 Here in Utqiaguik (Barrow), Alaska, 330 miles north of the Arctic Circle, Polar Night reached its end thus concluding 64 days without sun when this beautiful, golden orb made its first appearance above the horizon from 1:16 pm to 2:02 pm on January 22, 2021. Due to snow and high winds, however, whiteout conditions obstructed my view of this phenomenon. But today the air is still and this white, frozen desert stretches to the horizon where a soft glow colors the winter sky pastel. From our first introduction, I fell in love with Alaska. I confess, though, that most locations from Fairbanks on north, have never held much appeal to me. I’ve associated the northern regions with scraggly spruce, severe winter conditions, barrenness, darkness, isolation and mosquitos. Curious how perspective shifts. Adversity rarely receives credit for its usefulness in life. Difficulties often lend to exposing vulnerabilities; those areas in need of change, growth. And, too, hardships reveal strength, a tenacity of spirit and the charity of one’s community. Until March of 2020, my colleagues and I scrambled to keep up with the volume of business our company generated. But when Covid-19 surfaced, my co-workers and I were furloughed without warning and without a return date when production dropped 92 percent. In response, I moved out of a cozy cabin on Whisper Lake and into my motorhome, filed for unemployment and attempted to procure work. Corona struck even closer when I fell ill with the virus; the effects of which: two emergency room visits due to breathing issues, brutal headaches, loss of 9 pounds, exhaustion and other Covid-19 symptoms. Like so many others, 2020 was, shall we say, a roller coaster ride. But, through my troubles, I learned, on an even greater level, the love and support of those in my life. During my struggle with Covid-19, daily, friends and family checked on my welfare, prayed for my recovery and encouraged my soul. Over the course of my isolation, soups and groceries and flowers and meds were left outside my front door by loving people I’ve shared friendship with for more than 30 years. Homemade moose and shrimp gumbo traveled nearly 50 miles to help nourish me back to health. My son and his wife offered to send whatever I needed from nearly 3800 miles away. On more than one occasion, a sweet friend offered to travel 300 miles round trip just to leave supplies on my doorstep. Cards from a far off friend encouraged that I am “never walking alone” and that I am “loved.” And friends on holiday with family, reached out to let me know they’re praying and that they care. Now at the end of its first month, 2021 appears to hold the prospect for some semblance of personal stability. I rang in the New Year here at the Point Barrow Radar Site where we celebrated the departure of a tumultuous 2020. And, I looked toward my future with hope at starting a new career path that dear friends helped to open the door to. As I travel around the state to various locations for work, I embrace with new eyes and with gratitude the changes that brought me to my first stop here in Utqiaguik, Alaska. So, cheers to new adventures as we embrace change and journey the unknown. “If you will extract the precious from the worthless . . .” Jeremiah 15:19 Life is good.
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 I grew up in a household with 6 of us siblings fathered by 4 different men. And . . . there were also the fill-in-fathers who ran through our house to service the in-between “father” spaces - all of whom had no desire to step up to play the dad role in our lives.
At an early age, my biological father fell off the grid - where he remained the majority of my childhood. He resurfaced when his parents induced him to reach out to his two teenaged daughters. But, in 1997, our father wrote a letter, one to my sister and one to me, advising us of his intent to discontinue relationship with us as he’d grown weary of his “fatherly” role. To emphasize his point, he moved and left no forwarding address for me nor for my sister to get ahold of him. And, true to his word, we’ve heard nothing from him for the last 23 years. To fill the void my father left, I attached my heart, for a period of time, to a soul who seemed to offer, what I misconstrued as, fatherly affection. But, he too eventually slithered off into the darkness of his soul and withheld his heart. The effects of abandonment, of being left vulnerable without a father’s love and covering and then too to sustain this same man’s overt rejection as young women, well, you can only imagine the impact on my life and my sister’s. Though, for me, Father’s Day does not hold the usual celebratory definitions typically attribute to this day, I do indeed appreciate this holiday. For though I’ve no earthly father to dote upon, I do have a Heavenly Father who adores me, who has my very best interest at heart, who calls me His child and has engraved my name in the palm of His hand. I adore my Father and I am thankful He’s never left me nor has He ever forsaken me. Today I dote my affections upon my Heavenly Father who truly cares for, who truly loves me. Today, know that your Heavenly Father loves you, His child, too. So, here is to Father’s Day - a beautiful day of love.  