His Final Lesson

Recently, my brother shared a piece that he wrote about our dad. It is one of the most heartfelt, poignant things I've ever read. Beautiful, succinct, and touching, may you be blessed by this lovely writing:

His Final Lesson

“Rick, come here.” Typically, words and even commands spoken by him did not elicit a heightened reaction from me, but there was a specific tone that made this sound different, possibly more imperative. 

Please don’t believe that I am someone who is not reactive. My main priority in life shifted from one of being cared for to being the caregiver. I still wonder how I took that responsibility without being more overwhelmed or more mystified. Because it was me – the boy who could not go to school without fear of being away from his parents; the boy who crumbled at any potential illness – my own or theirs; the boy who could not stick to any activities such as Boy Scouts or band. Yet, when the time came, I gracefully accepted the role as the caregiver, the boy now who could be called man. Although I did not see it, I embraced it. His lesson was that of a teacher – quietly teaching valuable lessons of being a man without me even knowing that it was occurring.  

The response to my expected question “What’s wrong?” was one of unknown pain that was to eventually take him away from me. We started what would be our last phone call to 911 and subsequent collecting of the home items for another hospital stay. 

Despite my fears, years of concern based on the reality of mortality being a few steps away, possibly a few minutes away due to him not being in touch with his body or his needs associated with the plethora of health issues related to heart trouble, I always reacted with a calm nature and, in my heart, believed that it was not the end. Regardless of the severity of some of the hospital stays or diagnoses, I must admit that I never believed it would end. Naivety is not usually my forte. But with him, I always felt like there was another day, another month, another year. This was a testament to another lesson – the lesson was grace regardless of the surroundings and circumstances. 

The ensuing diagnosis, required surgery, and many ups and downs in his physical and mental health took a toll on all of us. It only lasted three weeks, but felt like many months had gone by. He was tired, frail, and, no doubt disappointed that his body was failing, but he never complained and never once did he say he was in pain. 

I was young and full of anxiety. My concerns ranged from my own physical health through the rest of the family being ill or diseased. He did not understand mental health issues such as this. He had dealt with others’ issues, but he never quite understood the “why” behind them. Yet, when I needed him to be there to tuck me back in at night or to pick me up from school when the worry was beyond normal, he was there. He never made me feel bad for the worry, or for being bullied, or for the irrational concerns about death, monsters, and such.  This lesson was to understand and accept, sometimes even if you don’t truly understand. 

I watched him in bed daily – some days intubated, some days awake and able to talk and listen. Reality of this being our final hospital stay became more and more tangible as the weakness grew and no interventions had a lasting effect. A doctor had called me and sternly said, “We have to be open and prepared if God is calling him” since some of their interventions were not having that magical effect we had come to expect. Still, the grace of handling this without falling apart had overtaken me. I cried, I begged to have it be different, I used up my bag of tricks that had always kept his quality of life high, but this time was to end in an unfamiliar way and I was letting that reality make me stronger. 

I had not been formally acquainted with death. I had heard stories of all of the loss that my family had handled, but most of this occurred before I was born. Distant relatives, friends of the family, and others that we had known were gone and the sting had been there, but it was a fleeting pain, yet all their memories would remain fond to me. His mother had died many years ago and I watched him handle it with quiet compassion and reverence for who she was to him and to others. His lesson was unending love and the value of legacy.

I received a call from the hospital that he denied intubation. He was still present, but the intubation would be necessary to continue life. I had no choice but to go and find out if this was truly the end. I cannot recall my thoughts on my way to this visit, probably an amalgam of potential outcomes at that point. I laid eyes upon him in his bed, the way that I had for these few weeks, and even hours prior, but I knew this held more weight than those other visits. Upon seeing me, I should have known that he could not lay eyes on me and say “okay, I give up”.

Each time that we had a “scare”, I suppose it was evident that I was giving every fiber of my being to positive outcomes, never once admitting that there were any options beyond continued life. And I lived that way from day to day, for many years. Regardless of how high he had gotten in age, there never was a day that I let on that he was aging. Regardless of how he was unable to do certain jobs or activities, I never let on that he was more limited. I was his biggest cheerleader. I had gone from being the frightened little boy to his champion in all ways that I could. There were ways that he adapted to still be functional and express his love, despite any limitations.  This could also be attributed to him – the lesson of adapting to your environment and accepting change. 

