Rx: a cherie a day

This is a C.S. Lewis kind of day.

“Surely what a man does when taken off his guard is the best evidence for what sort of man he is…”

This little pig went to market.

This little pig stayed at home.

This little pig had roast beef,

This little pig had none.

This little pig cried wee, wee, wee all the way home!

It is a nice nursery rhyme.  My little son still loves it.  Those little pigs, they’re telling us a story.  They live in a Society much like our own.  What are they saying to us?

The pig that went to market.  It can be anyone, maybe an early riser, always getting ahead, a go-getter, makes the grades in class, top man in a company.  He goes to the market.  He is a competitive man. 

The pig who stayed at home, stays at home because he can afford it.  Or maybe he is sick, an invalid, or maybe it’s a she.  She stays at home while the husband works.  Or maybe she does homeschool.  Or runs a family business.  He/she stays at home for a reason.

The pig who had roast beef must be moneyed.  He has a maid.  The parents are corporate people, their dinner table is marble, no straw placemats, please…or maybe he is just a meat-eater.  Or someone who won the lottery.  He has his own place in the sun.

The pig who had none is a happy-go-lucky fellow, who doesn’t envy anybody his good fortune. He has no roastbeef, but he probably is a Buddhist, a vegan, maybe.  Just different from the rest, but unaffected.

The little one who cried all the way home may be crying for joy for all we know.  Wee, wee, wee sounds happy to me.  He probably scored a date with a pretty girl.  Anything.  He is rejoicing all the way.

Silly stories I’m making up in my head.  But my point is this.  I read that nursery rhyme, and all of a sudden it hit me.  These little pigs mind their own business.  They don’t cross paths, they are who they are, and don’t mess with their neighbors, in one Society. 

Spread your fingers.  See how each one has an attitude, but respectful of the other, and so the hand moves gracefully.

How beautiful for that to happen in real life!  No Greed.  Knowing one’s place, and just keeping one’s own peace.  Greed leads to friction, friction to more Greed.  Sometimes it is true, that Kindness is a taxing virtue, when you lend a hand and Greed rips off the whole arm.  It’s like the dog barking at his own reflection, for want of more - more of what?  Greed.  Self-Importance.   More Greed.

Sometimes, there are lessons learned in the simplest of things.  I thank experience for wisdom.  It strengthens character.  It attracts the best of them.  Leave Greed to the Greedy.  There’s more bone where it came from.  Pity Greed clings to what It never owned in the first place, and attracts all sorts - even the least expected.  But that’s why the name.  A promise of Fame, and even the most Refined Gambles - and turns out to be not so refined, after all.  Tsk, tsk.  True colors.  Greed hidden in sheep’s clothing.

Why cause Friction and lose our soul over a piece of crap like that?  Sometimes it pays to go back to the basics - from the knee of our grandma, and learn the lesson of the pigs.

I have boxes of memories,

some full, some not,

some heavy, some light - I have all of them.

They gather no dust:

always there to provide

ample moments of distraction

from the daily strife - I have all of them.

Some settle the soul,

ever the deliverer of peace and serenity;

many are reminders of the foolery of youth -

a most hazardous journey.

But the boxes are here,

I am here,

and in my heart, I have all of them.

They and I remain.

in the end,

life is glorious.

like shadows on the walls

picking up rhythm,

free.

or feeding robins unfazed by an eager hawk,

eyeing them greedily.

there is no room for the undignified

soul trying to break the calm.

the radiance of life lies at the moment -

the next turn, tomorrow’s worry.

when everything is done,

there is quiet delight in the privacy of thoughts

penetrated only by a trusted few

who reward me with loyalty

pure as unadulterated snow.

life is glorious,

precious,

triumphant,

like that.

Hi, friends.  I read this from a magazine, and thought it best to share with you.

Day 1

   Say something nice to yourself.  It’s true!

Day 2

   You’ve triumphed over difficulties before.  You will triumph again.

Day 3

   Confidence is the best makeover around!

Day 4

   The best gift you can give - your caring - is free and priceless!

Day 5

   Act on your positive thoughts.  Ignore the negative ones!

Day 6

   There is something to be gained from every challenge you face.

Day 7

   Believe in yourself and there’s no limit to what you can accomplish!

—————

“Happiness never decreases by being shared.”

It was all like a dream.  So suddenly it came.  And just as quickly, gone.

My insides were heaving, I went down on all fours. Several times.  Throughout the night.  My three year-old said, “Mom, are you hurt?”  My God, he is three.  It made me cry.  Even more.  So much more.

My husband cradled me.  I couldn’t take it.  I couldn’t tell which hurt more ANYMORE.  But I went through it all. Until the last of the massive clots have torn themselves out of my exhausted body, and presently, turned into painless blood flow.  Until the last of the sobs have drowned away all the hope, longing, and fears - feelings which have now been purportedly replaced with fond memories.  With effort.  By making little steps.  Every day.

There is a thing called grief.  And there is a thing called coping.

There is strength in coping with grief.  There is fortitude that comes out of the experience, something we don’t learn anywhere else.  We learn to cry our cries.  But we also learn to smile despite our tears, and maybe for some, after all the tears are gone.  We fight our grief with all our might.  Every waking moment of every day.  If only for the sake of what’s left of life.  Especially for their sake.  Maybe.

That’s what makes the world go round.