Moonlit Night I slip into the water as steam rises obscuring my view of the night sky. I sink down past my shoulders. My toes burn in the heat after walking across the snow covered ground from the house to the hot tub. I lean my head back and breathe deeply of the icy, winter air happily anticipating a relaxing evening ahead. “You don’t really believe in that predestination sh*t, do you?” My friend demands, aghast at the thought that I just might, as she walks through the back door of her home to join me. Accustomed to her challenging the differences in our beliefs, she leaves me to infer on her interpretation of predestination. I take a deep breath, offer up a hasty, silent prayer and shift my attention toward the intensity with which I am broached. “Let me start with a question before answering,” I begin. “You and your co-parenting partner communicate certain expectations to your children you believe lend toward the success of their future?” I continue by reiterating her list of expectations she campaigns:
- due to over-population “Is this an accurate summary?” I probe. “Yes,” she concurs. “Is it fair to say then that you’ve a predetermined plan you believe enables your children to thrive if they follow your mandates?” I inquire. “Yes,” she admits. “As free agents, would you agree that, your children posses the ability to choose to either adhere to your directives, reshape your plan to their own imaginings or, too, they can entirely reject your predetermined plan for their lives?” I ask. “Yes,” she agrees. “In like fashion, God lovingly provides humanity with a plan, a roadmap that predetermines eternal life for ALL,” I encourage. “And, we can either embrace His plan of love or we can turn away from His outstretched arms,” I conclude as we fall contemplative under a starry canopy. *** *** *** *** *** Last year, during a visit to California, I went dancing at a Gothic/Industrial Club in LA. A group of us went shopping for the occasion and we all dressed in dark attire and applied heavy makeup for our evening of social interaction and entertainment.
I anticipated an education into this new world. So, I googled and learned that some Gothic Clubs issue rules of conduct:
Research provides a sense of preparedness, but experience is the real teacher. For the most part, the scene was as I’d expected; loud music, dim lighting, costumes, mingling, dancing. The ground level of the Club played a poppy-industrial style of music. People smiled when we’d make eye contact and a few even chatted me up. The upper level of the Club played primal, undulating sounds and people moved to the driving rhythms. On the back wall, black and white clips of horror flicks played (of which I averted my gaze as I’m an Anne Of Green Gables kind of girl). A tall figure costumed as the Grim Reaper weaved in and out around the dancers on the floor. Intrigued, I studied the ‘Reaper’ but never caught a glimpse of their face. Asked if I was scared in this environment, I answered honestly, “No!” For truly, I felt - peace. When I looked around the room, I simply saw people wanting to connect, desiring to embrace the life God gifts. I saw people God predestined for eternal life, people God loves, people experiencing pain only He sees. So, as I danced with my peeps among the creatively clad, I found myself praying for people; I still pray for them almost a year later. God does not desire that ANY should perish, but that ALL embrace His love for THEM. Search on google - John 3:16, 2 Peter 3:9, 1 John 1:9, Ephesians 1:5  Climb up Wolverine Peak By choice, I trek through life at a rather brisk rate. I thrive on moving it, shaking it and stirring it up. And though Alaskan winters create the perfect environment to hibernate, in spite of storms and dropping temperatures, I snowshoe in the back country, strap on my crampons and climb elevations and cross-country ski wooded trails. I attend cultural events, enjoy social engagements and - I imagine and I create and I play through the dark and cold months until the sun’s warmth opens up this Northern country; then, I pick up my pace. This winter, however, I intentionally geared down and I spent the season, primarily, in quiet solitude. I work from home with an every other week off schedule. The step back from the office place buzz, number crunching, competitive focus felt like a gift from above. The snowfall was perfect for winter sports, but I felt no compulsion to participate - not once. Instead I’d board my elliptical and work my heart rate up to a happy rhythm while looking out over the lake from the warmth of my lil haven. On occasion I’d host gatherings but I rarely left my home except for supplies and Sunday Services. And . . . I loved the peace. I loved the . . . peace. I rented a cabin with a wall of windows that look out over the North shore of Whisper Lake. It sits up on a knoll nestled in the woods and I watched life on the lake unfold; snow machines roared over the frozen water all hours both day and night, skiers cross-countryed along the shoreline, from the center of the lake, fireworks lit up the night sky over the Christmas and New Year holidays, small planes took off flying in front of my windows and wildlife housed in my yard for the duration. Domesticity took on a pleasure I’d not indulged for some time. I concocted dishes and baked earthy delights. My home often smelled of cinnamon and honey coated grains and nuts as they roast in my oven into a gloriously, golden granola. The aroma took me back to the days when my babies still lived at home; when blankets draped the kitchen table and imaginings transpired within the walls