This visit lasted only about twenty-five minutes. He would allow them to place the ventilator back on. We had moments of communication, despite this final intubation. So many words were spoken before this point, yet it was down to a few final lessons. Though it was only a few short years ago, the memory of all words has faded a bit. However, significant words were spoken at that time. I told him that we would not torture him anymore after this attempt. I wanted him to know that he had fought hard, but I also wanted him to know that I, the one who had fought so hard to keep him alive for so many years, was giving him permission to no longer suffer or fight, when it was so clear that he was ready to let go.  Our last exchange was one in which I initiated my expression of love. In all of my years of life, the words had never left my mouth toward him and neither him for me. It was clear as day, though, that was how we felt. But, on this night, I felt that it was time. I knew it was the right time. And, he reciprocated. 

His last lesson was finding out if I could be not just a man, but the man; the man who could let him go despite giving so much to ensure that he lived; the man who could be strong enough to use words of love because the actions were no longer possible. This lesson was his most valuable, because we both needed it to move on; for him to move on past this life and for me to move on past him to a life which would have to garner new meaning and understanding and use the tools provided since childbirth to continue the cycle of love and kindness.  

Author: Matthew R. Mattia (Rick) 

Nonsense Language

Me, my brother and son have come up with a list of my father's imaginative language. Those of you who knew him best will understand.

We were called Toy, Toots, little Tenya. We were called Boy, Mattie, and Raymond. Others were called Fritzie, Nemon, Hage, Johnny Boy, and Rollo. There was Magruter, Ollie, Donelda, Cherley, Merdet and Peppay.

When you drank too much pop and left cans around you were a "Socack." When something came crashing down during rough play with your friends, you heard "Save the pieces!" When you wanted someone to leave because you were tired of them, you heard "Bid it!"

"Flutes" were little kids and not an instrument to be played. "The Serps" were my nieces as they ran around the house having fun. When you couldn't hear something you were called "Orville!" And when sneezes came in rapid succession, sounds like "Warf," and "Whoosk" were heard instead of Achoo!

If you spent too much money on a gift for my dad, he would call you "Mike Money" or "Andy Mellon." Of course this was always said with love because Dad enjoyed gifts so much.

Sometimes my father would ask me, "Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?" with his best Billy Burke impression from Wizard of Oz. Other times he would make fun of those of us who had a few computer skills and ask if we went on the "corn.cob" site (pronounced corn-dot-cob). Really....

When someone had big eyes, or was staring, we heard "Beadie Lajolla" or "Heady la Eyeball." It's a wonder we children grew up sane!

If you washed too much, you were a "Cleanso Smith." If you preferred to keep something a secret you were "Mystero." Even pets were not immune from fresh new names given to them. Penny, the Pomeranian was "Bluto,"  Mya the dog became "Myers." Lynxy the cat was "Torberious." And cats did not have whiskers, but they did have "weeyers." And if Dad wanted a cat or dog to leave him alone, he'd shout: "Boorelea!"

Restaurants that truckers frequented were called "Greasette Spoonette" and not Greasy Spoons. That was far too ordinary for our father. And when Dad saw me in shorts in the summer, he called them "wearing my diaper." He called winter coats "buffalo skins." There was no end to the wonderful world of madness.

I remember when my brother Rick was little and Dad wanted him to behave. He would always threaten that he was going to give his toys away to "Francie Blaho." Now Francie was not a real person, but Rick didn't know that, and he would "Straighten up and Fly Right" as Dad would say...

When any child annoyed dad, he said he was going to turn into "Thrasheto, the Thrashing Monster!" My goodness! Everyone behaved then. This seemed to be worse than Godzilla or Mothra or any of the old monster movies.

 My son has often said that the father in A Christmas Story played by actor Darren McGavin, reminded him so much of "Lamp," his grandfather, my dad. For there were a few nonsense words that Ralphie always referred to as his father said them. No wonder we laughed so much.

There were many other wonderful, amazing nonsense phrases. Some we never found the origins, and just hold dear to our hearts: Cutasecalea, Feenstra Mageech, Baby Mosie, Muscala Majona, Boosskach, Guya Kibbee, Zoomba, Broofisk,Henna, Sasha good little dog. All words from the vocabulary of one of the sweetest, funniest men I've ever known or ever hope to know.

I miss Dad's zany words and the silly faces he made. I miss him mimicking my son, driving him crazy until Matt would shout, "Lamp!" (Which was his own made up nickname for my dad.)

