And so at church during worship someone came from behind me and hugged me and when we pulled back it was Ginny Hempleman, my friend's mom, and friend of my own mom, who's going through chemo for breast cancer.
Her hair was just beginning to grow back and even though I knew via email that she had lost her hair, I hadn't pictured it in my mind. I hadn't prepared myself emotionally for it.
When I saw that hair, so distinctively woman-going-through-the-hell-of-cancer, it vividly flashed me back to dealing with that with my mom. She did chemo twice. Lost her hair twice. And those were the times she survived.
I immediately started to weep. Not cry, but sob, uncontrollably. I hugged Ginny again for a long time...through that song and into the next...while I tried to get ahold of myself. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, trying to pretend the whole half of the church behind us wasn't watching (they went through Mom's cancer with us- as close as blood family, and they surely understood), trying to fight off the memories that flashed through my mind, snap-shots of a gruelingly difficult season for my family.
It was unreal how shocking it was. Like a sucker-punch to the gut I didn't see coming.
Later, when I had come back to the present and stuffed down some of the raw emotion, Ginny said, "I brought back memories, didn't I?" I nodded silently. She said, "I know. But you need to know that I'm doing ok. I really am."
I used to think that I would get over it. Not that I wouldn't miss her eventually, but that after awhile it wouldn't hurt so much. At the funeral people reassured me with words like, "It'll get easier. Just give yourself some time." I'm not so sure. Maybe I haven't given it enough time? Or maybe we just convince ourselves that grief does get easier. Because if we thought it wouldn't, there might be two caskets to bury.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wash Your Hands
Today was a GLORIOUS day. Glorious in the literal meaning, "reflecting God's glory"? This afternoon I walked out of the building where I had been for the past 7 hours into the cool, sunny, breezy fall day and was thankful to be alive. And thankful to have the health to walk home. Six months ago I couldn't walk to the corner, let alone a mile from campus to my house. I am exceedingly thankful for the return of my back health.
Anyway, my fingers were sticky from something I had thrown away a minute ago and I was wishing I could wash them. I was walking past a big hole which had been dug by the electric repair guys, and I suddenly had a childhood flashback. I was in a field somewhere with my family and Uncle Mark. He and Dad were farming, and Mom had driven us to wherever they were to tell them something or give them something. Anyway, Uncle Mark, probably having just fixed something on a piece of equipment, was using some of the loose soil in the field to "wash his hands" which Brittony (probably about 8), Josh (about 5) and I (maybe 7) found to be quite ridiculous and comical. "What?" Uncle Mark says. "Don't you know you can wash with dirt? This is good, clean dirt here. It'll clean you right up."
It's funny what sticks with us; the lessons we learn from the people in our lives. I remember Grandma Foster teaching me how to put pants on my Barbie Doll; you have to put BOTH feet in at the same time, or it won't work. Even at 4 years old, I noticed how Grandma showed me and told me at the same time. Then she took the pants back off the doll and told me to try. It was magic, I tell you! Those pants slipped right on!
Little snapshots of life. Teaching moments. I remember my dad and me at Edgewood Skate Arena; he glided smoothly around the rink. I clung tenaciously to his hand and basically walked along beside him. (I didn't skate a lot as a kid...) He said, "It's like a dance. Just move your feet to the music, long strides..."
So much teaching. And no wonder- think of all the stuff we have to learn; most of it within our first 18 years! Walking, driving, filling out government forms (yikes!) deciding what you want to do, learning to dress your Barbie doll... Can you imagine, all this stuff crammed into our brains and we're still only using a small percentage of its capacity, according to scientists. I wonder why God gave us so much more than we use? Is that significant?
Well, speaking of learning things, I have books to read and review. More information to absorb. But if things get too tough, I may just go outside and wash my hands in some good, clean dirt.