of their ‘tent,’ when toys littered the floor and when squabbling and laughter filled the spaces. Over the course of the winter months I spent time creating, though, I rarely posted, I rarely blogged. Somehow autonomy lent to peace and I embraced my independence. For I am learning that solitude provides an opportunity for honest contemplation, for healing, for rejuvenation and for discovery. As the oldest of six and the mother of four, seclusion was an unfamiliar state and I confess, the thought of isolation use to frighten me for I equated this with loneliness, with pain, with emotions too intense to understand, with unresolved disappointments, with rejection, with confusion. But now, I view solitary time as a place to assuage fears and to promote productivity, to broaden understanding and to enhance joy, to work through to forgiveness and to embrace love. For rejuvenation’s and healing’s - processes - begin only when pain and disappointment and confusion are addressed and subsequently attended - attended with care and respect and fierce determination in the quiet of one’s heart. Life is good in the midst of all the action and life is most definitely good when gifted a season of solitude. Granola 1/2 c wheat germ 1/2 c pumpkin seeds 1/2 c sesame seeds 6 c oats (thick cut) 1/2 c coconut 1 c sunflower seeds 1/2 c chia seeds 1/2 c hemp hearts 1 c nuts (your favorite) 1 c bran 1/2 t salt 1 T cinnamon 1/2 c oil (olive) 3/4 - 1 c honey (Sweet Tooth) 1 c dried fruit (optional) (add after roasting nuts & grains) Mix dry ingredients. Combine oil and honey and add to dry ingredients; stir until equally distributed (you may have to work the mixture with your hands). Spread a layer of nuts and grains approximately 1” or so in depth into a baking pan and roast at 325 degrees for 15-20 minutes - until golden. Stir often during baking to prevent burning around the edges of the pan. When golden, pour into a large bowl, add diced dried fruit (Optional: dates, mango, figs, currents, raisins). Stir periodically until cool to prevent clumping. "Stand up straight and realize who you are . . .
that you tower over your circumstance." Maya Angelou I am the grandmother of five. For fun, I am sharing stories I hope lift the corners of your mouth. I will add other stories at later dates as time allows. When my babies were growing up, mealtime was a corporate event; everyone had a task. Now, when the grands are onsite, I continue the tradition and solicit their help. Always an out-of-the-box thinker, when I asked my 6 year old granddaughter to wash my bistro style table, she didn’t hesitate but set right to the task. LOL - gotta love this child’s style. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * My five year old granddaughter called a few weeks ago to excitedly share, “Do you want to hear me count to 100, grandma?” “LOL, Why yes I do, sweet pea!” I encourage. I listen to her happily recite from 1 to 100 over my bluetooth as I drive back home from town. Undaunted as I gently assist her a couple of times, she proudly concludes the task and follows with, “Do you want to hear me count by 10s?” and quickly proceeds before I can reply. Upon completion, she again, inquires, “Do you want to hear me count by 2s?” And we work together to achieve her goal. We both cheer and laugh with pride at her ability to master such feats. And . . . I ponder her confidence in knowing I will be as pleased with her as she is with herself. Feeling a sense and sharing the joy of accomplishment is a perspective sometimes lost to adults. But this small person reminds me to rejoice in my own abilities as well as in the abilities of others. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * My youngest granddaughter lives far away and though we have not seen one another in some time, we stay connected via phone. I am always amazed at the innocence of a small child's love, acceptance, and desire to connect. While speaking with my son, my granddaughter's little voice interrupts, "I love you, Grandma" melting my heart toward this tiny person. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * While entertaining family, coming up from behind, my young granddaughter smacks my hinder and claims, “You got a lot of junk in that trunk.” The room breaks out into guffaws and my daughter counters her’s, “You’ve got just enough junk in your trunk, mom. You’ve nothing to worry about.” LOL * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Jumping and dancing on my bed while making up songs and watching herself gyrate in the mirror, I try to quiet this six year old for sleep. We lay in the dark and giggle at our imaginings as we make up a story about Jajabooboo, a girl who rides an elephant in Africa. Priceless memory. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * My granddaughter asks to sleep with me. We lay in bed and talk Winnie the Pooh. Facing an early morning, I roll onto my stomach, close my eyes and sleepily answer my lil chatterer. Following my lead, she climbs onto my back, lays her head between my shoulder blades and places her baby feet flat against the back of my legs chatting on Winnie the Pooh the whole time. LOL * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * My six year old granddaughter serves me breakfast in bed this morning - while I was still asleep. Oh my! lol! . . . My lil grand-baby quietly set a food-laden breakfast tray beside me, left me to slumber and when I rolled over, everything crashed loudly spraying across the floor. LOL! Running in from the living room to check on me, she looked around and sadly informed she’d made breakfast for me. So . . . instead of enjoying eggs and toast and saltine crackers (lol) in bed, my sweet pea climbed into bed next to me and we snuggled and chatted about whether splinters are baby wood chips and wondered . . . “Do they grow?” While the food and tray and dishes laid strewn. Life is good . . . and I am glad my floors are not carpeted. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Traipsing through slush and a lite drizzle, my grandbabies and I walk downtown to New Sagaya. My granddaughter and I sing the hokey pokey and try to persuade my grandson to join in, to no avail, as we “turn ourselves around.” With “coffees” in hand, I pass the newspaper to each. My grandson takes the front page, while my granddaughter selects the ads and comics. My young grandson reads to us about Proposition 5, the Supreme Court and Health Law and the Mayoral Election. Readings and discussions are balanced with developing wish lists and comic strips. Family, fun and learning our world together - “that’s what it’s all about!” * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * During one of our regular walks together, my granddaughter tires and asks I piggyback her. During the ride, she pulls my hair back from my ear and whispers three times, "Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful" and then gently places my hair over my ear and wraps her arms tight around my neck. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * At lights out, My granddaughter rolls toward me, places her forehead against mine, drapes her arm across my neck and says, "You smell good." LOL - she tells me she'd used my soap earlier but she couldn't smell it anymore. We count backwards together and she writes her name with her finger in the air as I watch her silhouetted baby-hand move in the dark. We are both proud and I congratulate her. We chat and chat and she concludes, "I'm going to sleep with you forever, grandma!" LOL   Home Sweet Home - odd perspective taking a panoramic shot of a room. Between Alaska’s long summer days luring me to playful adventures and labors of love as well as an attempt to drive my motorhome down the Alcan Highway this Fall to spend part of the winter visiting family and friends and hiking trails in Arizona and, too, a transition in my professional life - I’ve neglected my creative pursuits. But, life is slowly settling into a winter rhythm, a routine where time is, once again, a commodity. So, I pick up pen and paper this morning, turn my velvet tufted, blue Augusta chair toward my wall of windows that look out over the lake, prop my feet up on the window sill and sip my mocha as I write on life’s ever evolving events. I spent much of my summer preparing for a 3650 mile road trip from Alaska to my destination in Arizona. I pulled things out of storage, put things back in storage, made repairs, poured over the Milepost and the Rand McNalley and day dreamed of the possibilities. After fueling all the tanks, topping off the water and stocking both the refrigerator and the cabinets with supplies, I bid all an Au revior (goodbye) and happily steered toward a vision of sun kissed skin and hiking boots. But as visions tend to do at times, this one blurred when a $15 part and less than an hours worth of work halted my journey for 3 days in Tok, Alaska. Lisa Hammond encourages that, “Sometimes on the way to your dream, you get lost and find a better one.” I stationed my “home” in an RV park and . . . waited. When I woke Sunday morning, I readied for the day and made my way to a little church where I received a warm welcome and an invitation to share lunch. A group of women gathered and we learned one another as I helped with their sewing project for Samaritans Purse. I was extended a dinner invitation, an offer of help and, too, a welcome to park my motorhome at my new friend’s home. I am not unaccustomed to traveling alone, I actually enjoy solitary travel. But as I sat in my motorhome . . . awaiting a $15 resolution, I felt grateful to be stranded, not only among such kindly folk, but too, where resources were easily accessible and where I still had phone reception. With the forecast of snow looming and the concern as to whether or not I’d be able to stay ahead of the storm, I decided the more prudent decision was to - turn around. I consoled myself with - “I’ll try this again next year.” The motorhome is now parked in the shop for the season. And I am spending the winter nestled in the woods atop a knoll overlooking a lake I’ve paddle boarded and jet skied on with friends. I now work from my home office where I look out my wall of windows onto each glorious new day. My schedule is still rotational which provides me half of the year off to create and adventure. Friends stop in on a regular basis gracing my abode with their fine company which makes my life sweet. My granddaughter, now licensed, is planning her own road trip and my home will soon be filled with laughter and play. Though my dream did not materialize as planned, I am certainly living the dream. Life is so very good.  Me and my wild and beautiful lovelies playing together at Clam Gulch many moons ago I recently came across this short story I wrote more than 20 years ago. I smile at the recollection of this event. Life is good. I hope you enjoy.
