the visitors pointed to this fluffy creature, and said look how cute. At that point I looked up and our eyes locked. It was as if the world was suddenly in slow motion. I think he thought I could read his mind. Suddenly, he began lurching forward and barking, this loud, shrieking, high-pitched and rabid bark. We all jumped back. I immediately led the family away from this obviously deranged squirrel. He continued to bark at us until we were safely inside Foster Science building. I remember our quick pace as we silently rushed to the building. I remember my heart pounding, wondering if he'd be there on my solitary return. I decided to take an alternate route back...I didn't want to find out. I was troubled by this incident throughout the day. I couldn't get that squirrel's knowing and fixed gaze out of my head.
A couple days passed and as the trauma began to fade, I resumed my normal behavior. I typically left for lunch alone and I was usually somewhat in my own world thinking about everything I needed to get done, etc. On this particular day I remember I was walking with my head down, deep in thought. The next thing I saw was...a squirrel. Yes, a squirrel. Right there in front of me, on the sidewalk on my way to the parking lot. He stood there, frozen in this challenging stance, all four feet firmly planted on the sidewalk, as if to say, "Walk around, this is my sidewalk". I mean he was maybe a foot from my foot. Again, mistakenly, I made eye contact. The world again slowed way down. We stared, frozen, neither of us moving. Suddenly, I had a flashback to the barking and the rabid lurching, and my adrenaline started pumping. I thought, don't be like the dumb kids in a horror movie! Get off the path! So, I walked around. He didn't move. In my head, I could sense him saying "Boo!"
Needless to say, at this point I am somewhat freaked out by our campus squirrels. My awareness of them was keenly heightened. They seemed to be everywhere, chattering, mocking me, taunting me not to share their secret.
The following week I was on the first floor of Zellner fixing my morning coffee. The coffee is located under the stairwell beside a big glass exterior door that faces McKenzie Hall. If your wondering, yes, it faces the big wooden cross. I was tearing open a packet of creamer when I heard a knocking sound. I look around and didn't see anything so I continued my ritual. Next, I tore open a sugar packet. Again, I heard a rapping, an ever so slight rapping upon a door. This time I didn't turn my head. I just moved my eyes to the right, then to the left. My heart began to thump in my chest and I couldn't explain to myself why the reaction. I reached for a stir stick, then I heard a "Rap, tap, tap". This time I turned my whole body and looked out the door. Surely, someone wants to come in! I looked and no one was there. I stared in disbelief. Am I hearing things? All of a sudden I had this intense feeling I was being watched. I stood there looking through the glass. Do I dare? Do I dare look down? I dared. Slowly I allowed my gaze to move down the pane of the glass door. There at the bottom, back feet firmly planted on pavement, and front paws defiantly pushing against the door, each pad pressed with confidence against the glass...was a squirrel! I jumped! I mean literally, jumped. I did not dare make eye contact. I put my head down, backed away, then, I threw caution, and my coffee, to the wind, and ran up the stairs.
It took over an hour to regain my composure. Not only was it disturbing...I knew no one would ever believe I was being stalked by squirrels. That was my last encounter with this secret society. I only hope I haven't angered them.
God bless & whatever you do, DO NOT make eye contact with the squirrels!
Gretchen
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Autism Awareness Day: A Post for Madelyn
Madelyn was born on September 3, 1997.
She was diagnosed with a Pervasive Developmental Disorder-NOS in December, 2000.
On June 28, 2007, she was diagnosed with Isodicentric chromosome 15 & Autism Spectrum Disorder.
I want to share one of my most precious moments with my daughter to honor her and all the other sons and daughters who triumph through autism everyday.
Jim and I use to take turns dropping the kids off at school and picking them up. This year they starting riding the bus together. I'm blessed with this wonderful memory from that time we spent together in the morning. The routine of the morning was to drive Ethan to his school first, then drive a few miles over to Madelyn's school. We'd pile into the car, Ethan chatting up a storm. He'd tell me stories about the dream he had the night before or what he was going to do on the playground later. Madelyn would usually just sit in the backseat making occasional noises and repeating her favorite knock knock joke (knock knock, who's there, banana, banana who, banana peel, hehehe). I know it's not very funny, but it brings her comfort several times a day. It also gives her a way to interact with people and feel connected.