My father lived simply in a quiet place within himself. He could be known as shy in many ways, and preferred family around him to friends and tons of company. He prayed quietly with a small prayer book he was given by someone years ago and never made show of his beliefs, but you knew he had a heart for God.

Dad  was one-of-a-kind and though he's gone from this earth, which hurts my heart to admit, there are his soft, quiet ways, crazy language, and strength from the good man that he was which we all hope to carry on.

To Share an Amazing Story

I want to shout to the rooftops to anyone who will listen! I want you to share this story, read it over and over again. It is my hope that anyone who needs it, will hear it. It is my prayer that you, too, will find this kind of amazing, powerful prayer as a testimony in your own life.

This is a true, recent story about my dear friend, Paula who had gone through what I refer to as Job-sized trials:

          I have a powerful story to share; one that started about thirteen years ago when I moved away from my family and friends to a strange, new place.

           I’d been crying again. It hadn’t been easy leaving behind my elderly parents, grown-up son, brother, and friends. I’d put in a three months notice at the job I’d come to love for twenty-seven years. As dental assistant and office manager in a small town dental office, I knew my patients well—knew their stories, heartbreaks, and triumphs. I had been so fond of the dentist that we felt more like family.

          I sat at the kitchen counter in my new house—the house that belonged to my husband of only a month. He was working, and I scoured the want ads for a job in the dental field with my crumpled tissue in hand. I’d gotten off the phone with my parents, telling them again how much I missed them, but heck, I was only an hour away. Though I knew the visits would be often, it didn’t ease my sadness.

         There weren’t too many jobs in the surrounding area, so I decided to call some of the local offices to see if they might be hiring. The first office I called and explained my situation to a really sweet lady, I felt comforted and at ease immediately. This fast-paced town might not be anything like where I’d grown up, but this woman was genuine and kind. Perhaps there were good people and hopefully a few new friendships to be made at some point.

         The lady, who’d answered the phone at the office I called, said that they might be looking for someone part-time. We chatted for quite a bit, and I found that I really liked this person with the soft voice and calm manner. Though I found a good job shortly after, I tucked the other office into the back of my mind, hoping that perhaps someday I would be able to work with someone who I’d bonded with instantly.

         One day at my new dental job, I had to place a call to a specialist’s office. Imagine my surprise when I heard a familiar voice. The soft-spoken woman I’d talked with answered the phone, and I hadn’t realized it was the office where I’d thought about working.

         It seemed humorous at the time, but we both realized that we had spoken before, and it became a joy to place calls to this other office from time to time to chat with the lady whose name was Paula.

        I grew to like her even more, and when several years went by and our office began to undergo some staff changes, this time Paula was looking for other employment. I immediately put in a good word to our dentist, and we hired her almost instantly.

         I’ve had several amazing friendships in my life. Some of them have been since I was a little girl. Others, I met a little later in my journey. And it would be Paula who ended up becoming almost like a sister to me in my later years. We were so much alike with our talks about faith, family, values, and life. We encouraged one another and laughed about silly things. Work became a pleasure, even on difficult days.

         When several years went by and my parent’s health was failing, Paula became my rock and strength. She listened as I vented, cried, or worried. Because she’d gone through several losses in her life, she had an understanding of the kind of faith that sustains during the darkest times. And when I lost my parents within two years of one another, it was this type of faith that carried me through in a major way.

         About a month ago, Paula began feeling poorly. Her gait became unsteady; she had difficulty catching her breath. She became so concerned one day that she took herself to the emergency room.

Through many tests, the doctors began giving my friend some unsettling news. They discovered a heart valve issue, and scarier still, arteries in her brain that were extremely narrow.

         I visited her one day in the hospital. She had to lie in a darkened room because her head hurt so badly. The doctors had done many tests and she felt worse. But though I sat near her with worry creasing my forehead, Paula piped up, “I will trust God when times are good, and I will trust Him when times are bad.”

         During a series of further testing, when all looked gloomy and it was decided that she might need surgery to place stents, Paula never gave up hope, nor ever stopped praying and believing. She enlisted the prayers of many others, and spoke positively when negativity surrounded her.

         Paula was transferred to another hospital where the findings were quite different. No surgery needed and no serious issues; benign heart valve condition, and blood flow just fine in her arteries.

It was a time of great joy for those of us who loved her. I praised God that miracles occurred. It took a little time, but she began to feel better. None of us questioned the fact that we’d witnessed God’s hand in a mighty way.