When my children woke this morning, they seemed intent on making life difficult for one another. Anne decided to make her bed and flying through the room from out of nowhere, Alexander landed smack dab in the middle of the proceedings. Hitting and yelling followed. “Mom!” was bellowed from a very small set of lungs - which reached my ears in the kitchen where I attempted to clean up breakfast from the table. James hollered to me from the bathroom, “Someone used my toothbrush and put the toothpaste in the drawer instead of in the medicine cabinet.” Lynne pulled at my nightgown, complaining that Anne had all of the “good socks” in her drawer and wouldn’t give her any! All four of my children, miraculously, ended up in the bathroom at once fighting over mirror, brushes, water, toothpaste and the commode. The child in need of privacy was soon reduced to tears. He yelled at his siblings to leave the bathroom, yet his pleas went unheeded. At this point I realized that all of my long distant reprimands of the morning landed on deaf ears. It was time to take a different tact. I ordered the majority of my lovelies to the kitchen table and I left the one in need of the facility a moment to himself. While waiting for him at the table, I sent up a prayer requesting aid for an effective way to help my children back onto the straight and narrow. My small son soon took his place among the guilty and I proceeded to issue sentencing. I hereby decree that “each of you say three nice things about every person sitting at this table!” From their crest-fallen faces, you’d have thought I’d grounded them interminably. The unfortunate first, my oldest, stammered, looked off into space and fidgeted in his chair. After some consideration, he turned to his sister and declared, “You have nice hair, teeth and fingernails.” I rolled my eyes heavenward and almost hated to say anything. Almost! I looked at my darling, who stared at his hands in his lap with a nervous look on his face. I could tell he was wondering how he was going to come up with six more nice things to say about the other two sitting across the table from him. To keep this exercise from becoming an all day activity, I said, “You have to say at least one meaningful thing about each person.” In great effort, he managed to accomplish this feat. With a bit of laughter and some frustration, my children made their way through the arduous task of speaking positively about their pestering siblings. After my sweet peas sufficiently paid their debts to their little society, I pardoned and gave them their freedom from the kitchen table. They spent the rest of the morning trying to show consideration toward one another - which lent to a blissfully peaceful and productive rest of the morning. Sometimes we are the . . . Answer
Sometimes we are the . . . Conduit Sometimes we are the . . . Intercessor And at times, it is not always clear how a situation will define our role. So, we walk life through to a place of confident action. I recently received a request, from the Office of Children's Services, that I consider adopting two beautiful children out of the Foster Care System. My heart instantly replied, "Yes!" Wisdom whispered, "Count the cost before committing." I sought the counsel of longtime friends and close family members. I calculated my resources financially relationally emotionally and in time I've invested prayer, over this situation, for more than five years. In the earlier stages, I even licensed to foster parent - just in case. Without doubt, I am confident in my ability to open my heart and wrap my love around these treasures. A second opportunity to momma would be so very wonderful as my own grown children refined my technique. And too, with the assistance of my eleven year old granddaughter, who sweetly committed to help me with the care of these beautiful human beings, while I work nearly a 1000 road miles away from home in Prudhoe Bay two weeks out of each month - 'Yes' pressed at my heart. 'No' is not easy for me to issue much less execute; especially when the need is so great. But 'No' is where I found peace - not merely for my situation, but most assuredly for their quality of life. And so, I began wrestling with trust for their care; if not me, who will love them and keep them safe? A close friend, of more than thirty years, began resourcing her network of trusted hearts, who then in turn resourced their network too. My own heart is full as I learn of and watch as others work to rally around two vulnerable children in need of a lifetime of family love and care and protection. A door opened, to welcome these little lives. And I am heartened to witness that there truly are people in abundance capable of unconditional love. The placement process is at the beginning stages, of what I hope will not be an arduous journey for these sweet children, as OCS continues their due diligence. And . . . if you are a person of prayer, cover them with yours. Your investment is well worth the cost. December 25th marks the 15th day, working 12 hours each, of my 21 day schedule here in the Arctic. We’re four days past winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, and the sun’s begun its slow ascent, at 3 seconds per day, back toward the horizon where it’ll eventually make its first and very short appearance again in January. The temperature’s dipped -15° below zero with a