Anyway, my fingers were sticky from something I had thrown away a minute ago and I was wishing I could wash them. I was walking past a big hole which had been dug by the electric repair guys, and I suddenly had a childhood flashback. I was in a field somewhere with my family and Uncle Mark. He and Dad were farming, and Mom had driven us to wherever they were to tell them something or give them something. Anyway, Uncle Mark, probably having just fixed something on a piece of equipment, was using some of the loose soil in the field to "wash his hands" which Brittony (probably about 8), Josh (about 5) and I (maybe 7) found to be quite ridiculous and comical. "What?" Uncle Mark says. "Don't you know you can wash with dirt? This is good, clean dirt here. It'll clean you right up."
It's funny what sticks with us; the lessons we learn from the people in our lives. I remember Grandma Foster teaching me how to put pants on my Barbie Doll; you have to put BOTH feet in at the same time, or it won't work. Even at 4 years old, I noticed how Grandma showed me and told me at the same time. Then she took the pants back off the doll and told me to try. It was magic, I tell you! Those pants slipped right on!
Little snapshots of life. Teaching moments. I remember my dad and me at Edgewood Skate Arena; he glided smoothly around the rink. I clung tenaciously to his hand and basically walked along beside him. (I didn't skate a lot as a kid...) He said, "It's like a dance. Just move your feet to the music, long strides..."
So much teaching. And no wonder- think of all the stuff we have to learn; most of it within our first 18 years! Walking, driving, filling out government forms (yikes!) deciding what you want to do, learning to dress your Barbie doll... Can you imagine, all this stuff crammed into our brains and we're still only using a small percentage of its capacity, according to scientists. I wonder why God gave us so much more than we use? Is that significant?
Well, speaking of learning things, I have books to read and review. More information to absorb. But if things get too tough, I may just go outside and wash my hands in some good, clean dirt.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Wisconsin and Grace
Last weekend two of my Wheaton friends, Beth and Elizabeth, were scheduled to take part in a triathlon in Devil's Lake, Wisconsin. Two friends and I had decided to join them and camp out at the park, in order to cheer them on and get the heck out of Wheaton. (ahem) I mean, to cheer them on and explore a new part of our beautiful country. Sadly, two hours before we were scheduled to leave for WI, Beth got a call telling her that her friend had gone into labor. Beth's training to be a doula (kindof like a childbirth coach/helper/person) and had agreed to go with her friend to the hospital. It was hard to watch Beth make the sacrifice- she'd been training all summer for the race- but I was proud of her selfless decision and especially her fantastic attitude.
The rest of us piled into two cars with our gear and trucked it north to the great state of Cheese and country, Wisconsin. Since it's September, and we're heading north, so we're anticipating cooler weather. What we hadn't expected were record-breaking low temperatures in that area our first night- it was 30 degrees inside our tent Friday night. Some of us (Sasha, from St. Croix, US Virgin Islands) had it worse than others. :)
Anyway, race day dawned bright and early for me. We went to bed about 1am; I got an update call from Beth about 2:30am; Elizabeth's alarm went off at 5:30am; and I finally forced myself out of my warm sleeping bag at 6:45. Those lumps of earth under my sleeping bag seemed to grow during the short night. After a breakfast of cold bagels and cream cheese, we headed out to watch the race.
Swimming was the first event, and after much wandering about in a sea of otherwise sane-looking men and women dressed in spandex and wetsuits, we finally located our favorite athlete. We got a couple minutes to chat with Elizabeth before her heat (willingly) jumped into that icy-cold water. [pause here for eye-rolling at the strange things people will do in the name of sports]
The excitement of the day was tempered by the sudden death of one of the participants. As my friends and I awaited Elizabeth's arrival at the end of the swimming section, we saw two lifeguards pulling a man out of the water. He was unconscious and I ended up calling 911 to get an ambulance. After 20 minutes or so of doing CPR, they finally loaded him onto a stretcher and drove him away in the ambulance. After we returned home we found out that the man had died from a heart attack. 55 years old, avid triathlon participant. It was a stark reminder of how fragile life is.