         Until Paula had one more test done. She received a call back from a routine mammogram. Any woman who has gone through this knows the sinking feeling, but also the hope that it may be nothing. But when Paula was told that there were findings and a biopsy was next, my heart sank.

God, I prayed. You brought her through so much recently. Why does she have to go through this now?

         Earlier in her life, she’d lost several family members within a short period of time. One of her sisters had breast cancer. Never once through this next chapter unfolding did I see Paula’s demeanor change. Though she said fear challenged her at first, faith stepped in almost immediately. She began speaking out loud that she was healed. She spoke only of her faith in God and believed wholeheartedly that everything would be fine.

          Once again, a few of us who knew about this test began a vigil of prayer. My husband and I prayed out loud every morning for her. I send healing thoughts and pictured her body whole and well. I agreed in prayer with my friend.

         I couldn’t help though that I found myself angry with God a few times. She has twelve-year-old twin boys, Lord. They need her. She has so much to do in this world. Grant her a healing, Lord.

I prayed continually, anytime I thought about her which was quite often as my faith began to increase. 

         And Paula’s faith abounded. I never heard anything but how much she loved God, how she trusted completely in Him, and that she had no fear of bad news.

         Paula said that during the time of waiting for the biopsy, and then waiting for the results, many instances of God’s blessing surrounded her. Several Bible passages spoke directly to her, confirming what she already knew. Never in my life have I met someone with such a beautiful, sincere faith.

Yesterday at work, Paula mentioned that the doctor’s office might call with her results. I must confess that I was a wreck as I tried keeping conversation light, and still kept praying.

Around one o’clock, her cell phone rang, and she picked it up and walked away with it. 

         This is it, I thought. A life changing moment.

         There is nothing more difficult than waiting for news from someone you care about. The seconds tick by into what feels like hours. And when you see that person, you look directly into their face, knowing that the answer will be there.

         Paula walked back into the room with the biggest smile plastered on her face. “I got good news,” she said. “It’s benign.”

         Seven words that felt lighter than air. I immediately hugged her, as we both began crying, laughing, and praising God together. I felt that a weight had been lifted, and I wanted to tell everyone I knew about this miracle woman!

         Has life always been pretty and fair to my friend? No, it certainly hasn’t. There have been times that tested her soul, but even in the darkest times, God’s beacon of light and hope have always been there to carry her through the darkness.

         This writing is to give testimony to the One who matters: Our Heavenly Father. All glory and honor to Him.

         What follows is Paula's direct testimony edited for space:

I know you have all been waiting for an UPDATE so here it is....

So after 8 days in the hospital and going through so many tests, needles, medications, and scares, the doctors there could not come up with a diagnosis that explained all of my symptoms. They therefore were unable to provide a course of treatment that could really help. As a natural girl I hated being in the hospital and taking pharmaceutical drugs of any kind. I also shuttered at the thought of stents being placed in my brain and ultimately the doctors agreed that I did not need them at this time.

 It is one month tomorrow that I was admitted to the hospital and I just have to share with you all that I am feeling great! I still have some issues but they are improving every day.

A couple weeks before I went into the hospital, I had had a mammogram that revealed two small areas of concern. I had to go back for an additional mammogram and ultrasound. At this second visit, I was told that what they were seeing was “suspicious of cancer” and I needed to have biopsies. When I first left there, I admit I had a mini meltdown as fear tried to take over. I have lost three siblings and one of them was to breast cancer. This was getting to be too much for me with all that I had just been through. My meltdown only lasted a few minutes and I regained my composure and my usual positive outlook. the next thing I did was claim healing in the name of Jesus. Daily I spoke out loud the scriptures regarding healing. 

Over the next week before my appointment for the biopsies, God gave me peace and I knew that I did not have cancer. I had told only three very close people about what the report from the ultrasound was and I told all three of them. “Don’t worry. I’m just fine. It’s not cancer. I know it”. How did I know? You ask. Well I’ll tell you. A few days after the ultrasound, I went to church and gathered three prayer warriors and told them what was going on and ask for them to pray over me. As the three of them laid hands on me and prayed, I felt the Holy Spirit and knew our prayers were being heard. Inside the sanctuary, the praise and worship team sang through our prayers “Look what the Lord has done
Look what the Lord has done
He healed my body
He touched my mind
He saved me it was just in time
I'm gonna praise His name
Each day He's just the same
Come on and praise Him
Look what the Lord has done”. I felt at that exact moment this was significant. 