windchill factor of -45°. The wind’s howling at 31 mph creating a snow globe effect seriously limiting visibility. Prudhoe Bay is certainly a unique place to celebrate this festive day. For years, at Christmas, my home looked much like other’s do this time of year. I am the oldest of six and I raised four children of my own - so, holidays were filled with family and friends and food, lots and lots of food. My fondest memories are of the times when I’d host gatherings. We’d provide the main course and loved ones would bring their favorite concoctions to contribute to the feast. Kiddos ran wild, ruckus competitions took place at the game table, music cheered the atmosphere, a fire’d blaze in the back yard and snow machines, pulling sleds filled with kids, roared through the lower field near the house. When I empty nested, Christmas took on a different shape and tonality. My children dispersed to other countries and various places in the lower 48 and, too, they began building their own homes with their own conventions. So, I’ve spent many a December 25th outside of the scope of tradition. While my sons were stationed in Iraq, Afghanistan and Kosovo, I spent Christmas staving off worry and praying for their safety. I’ve spent Christmas trying to recreate, with others, a sense of family that I’d known and loved so much from the past. I’ve spent Christmas drinking wine in a hot tub on the deck of a chalet under the night sky in the mountains listening to music and laughing with friends, I’ve spent Christmas grieving loss and I’ve also spent it ill and alone in my bed while others made merry. I’ve spent Christmas hopping from parties to gatherings celebrating at each place I’d been invited. I’ve spent Christmas slumber partying with ex-in-laws so the grandkiddos could wake to the day with their loved ones. And I’ve spent Christmas snuggled up on a couch at a friend’s, who too was alone, where we opted out on a party invitation and happily spent the eve eating canned beef and watching anything but Christmas movies. December 25th is an important day for many of us and we each hold our own ideas on how this day will unfold. If you’d have asked me six months ago how I envisioned Christmas 2018, sub-zero temperatures and arctic gear would not have come to mind. My children and their families are in three different states and I am hundreds of miles from parties and caroling and people I love. But what I’ve come to understand, is that when I pressure Christmas to produce traditions of my choosing, Christmas presses back and asks . . . what is the focus of and intent for this day? My eleven year old granddaughter text me from California at 1:00 am this Christmas morning - as she knows I’m awake working through the night. She wished me Merry Christmas and stated she is sorry I am spending Christmas alone. Love, love is at the heart of Christmas. Before I close my eyes and sleep this day away in ready for another night of work, I’ll read, just as I have many Christmases before, the story of the love that makes, not only this day, but every day so very sweet. Merry Christmas xoxoxo Luke 2:1-20 “Now in those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus, that a census be taken of all the inhabited earth. This was the first census taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. And everyone was on his way to register for the census, each to his own city. Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David which is called Bethlehem because he was of the house and family of David, in order to register along with Mary, who was engaged to him, and was with child. While they were there, the days were completed for her to give birth. And she gave birth to her firstborn son; and she wrapped Him in cloths, and laid Him in a manger because there was no room for them in the Inn. In the same region there were some shepherds staying out in the fields and keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord suddenly stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them; and they were terribly frightened. But the angel said to them, “do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people; Christ the Lord. This will be a sign for you; you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and laying in a manger.” And suddenly there appeared with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the hightest, and on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased.” When the angels had gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds began saying to one another, “Let us go straight to Bethlehem then and see this thing that has happened which the Lord has made known to us.” So they came in a hurry and found their way to Mary and Joseph and the baby as He lay in the manger. When they had seen this, they made known the statement which had been told them about the Child. And all who heard it wondered at the things which were told them by the shepherds. But Mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart. The shepherds went back, glorifying and praising God for all that they had heard and seen just as had been told them.” “Scripture quotations taken from the NASB. Copyright by The Lockman Foundation”  For years my daughter would scold in embarrassment when, with adoration, I’d share her little girl perspectives. Now, my granddaughter reproaches her momma for telling her tales . . .