I'd drop Ethan off and he'd say "Bye, Mom, Love you, see you later!" then he'd run like lightening to catch up with his friends getting off the bus. At that moment, I would turn on a CD of Disney princess' low in the background and make my way towards Madelyn's school. I began this habit of sliding my hand behind me on the backseat beside her leg. She sits directly behind me so it wasn't very comfortable, but I wanted to reach out. I wanted to show her love in an unobtrusive way. So, every morning I'd gently slide my hand back there palm up. At first she would push it away or hit it with her knee. Then, after a few days she would try placing her hand on top of mine. Several times she would place it there, then quickly move it away. I could feel the anxiety running through her arm. I couldn't see her, only hear, feel, and sense her. After a couple weeks she was able to lay her hand on top of mine for most of the short drive. On days she was really struggling, I may only get a quick pat, then she would just let it sit there. This was our ritual. This was how we communicated. In her way, she was telling me about her night, her morning, and her attitude toward the day.
One day (etched forever in my mind), she was having a particularly tough morning. She had several OCD mannerisms that had us running quite late for school. I dropped Ethan off, then slowly slid my hand behind me. I was half expecting a swift knee hit. However, she roughly tried to hold my hand about 3 times. I felt her trembling. I could almost feel the internal battle between her heart, her head, and her body. After the third attempt, I heard a soft voice behind me, "Mommy, I love you too." I drove silently with tears streaming down my face. It was an unexpected gift to hear the words we'd been expressing through ritual for weeks.
God bless your day! Remember, you never know what you might get just by reaching out...and waiting...
She was diagnosed with a Pervasive Developmental Disorder-NOS in December, 2000.
On June 28, 2007, she was diagnosed with Isodicentric chromosome 15 & Autism Spectrum Disorder.
I want to share one of my most precious moments with my daughter to honor her and all the other sons and daughters who triumph through autism everyday.
Jim and I use to take turns dropping the kids off at school and picking them up. This year they starting riding the bus together. I'm blessed with this wonderful memory from that time we spent together in the morning. The routine of the morning was to drive Ethan to his school first, then drive a few miles over to Madelyn's school. We'd pile into the car, Ethan chatting up a storm. He'd tell me stories about the dream he had the night before or what he was going to do on the playground later. Madelyn would usually just sit in the backseat making occasional noises and repeating her favorite knock knock joke (knock knock, who's there, banana, banana who, banana peel, hehehe). I know it's not very funny, but it brings her comfort several times a day. It also gives her a way to interact with people and feel connected.
I'd drop Ethan off and he'd say "Bye, Mom, Love you, see you later!" then he'd run like lightening to catch up with his friends getting off the bus. At that moment, I would turn on a CD of Disney princess' low in the background and make my way towards Madelyn's school. I began this habit of sliding my hand behind me on the backseat beside her leg. She sits directly behind me so it wasn't very comfortable, but I wanted to reach out. I wanted to show her love in an unobtrusive way. So, every morning I'd gently slide my hand back there palm up. At first she would push it away or hit it with her knee. Then, after a few days she would try placing her hand on top of mine. Several times she would place it there, then quickly move it away. I could feel the anxiety running through her arm. I couldn't see her, only hear, feel, and sense her. After a couple weeks she was able to lay her hand on top of mine for most of the short drive. On days she was really struggling, I may only get a quick pat, then she would just let it sit there. This was our ritual. This was how we communicated. In her way, she was telling me about her night, her morning, and her attitude toward the day.
One day (etched forever in my mind), she was having a particularly tough morning. She had several OCD mannerisms that had us running quite late for school. I dropped Ethan off, then slowly slid my hand behind me. I was half expecting a swift knee hit. However, she roughly tried to hold my hand about 3 times. I felt her trembling. I could almost feel the internal battle between her heart, her head, and her body. After the third attempt, I heard a soft voice behind me, "Mommy, I love you too." I drove silently with tears streaming down my face. It was an unexpected gift to hear the words we'd been expressing through ritual for weeks.
God bless your day! Remember, you never know what you might get just by reaching out...and waiting...
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Tears
Check the nozzle
Twist a little tighter
Hold back the flood
Check the nozzle
Firmer grip this time
Twist a little more
Threads are scraping
Getting bare
I’m leaking
Twist a little tighter
Hold back the flood
Check the nozzle
Firmer grip this time
Twist a little more
Threads are scraping
Getting bare
I’m leaking
Monday, February 18, 2008
Lagniappe!
Happy Birthday to me!