It's strange to think of someone dying in an event like this in the States. We've worked so hard to make everything so safe. Helmets, seat belts, water-less hand sanitizer. No kidding, at the restaurant on the way to the park there was "toilet seat sanitizer" in the bathroom- you put some on some TP and wipe the seat down before you sit!! When I compare that to the bathroom situations I've encountered overseas...I just have to laugh! We try so hard to stay safe, but when it comes down to it, nothing is certain but death and taxes (as my dad would say).
Anyway, Elizabeth did a fantastic job in the triathlon. We were all so proud to watch her cross the finish line! Afterward our star sat munching on her sub sandwich, shivering in my sweatshirt and told us about how preparing for and running the race reminder her so much of her spiritual walk with Christ. Hard work; discipline; incredible rewards. It was a joy to experience it with her.
Now I'm back home in the real world. Juggling papers and book reviews, house-cleaning and recess-monitoring, trying to eat enough fresh veggies and make sure I get a little exercise each day, getting up early to spend time with God. Sometimes doing well at everything. More often faltering in one way or another. Makes you thankful for grace, doesn't it? A Father who forgives and forgives and forgives. And then the next time I blow it, He forgives me again. Even for the same sin. Even when I didn't take it seriously. Even though.
God's been teaching me about grace. About how bad I am at it. In a devotional once I read the quote: You will never show anyone more grace than God has already shown you." I keep finding that whenever I'm struggling with an issue in someone else, it's a reflection of a similar problem in myself. Yuck. It's been a depressing and yet illuminating revelation. It's hard, but good for me. Like eating salad and working hard at a job I don't like. Not fun, but good for me.
The rest of us piled into two cars with our gear and trucked it north to the great state of Cheese and country, Wisconsin. Since it's September, and we're heading north, so we're anticipating cooler weather. What we hadn't expected were record-breaking low temperatures in that area our first night- it was 30 degrees inside our tent Friday night. Some of us (Sasha, from St. Croix, US Virgin Islands) had it worse than others. :)
Anyway, race day dawned bright and early for me. We went to bed about 1am; I got an update call from Beth about 2:30am; Elizabeth's alarm went off at 5:30am; and I finally forced myself out of my warm sleeping bag at 6:45. Those lumps of earth under my sleeping bag seemed to grow during the short night. After a breakfast of cold bagels and cream cheese, we headed out to watch the race.
Swimming was the first event, and after much wandering about in a sea of otherwise sane-looking men and women dressed in spandex and wetsuits, we finally located our favorite athlete. We got a couple minutes to chat with Elizabeth before her heat (willingly) jumped into that icy-cold water. [pause here for eye-rolling at the strange things people will do in the name of sports]
The excitement of the day was tempered by the sudden death of one of the participants. As my friends and I awaited Elizabeth's arrival at the end of the swimming section, we saw two lifeguards pulling a man out of the water. He was unconscious and I ended up calling 911 to get an ambulance. After 20 minutes or so of doing CPR, they finally loaded him onto a stretcher and drove him away in the ambulance. After we returned home we found out that the man had died from a heart attack. 55 years old, avid triathlon participant. It was a stark reminder of how fragile life is.
It's strange to think of someone dying in an event like this in the States. We've worked so hard to make everything so safe. Helmets, seat belts, water-less hand sanitizer. No kidding, at the restaurant on the way to the park there was "toilet seat sanitizer" in the bathroom- you put some on some TP and wipe the seat down before you sit!! When I compare that to the bathroom situations I've encountered overseas...I just have to laugh! We try so hard to stay safe, but when it comes down to it, nothing is certain but death and taxes (as my dad would say).
Anyway, Elizabeth did a fantastic job in the triathlon. We were all so proud to watch her cross the finish line! Afterward our star sat munching on her sub sandwich, shivering in my sweatshirt and told us about how preparing for and running the race reminder her so much of her spiritual walk with Christ. Hard work; discipline; incredible rewards. It was a joy to experience it with her.
Now I'm back home in the real world. Juggling papers and book reviews, house-cleaning and recess-monitoring, trying to eat enough fresh veggies and make sure I get a little exercise each day, getting up early to spend time with God. Sometimes doing well at everything. More often faltering in one way or another. Makes you thankful for grace, doesn't it? A Father who forgives and forgives and forgives. And then the next time I blow it, He forgives me again. Even for the same sin. Even when I didn't take it seriously. Even though.