I . . . am not a cat person. But Anne loved Tiger. So, in long-suffering, I agreed to cohabitate with the feline, purely, out of love for my sweetie girl. Tiger’s one redeeming quality, from my perspective, she was an excellent hunter. She managed the shrew, vole and squirrel communities around the 120 undeveloped acres that surrounded our home. I considered Tiger excellent at population control. But she must not have felt she was equal to the task and needed assistance as she kept birthing liter after liter of furry creatures in my basement by my wood stove. No matter how many times I’d load up my kiddos into the suburban with a liter of Tiger’s kittens and head off toward the general populous to offer up her cute little mousers to good homes, Tiger’d repeat the process and birth another batch. Eventually, upon great protest from my group, I put my foot down — “No more fur babies!” As I drove, Anne snuggled Tiger. And with concern, my small daughter entrusted her cat into the kind and capable hands of the local veterinarian. When we received the call that Tiger was ready, Anne, Lynne and I made the trip back to the office to pick up Tiger. Lynne and I watched as Anne, feeling protective and ‘paternal,’ walked, alone, into the Vet’s office to retrieve her ‘baby’. While we waited, Lynne inquired of me from the back seat, “Mom, does this mean Tiger can’t have anymore kittens?” “Yes.” I assured. “I want to get fixed, too!” came the fearful declaration from my little one who’d just learned how babies are born. Unable to stifle laughter, I did my motherly best to comfort her worried mind. Over the course of the weeks that followed spaying Tiger, my daughters and I had many candid conversations on the topic of childbearing. Unyielding, no matter how I tried to convince her, Lynne determined to never give birth. She confidently delegated, to her older sister, the responsibility of bearing the children Lynne herself would raise. Even as a teen, Lynne’d remind her sister of her assigned responsibility, “You’re going to bear my babies!” To which Anne would laugh at her sister in reply. Years later, Lynne experienced for herself the joy of childbirth when she gifted our family with her own daughter. “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man (woman), I put away childish things.” 1 Corinthians 13:11 I appreciate the life lessons my children, and my grandchildren too, provide me. They’re living examples of life-giving truths. They cause me to look deeper inside and reflect. And as I consider my own areas, where I allow the fear of pain to overshadow the new life I need breathed into my heart and mind, truly, my only option is to bear down through the pain so new life will come forth. I wake to my 55th birthday at my daughter’s home. My granddaughter peaks around the corner where I sleep, “Happy birthday, Grandma.” A glorious way to wake to another year.
After dropping my granddaughter at school, my daughter and I primp and head downtown to spend girl time laughing and sharing over my birthday breakfast. Sweet birthday niceties transpire over the course of the day. And to conclude my celebration, dinner - shared with friends of, all but one, more than 30 years. Fifty-five may seem like a ‘big’ number. And, maybe it is. I recall my youthful perspective of fifty-five to be that of grey and wrinkles, old - an indication time’s closing in. But today, I find I eagerly anticipate my 55th year. I am excited at the opportunities that lay ahead. And as I sit at a table with women I’ve known since my early 20s and listen to them laugh and reminisce and share hearts openly with one another, they give the preceding years and the ones to come the perception each one’s a gift. It is not easy to embrace the years that seem to be, to our minds, dark and painful. Glorying in memories we consider ‘good,’ lend to an illusion of success. But each experience works to build and shape and grow and develop who we are and what we value, hold dear. The years offer opportunities to imagine and to create. And through our fumblings and achievements character is developed, strength takes shape, patience and empathy form as we work to set respectful boundaries and healthy communication and conflict resolution skills that promote meaningful relationships. We learn to distinguish between an arrogant heart and a humble appreciation for who we are and our abilities. We develop compassion not only for others but, too, for ourselves. At a party celebrating 55 years, age is, understandably, part of the conversation. And as we discuss turning back the clock's hands, not one of us concede our wrinkles or soft middles for the aesthetics of youth. When you’ve spent time in the refining fires, a seasoned perspective, tempered character, hard won peace and joy, confidence and contentment make the struggles and vanity of youth non-contenders. Welcome fifty-five. I’ve heard it said. . . . “The best revenge is to live a happy life.”
But . . . What if you’re not happy? What if what you want, is what you must leave behind? There comes a time to hope, to trust, to believe, to know deep in your soul - that the anguish that comes from letting go will most surely pale in comparison to the deeper joy that is found on the other side of the pain. Embrace the processes that promote healing, that bring a healthier, happier way of life. Entrust vindication to God. And . . . know that joy is yours. “I do not feel too shiny these days,” I recently confide in a friend. For years, in various, unrelated social circles and professional settings, people addressed me as “Sunshine.”