Well, I've officially lived longer than I thought I would. Strange statement I know, afterall, I'm only 36 years old!
When I was a little girl, and as a teenager, and even in my early 20s, I was overwhelmed with this sense that I would die young. I didn't obsess about it, but it was one of those thoughts that would occasionally pass through & I'd nod my head and acknowledge the knowledge, so to speak. I think when I was an adolescent, these thoughts represented hope. Having a short life meant a shorter amount of time to have to survive all that the world may throw at me. Though I was pretty sassy/scrappy when I was a child...I was also very vulnerable, confused, and scared. When I was a teenager, those thoughts of a short life brought relief. As a teenager, I lived my life like I had been dropped into the ocean without a life boat or life preserver, and I only had the swimming skills of an amateur doggy-paddler. I grabbed on to every stick or piece of fuslage for relief from the constant struggle to keep my head above the water. Unfortunately, for the most part I didn't hear or recognize God's hand reaching down for me and I seldom flipped over and floated on my own back. What I did was grab for things that would inevitably sink or drag me deeper out to sea. At 19 years old, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Looking back now, I think I was disappointed that I didn't die. I didn't long for death, but I longed for one of 2 things: 1) Rescue from myself or 2) Someone to really see me, which would mean seeing that the cancer of my body was nothing compared to the cancer of my soul. I was still looking for the life preserver. In my early 20s, I was wreckless & lived in a way that was disrespectful to myself & to God. As a therapist, all of that "acting out" sure makes sense now. I didn't think of death, but I lived in it. That sentence won't make sense to any of you who haven't lived there...living a dead life.
Those of you who know me know that somewhere and sometime along the way I must have been thrown a life preserver. Truth is, everyday I have to reach for the life preserver. Everyday I have to reach out to God. Everyday I have to accept his grace, and provision. Now in my "late 30s" the thought of death still crosses my mind. I still nod my head and acknowledge the possibility. It's a weird feeling to be 36, when I thought the longest I'd be here was 35. It's pretty freeing, actually. Lagniappe is a French word I learned while living in Louisiana. It means "a little something extra". That is how I view my life now. It is how I want to live my life. A little something extra. A little gift from God. I pray to use this time to truly love other people, the kind of love God describes in I Corinthians 13. I want to reach out to other people when they feel like they have taken their last gulp of air before sinking into the abyss. I want to accept that hand when it is reached out to me. I want to use the gifts and the passion God infused into my very being to glorify Him. I want to live boldly. I want to crush the shackles of fear and no longer accept the lies of its bondage.
In reading for my Life Cycle class I came across a great quote. I'll end this very long blog with these very true words.
For age is opportunity no less
than youth itself, though in another dress,
and as the evening twilight fades away
the sky is filled with stars invisible by day.
----Longfellow
Well, I've officially lived longer than I thought I would. Strange statement I know, afterall, I'm only 36 years old!
When I was a little girl, and as a teenager, and even in my early 20s, I was overwhelmed with this sense that I would die young. I didn't obsess about it, but it was one of those thoughts that would occasionally pass through & I'd nod my head and acknowledge the knowledge, so to speak. I think when I was an adolescent, these thoughts represented hope. Having a short life meant a shorter amount of time to have to survive all that the world may throw at me. Though I was pretty sassy/scrappy when I was a child...I was also very vulnerable, confused, and scared. When I was a teenager, those thoughts of a short life brought relief. As a teenager, I lived my life like I had been dropped into the ocean without a life boat or life preserver, and I only had the swimming skills of an amateur doggy-paddler. I grabbed on to every stick or piece of fuslage for relief from the constant struggle to keep my head above the water. Unfortunately, for the most part I didn't hear or recognize God's hand reaching down for me and I seldom flipped over and floated on my own back. What I did was grab for things that would inevitably sink or drag me deeper out to sea. At 19 years old, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Looking back now, I think I was disappointed that I didn't die. I didn't long for death, but I longed for one of 2 things: 1) Rescue from myself or 2) Someone to really see me, which would mean seeing that the cancer of my body was nothing compared to the cancer of my soul. I was still looking for the life preserver. In my early 20s, I was wreckless & lived in a way that was disrespectful to myself & to God. As a therapist, all of that "acting out" sure makes sense now. I didn't think of death, but I lived in it. That sentence won't make sense to any of you who haven't lived there...living a dead life.