The next day I met someone for the first time. He shared with me some testimony of how God saved his life. He mentioned that his favorite book is “Jesus Calling”. I knew I had a copy of this book but hadn’t seen it in a couple of years. I went home and dug it out. I opened it up to a page that I had previously book marked. My eyes grew wide when I read...
“He does not fear bad news, he is steadfast, trusting in the Lord.”
psalm 112:7

Wow. I knew this was no coincidence. That scripture was just for me at just the right time. The daily devotional from my church the evening before my biopsy was more confirmation. It was about the lepers receiving healing and then regarding healing today. The gist was that after one receives healing they should then go and have it confirmed by a doctor. This way they can be a living testimony to what God has done. 

So the morning of my biopsy appointment I opened up “Jesus Calling” once again and turned to that day’s entry. Once again it was a message specifically for me on what could have been a very emotional morning.
John 14:27 “Peace I leave with you. Peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be trouble and do not be afraid. “

My sister picked me up and drove me to my appointment. I chatted light heartedly on the ride there telling her that I was fine. 

I sat in my gown in the little room waiting to be taken across the hall for the procedure. I recited out loud the scriptures that I believed were presented to me to assure me and to give me peace. I worried more about the procedure itself than I did about the results. In only a few minutes they were ready for me. As they prepped me for the procedure I said to the doctor “I hope you don’t mind if I hum.” He smiled and said “go right ahead.” 

The procedure took awhile but I did hum through most of it. “Look what the Lord has done. He healed my body. He touched my mind...”

When the samples had been collected, and instructions given, I walked out of that place smiling and believing with my whole heart that there was no cancer in my body. I believed that I have work to do here and I have testimony to give.
It only took two days to get the call. I was with my dear friend Karen when my mobile phone rang and I knew it was the call I was waiting for. I excused myself and took the call in private. On the other end I heard the nurse tell me
“It’s benign. You don’t have cancer.”

After thanking her and telling her I already knew it, I laughed and cried at the same time. I thanked God for His goodness and for using strangers and scriptures to let me know even before the procedure was done that I was fine. I then returned to where Karen waited to hear too. I didn’t have to say a thing because the ear to ear grin on my face said it all. But I said it anyway “ I don’t have cancer!” She hugged me and wept because she loves me like a sister. She had been praying without ceasing since this all began. 

As I am writing this I am both laughing and crying once more. I am nobody special. I am a sinner. I fall short a lot. But I do know my God rescued me. I still get to be a momma, a friend, a wife, a sister. I do not have cancer! I am well!! I am a living testimony to the goodness of my Heavenly Father and I can’t wait to tell the world what He has done for me!!

If you are not a believer, and this story has touched you in some way, I pray that you will ask Jesus into your heart from this moment on. He is real, and He is so in love with you.
 

Real Valentine's Day Love

For Valentine's Day I wanted to share something very personal and special. Following are some of the words I found written on the backs of envelopes, cards and scraps of paper from my dad to my mother.

Good morning honey,
Thank you my honey for everything. I love you so much--you are my one love, my only love you'll always be. I want your love and happiness for as long as we both have. You mean the whole world to me. Thank you for sharing beauty and nature and true love. All my love, Rich


Dear Hon, I want to thank you for 30 years of love, patience, and understanding. You've truly lit up my life. I love you more than any words will ever tell. You are really a very special person and I thank God that he sent you to me. I hope for at least another 30 years with you my love. Forever your love, Rich

 

Things I want you to know:
by Richard Mattia to Eileen Mattia

If I were to do it all over again, I would pick you. You bring more love into the world than anyone I ever knew or know now. You are the most unselfish person in the world. I love you so much that it hurts. I love you because of the way I feel with you--warm, true, heartfelt love. I hope you feel this for me for me also. Love forever, Rich

For Eileen:
You're the one for me, you know
Hate to ever see you go
With you I'd like to always be
I love you truly don't you see.
For if we ever have to part,
I know for sure it would break my heart.
I love you I love you every day
And that's the way it will always stay.
Yours forever Rich

Just a few lines to let you know I'll be thinking about you. I love you truly honey. Have a real nice morning. I'll miss you. Enjoy a cup of coffee for me. See you soon. All my love, Rich