But, after - two years testing for cancer (though all tests resulted negative, anxiety loomed), a major surgery followed, two days after my discharge from the hospital, by a surreal visit to the ER due to breathing issues, the concern of a blood clot and the possibility of another surgery or death, a slow and arduous recovery, severing a toxic, debilitating 3 year relationship, two (not-at-fault) auto accidents, death touching the lives of friends, defamation, betrayal, redefining relationship and healthy, appropriate boundaries and redirecting my professional life - I felt heavy, sad, tired, a cacophony of emotions that seemed to me to cloud over the light (joy) in my heart and mind. I walked past a colleague this week who addressed me, “Good morning Sunshine.” Stunned, I looked at him in disbelief at what I’d heard him say to me. A smile graced my lips and my heart felt light, hopeful. Oh, the power of a simple salutation that dissipates the clouds and allows light to shine through. I walked into my daughter's home this last summer and my 14 (now 15) year old granddaughter, Rissa-Roo, asked, as I walked through the door, “Are you going to be a model, grandma?” “Do you think I should be?” I giggled. “Yes,” She replied. “What made you think of this?” I asked. “I’ve just been thinking about it,” she said. “Who would I model for? Old people magazines?” I laughed. “Yes,” came her matter-of-fact response. Riss astounded me. Her perspective left me pondering. Does she not see the grey persistently working its way through the blonde my daughter puts in my hair or the lines lengthening their way across my face moisturizer does not faze? In quiet moments, Rissa’s words pressed my thoughts and I questioned myself. Am I really living the life I desire? Am I living my potential? Do I view life and its possibilities through a worn and tired and aged and wounded perspective or through the fresh and hopeful eyes of my granddaughter? Riss brought life back into my perspective, my attitude, my heart - and I am grateful. A healthy sense of self is hard fought and hard won. As a seasoned individual, it’s my responsibility to share words of wisdom with my babies, babies. And yet, my granddaughter is teaching me valuable life lessons. The brief, innocent and sweet exchange between me and my beautiful granddaughter inspired and set me on a nine month, so far, creative journey. Though I am not convinced modeling is my gift, when I heard an ad on the radio for a 5 week modeling workshop, I signed up. As the oldest in the class of a barely out of high school group of young men and women, I garnered a few inquiries as to why I’m interested in modeling - as well as I received support, encouragement and . . . help. During the workshop, I learned to strut along the catwalk in sync with the music while sporting attitude and wearing stilettos. I received instructions, along with the younger women in the group, on how to apply layer upon layer upon layer upon layer of makeup for auditions and photo shoots (I’m a moisturizer and a little bit of blush kind of gal). And I successfully navigated my way through a mock audition followed by a critique involving the entire class. As a result of 5 weeks of hard work, I was presented an opportunity to model as a Bond girl at a New Years Eve party downtown Anchorage, though I was unaware Bond dated the grandmotherly types. The modeling agency asked I work a voiceover for a radio commercial promoting their business. In fear and trepidation and excitement I walked into the studio at the radio station, stepped out of my comfort zone to do a little acting and spoke like an info commercial into the largest microphone I’ve ever seen. The radio spot played on 4 local radio stations through the Christmas season. And when my granddaughter told me she’d heard me on the radio, I encouraged her that she is the one who motivated me to step out of fear, to take risks and to seize life’s glorious opportunities. I’ve started blogging. And though my pace is slow as I learn to adapt to the writer’s style of living, creating is a to do that’s been on my list for years. I’m working with an illustrator for a book I’ve written and I’ve lined up a publisher - woohoo. I am collecting material for video projects I am working on and I am learning about story boards and lighting and editing and how to capture my subjects. And gift of gifts I’ve been given a four month reprieve to write and create and redirect my professional life. As I sit at my desk and write this morning, I look out a wall of windows that face to the East. My creative nest sits up on a hill and I look out over a sea of trees and watch as the sun makes its way over the mountains. My books and papers and pens, watercolors and pencils and sketch pads of various sizes are strewn around me. My sewing machine sits at the kitchen table and tulle and satin and threads and patterns are ready to be shaped into something fun for a video project. The cribbage board and bananagrams are on the table too to challenge company when they drop in for a visit. Words spoken over the hearts we’re entrusted with bear the potential to influence and empower or to crush and immobilize. I’m grateful lil eyes spy modeling potential in wrinkles and grey and motive older eyes to spy too. Below is a photo from a modeling shoot and my 30 second radio spot. Bear in mind that for this photo I, as were each of my classmates who are 30 years younger than me, am wearing 7 layers, yes - 7, of foundation makeup. Then, an application of powder was applied on top of the foundation as well as blush was brushed onto my cheeks. I will spare you the regime my eyes went through. And, a bright light hovered over me to get this look. I wonder what models look like without all of their layers and the lighting? Probably just like me. I hope you enjoy and laugh and embrace the possibilities your lil eyes spy.  |
AuthorAs a young adult, I believed there to be a point of arrival; a place where internal struggles with fear or anger or confusion give way to assurance and appropriate displays of passion and clarity of thought and direction. Where striving with relationships transform into understanding and acceptance and the propensity to self-protect shifts to trust and confident vulnerability. However, to my dismay, I was startled to learn, through a friend in her 80s, my perception was most definitely a misconception. Archives
November 2024
Categories - Personal Growth |
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