Those of you who know me know that somewhere and sometime along the way I must have been thrown a life preserver. Truth is, everyday I have to reach for the life preserver. Everyday I have to reach out to God. Everyday I have to accept his grace, and provision. Now in my "late 30s" the thought of death still crosses my mind. I still nod my head and acknowledge the possibility. It's a weird feeling to be 36, when I thought the longest I'd be here was 35. It's pretty freeing, actually. Lagniappe is a French word I learned while living in Louisiana. It means "a little something extra". That is how I view my life now. It is how I want to live my life. A little something extra. A little gift from God. I pray to use this time to truly love other people, the kind of love God describes in I Corinthians 13. I want to reach out to other people when they feel like they have taken their last gulp of air before sinking into the abyss. I want to accept that hand when it is reached out to me. I want to use the gifts and the passion God infused into my very being to glorify Him. I want to live boldly. I want to crush the shackles of fear and no longer accept the lies of its bondage.
In reading for my Life Cycle class I came across a great quote. I'll end this very long blog with these very true words.
For age is opportunity no less
than youth itself, though in another dress,
and as the evening twilight fades away
the sky is filled with stars invisible by day.
----Longfellow
Friday, January 18, 2008
Rebekah's blog
I began my day this morning with my thoughts and my eyes fixed on transformation.
Thanks Rebekah.
*Her blog is listed as Rebs on this page.
Thanks Rebekah.
*Her blog is listed as Rebs on this page.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Therapizing myself...
This week was tough. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, but I think my family hit the change in schedule and my lack of availability like a brick wall. I also realized that the true introvert that I am is in need of alone time. It is important to know where you draw your energy. I dragged through this week like a slug. I had a difficult time accomplishing tasks, and couldn't focus. What is my answer to this dilemma? Well, I self-prescribed the symptom. I am going to give in to my desire to be a hermit. Today. I am going to read, write, watch TV, and whatever comes along without planning. I wore sweats today. I prepared myself for time alone. I even decided not to put myself in group situations (other than class, which I left promptly after).
I emphasized the word Today, because that is how long I am giving myself. Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow is the be organized and be productive green light. I am gathering energy and gaining momentum today. Tomorrow I will wake up with renewed strength and focus.
Tomorrow I will follow the advice of the wise sage Yoda. I will not try, I will do.
I emphasized the word Today, because that is how long I am giving myself. Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow is the be organized and be productive green light. I am gathering energy and gaining momentum today. Tomorrow I will wake up with renewed strength and focus.
Tomorrow I will follow the advice of the wise sage Yoda. I will not try, I will do.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Good intentions versus Reality
Last night I came to face to face with the reality that I'm only a breath away or a word away from acting like my mother.
My precious 10 year daughter has autism. This disorder helps to explain some of the oddities of her personality or her behavior. However, it does not automatically make me an excellent parent of a child with autism. It does not make me an expert. In fact, I realize on a daily basis how little I know, how impatient I am, and how selfish I am. I find myself not doing the things I know I should do, and doing the things I know I should not do. I begin my day with Good intentions, and close my day with a petition to the Lord to forgive my many slip ups & and a chance to try again the next day.
I began this blog with the intention of explaining my opening sentence. However, I no longer feel inspired to do so. I'm not sure if it's laziness or if I just want to ponder the reality of my behavior a bit longer. If you are reading this then I have a question for you. Who is it that you try not to emulate? Who is it you try to emulate? Do you ever find yourself living out the reverse of your intentions? Just some random, hopefully thought-provoking questions for you today.
Perhaps later I'll post my additional thoughts on the matter.
Blessings to you.
My precious 10 year daughter has autism. This disorder helps to explain some of the oddities of her personality or her behavior. However, it does not automatically make me an excellent parent of a child with autism. It does not make me an expert. In fact, I realize on a daily basis how little I know, how impatient I am, and how selfish I am. I find myself not doing the things I know I should do, and doing the things I know I should not do. I begin my day with Good intentions, and close my day with a petition to the Lord to forgive my many slip ups & and a chance to try again the next day.
I began this blog with the intention of explaining my opening sentence. However, I no longer feel inspired to do so. I'm not sure if it's laziness or if I just want to ponder the reality of my behavior a bit longer. If you are reading this then I have a question for you. Who is it that you try not to emulate? Who is it you try to emulate? Do you ever find yourself living out the reverse of your intentions? Just some random, hopefully thought-provoking questions for you today.