God's been teaching me about grace. About how bad I am at it. In a devotional once I read the quote: You will never show anyone more grace than God has already shown you." I keep finding that whenever I'm struggling with an issue in someone else, it's a reflection of a similar problem in myself. Yuck. It's been a depressing and yet illuminating revelation. It's hard, but good for me. Like eating salad and working hard at a job I don't like. Not fun, but good for me.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Grandma Nell's Whirlygig Cookies
Due to the high demand, here is the great cookie recipe! It makes about 3 dozen cookies...unless you like the dough as much as I do... :)
Cream together:
1/2 cup shortening
1/2 white sugar
1/2 brown sugar
1/2 cup creamy peanut butter
Add to mixture:
1 egg
1 1/4 cup flour
1/2 t baking soda
1/2 t salt
Using two sheets of waxed paper, roll the dough into an oblong shape about 1/4 inch thick. Melt a package of chocolate chips and spread it evenly over the dough. Roll the dough up lengthwise, like a jelly roll and wrap the roll in waxed paper. Chill. Slice and place on cookie sheets (they can be close together- they won't get much bigger as they cook) and bake at 350 degrees until the cookies are light brown, about 7-9 minutes. Allow to cool for 3 minutes before removing from the sheets.
Cream together:
1/2 cup shortening
1/2 white sugar
1/2 brown sugar
1/2 cup creamy peanut butter
Add to mixture:
1 egg
1 1/4 cup flour
1/2 t baking soda
1/2 t salt
Using two sheets of waxed paper, roll the dough into an oblong shape about 1/4 inch thick. Melt a package of chocolate chips and spread it evenly over the dough. Roll the dough up lengthwise, like a jelly roll and wrap the roll in waxed paper. Chill. Slice and place on cookie sheets (they can be close together- they won't get much bigger as they cook) and bake at 350 degrees until the cookies are light brown, about 7-9 minutes. Allow to cool for 3 minutes before removing from the sheets.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Exploring The Wonders of Barley
I like to cook, even though I'm only really successful about 1/2 of the time. I suppose I cook mostly because I like to eat, but I also like making other people happy, and it seems that most others like to eat, too.
Anyway, I tried to make a pork roast with potatoes and carrots like my mom used to do. It was for a Roosevelt House lunch on Sunday. I think I didn't give it enough time to cook. And something was wrong with the flavoring. I was sorely disappointed. The girls were gracious, though.
The whirligig cookies I made for dessert helped to make up for the sad meal. If you've never had whirligig cookies, yours is a sadly lacking life. These are without a doubt the best cookies in the world. Yes, the world. I challenge you to find, on any continent, a better cookie. It's peanut better cookie dough swirled together with chocolate. Oh, yum.
Anyway again, that's still not the point. (sheesh!) I had leftover pork from the dinner, so I decided to cook it along with the bones in my crock pot and make soup. I like homemade soup and it's getting a little cooler, so soup is perfect.
Yesterday we cleaned out the basement at the Roosevelt House (stick with me, here; these stories are actually related) and in addition to the satisfaction of a nice neat and orderly basement, I scored a bag of pearled barley from Sarah. Her mom regularly sends her cooking stuff, but I ended up with the barley. I don't actually know the difference between 'pearled' and 'not pearled' barley. I had never cooked with, or even eaten barley, as far as I remember. Unless someone fed me barley overseas. Sometimes I ate things I couldn't identify, but those things were rarely grains. Mostly they were from animals. Once I thought I was eating rice noodles (which I like) and it turned out I was eating jellyfish tentacles (which, it turned out, I do not like so much; very chewy) Yuck.
So I decided to make pork and barley soup, even though I'd never heard of such a thing before. It seemed reasonable. I cooked the meat overnight and then washed and poured in the barley before I left for work this morning.