I love you more each passing day
Let nothing ever take that away
Thank you for your kindness
Thank you for your love
You are Eileen, my mate, my dove.
I want you to be happy, I want you to be gay
For this I'll strive forever, now and every day.
I want to be yours forever
Let nothing change that ever.
For my love is always true,
Don't ever let's be blue.
All my love, Rich

All my love to a really good person. Thank you for showing me many beautiful things and teaching many more practical things along with true love. I'm looking forward to our date for tonight. All my love, Rich

Good morning honey. Many kisses on ya! I'll miss you today. Have a good day. All my love, Rich

Happy Anniversary My Love!!!
Proud to call you my wife
The only love of my life.
We've been through so many things
God's given you angel's wings.
I love you more after 41 years
Hope there are never more tears.
Love you forever,
Rich

Good morning beautiful,
Thank you for being so nice. Had a real good day with you yesterday. You really looked gorgeous. Love you. Hope you had a good night's sleep. The pecan loaf was delicious. All my love honey for you. See you soon. Love & kisses, Rich

There was a basket my mother kept near her kitchen table that spilled over with love letters and cards that Dad gave her throughout their marriage. We lost both of our parents in the last two years, and these writings have become a beautiful link to his love for Mom.

Every so often when I visited, Mom pulled a crumpled page out and asked in a shy, giggling, school girl kind of way, “Did you ever see some of the notes your father wrote me?”

In her dementia, Mom didn’t realize that I’d heard the letters read many times. But to her, it was always the first time. It was a way to reignite the passion she and Dad shared, and helped her to see herself as my father always did: as the young beauty he once courted.

Though the ravages of aging were upon her, the thinning, gray hair, bent body, and same sweatshirt stained with jelly from the previous day; inside was the young girl. The one my father loved.

No More Pity Parties

Last week I didn't like myself. I'd snapped angrily at a co-worker. And my boss noticed. It came after feeling pretty down because of another co-worker's absence. You see, the missing employee was one of my best friends. We could count on one another when we could count on nothing else. We shared life stories, God stories, and the love of stories. We had so many similarities, and I thanked God every day for putting this woman in my life. How I missed her.

 Yes, a bigger workload fell on me. I couldn't help but feel sorry for myself. And that was the problem.

Too many times in life, I developed the "I'm sorry for me, boo hoo" routine. Nothing good ever happens to me. Another person always catches a break. I have so much to do. It's only me. I'm the only one that ever works this hard. Yuck.

I had to phone my brother and talk with him. Not only is he a therapist, but he's very close to me, and I felt the need to confess my complaining and whining.

 He did understand, and admitted that he, too, does this same thing. Well, then, perhaps I'm not so evil after all. But I knew that I still had to make a change. I didn't like myself and who I professed to be, versus who I really was.

With prayer, forgiveness, and great advice from my brother, I set out to make changes. Instead of looking at the whole day ahead of me at work like I was the lone climber on a very steep mountain, I calmly began asking others if they would help with certain tasks. Not only were they willing to oblige, but they also became very good at the jobs, and were a great blessing to me. No longer did I feel alone. I had team members who were also going above and beyond. We bonded during a difficult time and not only survived, but thrived.

I think back to the one person in my life who never whined, complained, or played the "poor me" game. That was my father. Life threw many curves his way and he always handled every situation with grace, patience, and tireless understanding. No, he was not perfect, but he was good, truly good. He worked early hours in his years at the postal service, sometimes leaving at 3 a.m. I never heard him say a word of protest about this. Even when he had to leave on snow-covered roads that no plow had yet touched, my father kept his chin and spirits up.

He was a hard worker around the house and in the years that Mom had anxiety and unable to do normal tasks, my father stepped up and went beyond his own duties, but never said a bad word about my mother, or seemed angry to have to pick up the slack.

When his health began to fail, Dad wouldn't stoop to pity and sadness. When asked how he was feeling, he cheerfully answered, "Fine!" And we believed it. This man never had the spotlight of attention, whining, or any type of coddling. He was a hero to our family, a real man's man.

I need to remember this when I feel the assault of a pity party coming on. I need to remember the man who showed our family that true strength comes from quietness, calmness, and sometimes even brokenness. 

God, may all of us in this family take on the traits of Dad. Help us to learn to do our duties without complaint, our responsibilities without anger, and to take what life gives us without regret.

Groundhog Day

(Photo is not my own.)