Perhaps later I'll post my additional thoughts on the matter.
Blessings to you.
Monday, January 14, 2008
The Seam-ripper
It seems to me that when I find myself struggling, whether that be with anxiety, loneliness, insecurity, or doubt, I can trace the problem back to a time when something was taken from me. I don't mean that it was taken from me right then. What I am talking about is deeper and more crucial to my being than a momentary embarrassment. I believe there are times in our past that contribute to our greatness and to our weakness. Talking about those times that contribute to our "greatness" is easier and more comfortable/acceptable. People smile as you tell them about the teacher who believed in you, the camp counselor who mentored you, or the day you were baptized. All of those things are vital ingredients to who you've become.
What about those times that contribute to our weakness(es)? For me, even though I am stronger and able to recognize when I am acting out of weakness, that weakness doesn't just go away. It's like the original perpetrator stole that piece of the puzzle from me. I believe Christ can patch the rip, tear, or gaping wound. However, just as he has scars on his hands and feet, I am left with a scar. This scar is usually a good thing that can contribute to "greatness". However, sometimes the scar burns like Harry Potter's forehead lightening bolt. Sometimes it is just too easy to hand control back over to the one who wounded me, instead of the one who healed me.
I confess I have more scars than most people. Some scars people know about. Some I haven't shared. I am getting closer to sharing the ones I've kept locked away. If truth is a pre-condition of freedom...I choose freedom, therefore, at some point I must also choose truth.
I don't understand why I have this intense need to protect the wound-givers. Yes, I am responsible for some of my scars, but the deepest ones, the ones only God can heal, the ones the devil seeps into...were not given by me. Yet, I am the one who continues to re-open the wound. Why is that? I don't sew, but I do know a little about the tools used. There's this little gadget called a seam-ripper. It does exactly what you think. When you make a hem or a seam you aren't pleased with, you take the seam-ripper and rip it out. I think that is what I do with the beautiful quilt that has become my life. Christ heals me with tender hands he carefully hand stitches my wound. I glorify him for his remarkable craftsmanship! Then somewhere down the line, something happens, something that fools my mind into believing the wound is still open. I cry out to God and ask how he could allow this to happen again, didn't he heal me? I bury my head and clench my fists...and that's when I realize I am the one holding the seam-ripper.
God is an excellent seamstress. He mends me all the time. I wonder, though, what would it look like to stop ripping out his progress? What role does truth play in that process? At some point, do I risk what others think, say, or do in order to be free?
These are all good questions.
What about those times that contribute to our weakness(es)? For me, even though I am stronger and able to recognize when I am acting out of weakness, that weakness doesn't just go away. It's like the original perpetrator stole that piece of the puzzle from me. I believe Christ can patch the rip, tear, or gaping wound. However, just as he has scars on his hands and feet, I am left with a scar. This scar is usually a good thing that can contribute to "greatness". However, sometimes the scar burns like Harry Potter's forehead lightening bolt. Sometimes it is just too easy to hand control back over to the one who wounded me, instead of the one who healed me.
I confess I have more scars than most people. Some scars people know about. Some I haven't shared. I am getting closer to sharing the ones I've kept locked away. If truth is a pre-condition of freedom...I choose freedom, therefore, at some point I must also choose truth.
I don't understand why I have this intense need to protect the wound-givers. Yes, I am responsible for some of my scars, but the deepest ones, the ones only God can heal, the ones the devil seeps into...were not given by me. Yet, I am the one who continues to re-open the wound. Why is that? I don't sew, but I do know a little about the tools used. There's this little gadget called a seam-ripper. It does exactly what you think. When you make a hem or a seam you aren't pleased with, you take the seam-ripper and rip it out. I think that is what I do with the beautiful quilt that has become my life. Christ heals me with tender hands he carefully hand stitches my wound. I glorify him for his remarkable craftsmanship! Then somewhere down the line, something happens, something that fools my mind into believing the wound is still open. I cry out to God and ask how he could allow this to happen again, didn't he heal me? I bury my head and clench my fists...and that's when I realize I am the one holding the seam-ripper.
God is an excellent seamstress. He mends me all the time. I wonder, though, what would it look like to stop ripping out his progress? What role does truth play in that process? At some point, do I risk what others think, say, or do in order to be free?
These are all good questions.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
No time to write right now.
So, now I have a blog. However, no time to write. Haha! I'm sure I'll have something brilliant to write before too long.
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