Barley expands. When I got home it was almost to the top of the big crock pot, and it had become about the consistency of oatmeal. Hmm. It wasn't exactly what I was expecting. But I watered it down a bit, added some carrots and spices, and am now munching happily away on my hearty soup. It's, um, somewhat reselmblant of elmer's glue, and only tasty if you're really hungry.
If anyone's hungry, I'll save some for you. I have a lot.
Unrelated story: last night I watched the movie The Holiday with some friends. This was my third viewing of said movie, and I would just like to say that I would marry the Miles character in a heartbeat. I keep asking people which of the two main male characters they would be interested in, and no one seems to agree with me, but I just don't understand that!
I will admit that the other guy (played by Jude Law) is hotter, but he's not as quality of a guy! Miles (played by Jack Black) is funny, sincere, super-musical, and just plain old nice. What's not to love!?! Too bad he's a fictitious character. :)
Anyway, I tried to make a pork roast with potatoes and carrots like my mom used to do. It was for a Roosevelt House lunch on Sunday. I think I didn't give it enough time to cook. And something was wrong with the flavoring. I was sorely disappointed. The girls were gracious, though.
The whirligig cookies I made for dessert helped to make up for the sad meal. If you've never had whirligig cookies, yours is a sadly lacking life. These are without a doubt the best cookies in the world. Yes, the world. I challenge you to find, on any continent, a better cookie. It's peanut better cookie dough swirled together with chocolate. Oh, yum.
Anyway again, that's still not the point. (sheesh!) I had leftover pork from the dinner, so I decided to cook it along with the bones in my crock pot and make soup. I like homemade soup and it's getting a little cooler, so soup is perfect.
Yesterday we cleaned out the basement at the Roosevelt House (stick with me, here; these stories are actually related) and in addition to the satisfaction of a nice neat and orderly basement, I scored a bag of pearled barley from Sarah. Her mom regularly sends her cooking stuff, but I ended up with the barley. I don't actually know the difference between 'pearled' and 'not pearled' barley. I had never cooked with, or even eaten barley, as far as I remember. Unless someone fed me barley overseas. Sometimes I ate things I couldn't identify, but those things were rarely grains. Mostly they were from animals. Once I thought I was eating rice noodles (which I like) and it turned out I was eating jellyfish tentacles (which, it turned out, I do not like so much; very chewy) Yuck.
So I decided to make pork and barley soup, even though I'd never heard of such a thing before. It seemed reasonable. I cooked the meat overnight and then washed and poured in the barley before I left for work this morning.
Barley expands. When I got home it was almost to the top of the big crock pot, and it had become about the consistency of oatmeal. Hmm. It wasn't exactly what I was expecting. But I watered it down a bit, added some carrots and spices, and am now munching happily away on my hearty soup. It's, um, somewhat reselmblant of elmer's glue, and only tasty if you're really hungry.
If anyone's hungry, I'll save some for you. I have a lot.
Unrelated story: last night I watched the movie The Holiday with some friends. This was my third viewing of said movie, and I would just like to say that I would marry the Miles character in a heartbeat. I keep asking people which of the two main male characters they would be interested in, and no one seems to agree with me, but I just don't understand that!
I will admit that the other guy (played by Jude Law) is hotter, but he's not as quality of a guy! Miles (played by Jack Black) is funny, sincere, super-musical, and just plain old nice. What's not to love!?! Too bad he's a fictitious character. :)
Friday, September 7, 2007
The People We Enjoy
Today on the walk home from school I passed a park with a small placard that said something about "the people we enjoy". I glanced at it casually as I walked by, but the depth of meaning struck me as somehow disproportionately profound for such words, and I went back to look again.
What a simple way to put it. I began to think about the people that I enjoy. Not surprisingly, the first person to come to mind was my mom. Susan Carol (House) Foster. Mom died two and a half years ago and at the time she was my closest friend. I know in my head that she wasn't perfect at all. But isn't it funny how death perfects people?