Wake up, go to work, come home, repeat. Oh, and did I mention that it's dark when I leave for work and dark upon my return? Working during the winter is blah. Sometimes I feel that I am in a cocoon of "Groundhog Day"- type living. The worst of it, I also seem to be burned out on my job. I've done this for almost forty years! (Oh say it isn't so....) But it's true. When I began in the dental field in on-the-job-training as a late teenager, I adored it.

The most rewarding part of my job has always been the people. I've met some wonderful families, heard some truly inspiring stories from them, and feel I've helped a few of them along the way. I liked the learning involved with a field I'd known nothing about, and have become proficient in some of the trickier aspects like dental insurance. I've made incredible, life-long friendships with some of my co-workers.

Why is it that I could pull the covers up over my head when the bedside alarm sounds in the morning? What is causing me to wish away a few years and pray for retirement?

The Bible tells us: Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart as if you are working for the Lord and not men. God, am I disappointing you because I am just plain tired of the daily grind? For I feel you want so much more from me--more than I'm willing to give right now.

Perhaps even those who are retired or those who aren't working for other reasons feel a type of burnout, feel a day after day sameness that they want to escape. How do we pull ourselves out of Groundhog Day? What is our answer?

Yesterday at work, I had to talk about insurance and pricing with a husband and wife. The woman and I had spoken on the phone several times about her husband's case. As I was about to leave the room, the wife spoke up. She told me how good I am at what I do. She said it is a pleasure talking with me on the phone and in person. That I truly care about people and it shows in how I handle myself at my job. She thanked me for everything and I found myself smiling as I left the room. I didn't share this with anyone else. Like a secret prize, I wanted to hold those words close to myself and think about them.

Maybe I am still making a small difference every day. I don't see it most of the time, and I don't hear about it very often. But this woman took the time to appreciate what I'd done. I felt worthy, intelligent, humbled, and blessed. I hadn't looked at myself like that on my job in a very long time.

What will it take for us to step out of the boredom and daily grind? The sameness and routine? Perhaps just a few words for you to ponder. A few things to say to yourself each day:

You are worthy, loved, and blessed. You are good at what you do. Whether it's your job, gardening, crafting, talking, teaching, listening, whatever it is. Step back for a moment, take a long look at your life. Know that there is someone who appreciated you and wanted what was best for you. Whether it has been a parent, spouse, sibling, cousin, friend, or co-worker. Someone, somewhere has been touched by a kindness that you've done. Sinner or saint, none of us are perfect. But I believe we all have the desire for good within us and the ability to boost another person with the power of our words and actions.

Let's learn together to embrace the morning darkness-- the crisp feel of the chilly air--it means our lungs are working! The days of dark don't last long, for the spring is peeping around the corner. Let's feel good about what we do, whether it's assembly line work, fast food, or heart surgeon. Because if we've done it long enough, we do it well. And let's remember to speak an encouraging word over someone who has done a well-done job for us. Spoken words have power. The kind of power to change a life.

When our own personal Groundhog Day is over, and something in our world changes, may it be wonderful and life-giving. May it be the very thing needed to give us a sense of accomplishment and peace.

The Thrift Store Miracle (A True Christmas Tale)

Something my brother Rick has always enjoyed is browsing through thrift stores. Well, some of us would call them junk shops. Let me tell you, though, he has found some pretty neat things through the years, but nothing like the tale I'm about to tell you.

Up and down the aisles he travels. Occasionally something fun or of particular value to my brother surfaces. Perhaps a neat toy still in its original box for one of his children, or some type of really cool antique item discarded by someone else as nothing of value but certainly worth something to him.

Today as he headed toward the back corner of the store, his eyes fell upon a huge Christmas wreath on a shelf. "Hmmm, that's funny," he thought. "It looks like one that my dad made." He pulled it down and almost dropped it as powerful feelings washed over him. "It IS my dad's wreath!"

Our dad was an avid crafter. He had an idea one year with all the pine cones lying around his yard to begin making little trees and wreaths with them. We gave many of his gorgeous finished products away to friends and family.This particular wreath was made for a festival several years back. It took first place in its category and won a ribbon. Also, people bid on the items at the festival, and someone had chosen this wreath. I imagine they had enjoyed it through the years, and who knows why it had been discarded, but I have to tell you how much it meant to us to find it at this particular time.

We both have been missing our parents more than ever recently. It will be our second Christmas without them. The holidays were always so special for Dad. He used to take such time and care in decorating the house and making handmade items. Rick has taken over our father's role. He tries to make Christmas so special for everyone. He replicated an item for me recently that Dad made a long time ago that I'd misplaced through the years. He's surprised me with little trees just like Dad would have made, knowing it would bring joy and bring Dad just a little bit closer.