She had everything that a fully developed adult has - facial features, a nervous system, a network of muscles, elbows, joints, knees, kidneys, a stomach.  She would have been able to respond to touch, and feel me, even as a fetus.

She looked perfect in her ultrasound.  She would have been prettier than her brothers, as I’d always enjoyed imagining her with curly locks, deeper dimples, rounder eyes with thicker lashes.  She would have been darker in complexion.  She would have been a very gentle, kindly soul.

It was too soon to find out.  But no matter.  Everyone knew she was going to be a girl.  We’ll always believe so.

Only now, we talk of her in the past.  For yesterday, the gods wept with my family.  Our baby is gone.

Holy Guacamole, Lent is coming up.

I know because hubs has stocked up on fish again.  No meats.  Lord, have mercy on this household.  I need to do my share.  I need to make a list of “things to give up” myself.  Darn, that’s too difficult.   This recession already has me at the end of my tethers, if I may say so myself.  I have enough thorns on my head, and lashings on my back to last me a lifetime.  Not very unique, of course, as everybody has his own plateful.  But, give up on what else?

That gets me to thinking.  My job?  Funny. I can use another one right now, Lent or no Lent.  My friends?  What?  Not an option.  Vacation plans?  Well, a little hard as my parents are coming.   Hmmm.

Give up, give up…maybe the Lord wants me to give more?

Funny how when you think times are hard on you, it turns out to be harder on others?  About a month ago, a nurse at work found an abandoned dog by the roadside.  She took it home and advertised.  No one has claimed the little bugger, which is unbelievable if you lose a dog and really love it.  And so, the dog now has a new home, and an owner who loves him dearly. 

Yesterday, another nurse greeted me FACE TO FACE for the first time in months.  I mean, I never knew what the thing was with her, but she always came to work looking angry, talking to the rest of us from the tip of her nose.  I never minded her until I found out last week that she was going through a divorce.  Such a young, pretty girl!  I took pity on her and took it in my heart to be nice despite her nasty attitude.  The next time we saw each other, she said a very warm hello, and even waved goodbye as she left.

During one of our Holy Retreats when I was very young, I asked the Italian priest and Retreat Master what God really looked like.  I meant it in a rhetorical way.  And he gave me a rhetorical answer.  He said to look at myself in the mirror.

Maybe, instead of merely appreciating the physical beauty that looks back at us, the priest means for us to look inside and imagine what God wants us to look before we step away from the mirror to greet our family and others, as His representation. 

We only look as much of Christ as we feel there is of Him inside of us.  We belong to different religious affiliations, call God by many names.  Personally, that alone should be crazy enough to make an ordinary person cower and slink away from Bible studies.  But then,  inside, there is always this nagging question of what God wants us to be and to do in life.   Are we really up to this challenge?

Maybe we should pause a bit from whatever we are doing and just give Lent a thought, and a little twist. 

Happy Lenten Season, everyone! 

(This blog is inspired by Jonas, who writes with passion.)

Dear X,

I write this, my dear, as the rain ceases to tap against my window, in the early morning.  Spring has ways of waking one up in these parts - it may be a frosty dawn one day, or an easy drizzle the next.  At any rate, the rain has stopped, for now.  I shall be gardening in a while.

I’m thinking about you, and the last time we talked.  Well, I talked more than you did - you were crying so hard.  Have the tears stopped?  I wish I could tell you that the past is gone, let it go.

You told me then that it wasn’t simple, and that you needed the time.   Do you remember when I said that I knew how it was, and that if I stopped and put the phone down,  I would be able to relive that dark moment in my life when I had to go through the very same thing?  The only difference between us would be that I wouldn’t cry.

Because it’s all over now, X.  You see, we will ourselves to move on.  If we didn’t, what purpose would there be for living?  Which is why, after our last conversation,  I am thinking about you again.

You are a most loving soul.  Love again.  Just as I tend to my garden,  tend to your heart.  Weed it out of all bitterness and pain.  Remove all the rocks and stones of anger and resentment.  Throw away the clumps of thorns and fallen twigs of despair and self-pity.  And when you’re ready, plant these:

•   bushels of Love in all its radiant colors
•   loads of Gentleness and Understanding
•   vine after vine of sweet Patience
•   rows and rows of a Sunny Disposition

And fence it all with sturdy Courage and steady Faith.  How can you go wrong with this, my dear?  You can’t.  I want you to be happy.  So the next time you say I love you, you do so without trepidation, and are confident that there’s more where it’s coming from.

Above all, pray.  When we yield to the Lord who knows our heart,  He removes the muck from our lives to preserve all that is good about our relationships.

The best of luck in love and life, my friend.  Let me know when the first crops appear.

                                                                                         Yours,

                                                                                         C

Life has its way of taking its toll on me:

I take out my scrubs for the day, and lay them out for ironing.

My little boy follows me from the closet to the bedroom where I start my ministrations.

I take a quick shower, telling him to “stay right there.”   I call out and talk to him behind the curtain.  He sits there by the stool, holding his favorite Thomas train.  He looks somber.

At last I am fixed and ready to go. 

We all either talk or sing in the car, or both. 

Until my workplace looms near.  He perks up, encircles my thumb with all of his hand.

He says “No work, Mom.”  He tightens his grip and repeats, “No work.”

My heart starts to break.  I kiss him, my little boy.  I kiss them all. 

I step out of the car.  I wave until I hear “Bye, Mom.  Love you, love you, love you, Mom,” no more.  Then I start counting the hours until I go home….