Anyway, imperfect as she was, I enjoyed my mom thoroughly. She called me Bunky, and I called her Shorty. Sometimes she would meet me at work for lunch, other days we would make trips to Meijer or Wal-Mart together. All my friends loved her, which is, I think, noteworthy. My mom was my hero, and my most important spiritual guide. She was forever supportive of me, even when I made various "I'm going to..." announcements that I know pierced her heart. She never made me feel guilty for going far away. But she was always so excited when I came home.
During my final homecoming before her Final Homecoming, Mom left a note on my table that said, "Leslie's Home! Whee!!" There was a little smiley face at the bottom. That was summer of 2005. That note got buried (quite predictably) in the pile of junk on the table, and I ran across it a few months later. By that time Mom had been diagnosed with a recurrence of cancer for the last time, and we knew her time with us was short. My whole world had changed. The note, which had made me so happy a few months back, made me equally sad the second time around.
There were days during Mom's last weeks that I was afraid I wouldn't be able to breathe without her. She had always been such a huge part of life. Always there. Always loving. The pain I felt as I looked ahead to life without my mom was physical. I hadn't known emotional pain could transcend its own realm and manifest itself that way. There are some lessons you'd rather never learn.
Anyway, it turns out that I am able to breathe without Mom. Some days it still hurts. Most days it's not a pain, but rather a sadness. She's still the person I want to talk things over with. I want to debrief with her about my day, every day. And how I would love to have her wisdom and advice about my life decisions.
After Mom died I wondered how long it would be before I stopped missing her so much. But after a couple years I've come to terms with the concept that I won't stop. I will always miss her, because I will always love her. She isn't here anymore, but she still is. I wonder if people in heaven watch us down here? I wonder if my mom sees me. I wonder if she's proud of who I'm becoming, of the choices I'm making. I wish I could ask her.
I can't imagine anything ever hurting more than losing my mom. But I wouldn't trade it; not even to take away the pain. Not even for that.
What a simple way to put it. I began to think about the people that I enjoy. Not surprisingly, the first person to come to mind was my mom. Susan Carol (House) Foster. Mom died two and a half years ago and at the time she was my closest friend. I know in my head that she wasn't perfect at all. But isn't it funny how death perfects people?
Anyway, imperfect as she was, I enjoyed my mom thoroughly. She called me Bunky, and I called her Shorty. Sometimes she would meet me at work for lunch, other days we would make trips to Meijer or Wal-Mart together. All my friends loved her, which is, I think, noteworthy. My mom was my hero, and my most important spiritual guide. She was forever supportive of me, even when I made various "I'm going to..." announcements that I know pierced her heart. She never made me feel guilty for going far away. But she was always so excited when I came home.
During my final homecoming before her Final Homecoming, Mom left a note on my table that said, "Leslie's Home! Whee!!" There was a little smiley face at the bottom. That was summer of 2005. That note got buried (quite predictably) in the pile of junk on the table, and I ran across it a few months later. By that time Mom had been diagnosed with a recurrence of cancer for the last time, and we knew her time with us was short. My whole world had changed. The note, which had made me so happy a few months back, made me equally sad the second time around.
There were days during Mom's last weeks that I was afraid I wouldn't be able to breathe without her. She had always been such a huge part of life. Always there. Always loving. The pain I felt as I looked ahead to life without my mom was physical. I hadn't known emotional pain could transcend its own realm and manifest itself that way. There are some lessons you'd rather never learn.
Anyway, it turns out that I am able to breathe without Mom. Some days it still hurts. Most days it's not a pain, but rather a sadness. She's still the person I want to talk things over with. I want to debrief with her about my day, every day. And how I would love to have her wisdom and advice about my life decisions.
After Mom died I wondered how long it would be before I stopped missing her so much. But after a couple years I've come to terms with the concept that I won't stop. I will always miss her, because I will always love her. She isn't here anymore, but she still is. I wonder if people in heaven watch us down here? I wonder if my mom sees me. I wonder if she's proud of who I'm becoming, of the choices I'm making. I wish I could ask her.
I can't imagine anything ever hurting more than losing my mom. But I wouldn't trade it; not even to take away the pain. Not even for that.
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