My brother prayed a few days ago that God would allow him to hear from our parents somehow before Christmas. That he would either dream about them, or see something that could only be a gift from God and a sign from them.

What are the chances that he would be in a store where someone had left this wreath? The chances he would find it days before the holiday? The chances it would still be intact because it is a big, cumbersome thing, and somewhat delicate? The chances that someone else didn't purchase it first?

There are miraculous stories during Christmas and other times. And this tale will be our own small miracle to tell through the years. For I believe the Lord let my father make himself known to us. To let us know he is alright, and that everything will be fine. He's close by, and near to us for Christmas. I'm still shaking my own head in wonderment. That everything lined up just perfectly for this to happen in the way that it did.

I can imagine Dad giving God a big wink right about now.

Two of the items Rick made me to replicate crafts like Dad's.

A Look Back

I know what it's like. I know what it's like to grieve; to face the approaching holidays with trepidation. I know what it's like to have health issues, or to watch a loved one going through some of the toughest times of their lives. I, too, have been where you are; wondering if the next day would bring more of the same sadness or another hardship into my life. I've prayed over situations and not felt the answer at all. I've cried out to God in the deepest darkness of the night, and wondered where He's gone.

BUT: I also have known great joy. I've learned lessons along the way, and become a better person for it. Have things happened instantly? No. But in God's timing, His favor have become beautiful gifts for my soul.

Looking back over the last three years, losing my dad in 2016, and then Mom in 2017, watching my husband struggle in giving up his alcohol addiction, I realized that some of the moments of this year were like presents to savor and unwrap. God did reward faithfulness, He did send beautiful reminders of His love and presence.

I have family that are close, loving, and real. Not Hallmark movie cookie-cutter types, but flesh and blood, each of us with our own issues and good hearts. I know I can count on them.

I've had some amazing things happen this past year. I got to see Eagles flying above me with good friends:

I still have a beautiful cardinal that waits for me and comes right to my porch after two years:

I received an email about a small blurb I'd written about my mom's love of the actor Gregory Peck from his daughter and then got to meet her!

Dear Karen,

I’m Cecilia Peck, Gregory’s daughter, and I run the website http://www.gregorypeck.com. I got very behind on posting memories of my dad but I put aside time today to go through submissions and post. When I came across yours I had to stop and read it a few times. I just want to say how much it touched me that you would share this story, and that your mom’s relationship to my dad and his films brought her comfort in the last years of her life. I lost my mom six years ago and it’s been 15 years now since I had my dad, and every memory and every moment with them means so much to me. Thank you so much for sharing your touching, humorous, deeply moving story. It’s up on the site now in case you want to see it there, and I’m so sorry for the delay.

With kind regards to you and yours,

Cecilia

Several of my articles were picked up by different Guidepost magazines and published:

You see, to steal a line from a movie: "I really do have a wonderful life." And so do you, though it may not feel like it right at this moment. Take those little reminders of God's love and blessings and let them nourish your soul. Savor tiny moments, and the grander ones that come along and almost bowl you over in their awesomeness.

I found an old blurb I'd written last year and thought it would be appropriate here:

I walked up my stairs with the overnight bag clutched to my side. Not the type to leave it on the bed and wait to put things away, I started the task of filtering through dirty clothing, and travel-sized miscellaneous items. Each had their own little "home" and I quickly placed them where they belonged. As I picked up the bag and began placing it underneath the bed in the guestroom, a wonderful thought came to me: This is a happy moment. I've come back from a trip, of doing something fun. How many times last year was the old overnight bag hastily stuffed as I received yet another phone call about one of my parents? Another hospital visit, another emergency... The bag and I had been through many such trips. Some of those trips had been made with such panic and anxiety, with the unknown of so many health issues of elderly parents.

But today, when I came home from an enjoyable evening with my husband, the sun sparkled off the fresh, white snow. The vibrant red cardinal I've affectionately named Freddy flew to my porch railing making tsking sounds as if scolding me for missing his morning breakfast. Where were you earlier? he seemed to ask. I apologized, but brought him crusty bread. I thanked him for being with me during those harried visits last year, and the good one recently. For he is my welcome home most every time.

May you see your own moments often my friends.

Merry Christmas and a truly Happy New Year to you!