Oh my gosh.  
New year.  We need you.

It's 2022.  

Mask:  check.
Double mask: check.
Protective eye gear:  check.

No, I'm not headed on an airplane. 

Helmet: check.

No, not headed to the grocery store.  Or school.
​

It's 2022 and I'm sharing some joy in the form of a recent ski shot.  

For the record, I am posting only silent video.  On all the rest of the shots, I was laughing and giggling maniacally as I drifted down the slope, phone in hand.  Trying to capture the bliss and thrill of hurtling down a very small mountain at night in below zero temperatures.  

God's creation is so incredibly joyful, exciting, mysterious and beautiful!  
And there is so much adrenaline to be had!

A young snowboarder swooshed past, shaking his head.  
"Sheesh, Lady.  Put the phone away."

I think I will.  

Now that you've had your laugh of the day,
Go out and enjoy the wild ride that 2022 may bring your way. 

​Phillippians 4:13!

Early Sunday morning, before the crowds of kids woke up, I went for a walk.  Before French toast and dirty dishes and washing kids' hair before church...before wardrobe checks to make sure no one still has their pajamas on under their coat (yes this has happened)...before checking fingernails for mud (Someone always manages to pass me by on this)... Before the frenzy of the day, I went for a walk.   

And I found this.

In the Mud.  Just frozen mud.

I like mud.  It reminds me of clay and sculpting and big messes with creative children and I love that.  

It also reminds me of mud puddle stomping in the half-frozen springtime with my friend Joy.  We each had a tall pair of rubber boots, perfect for stomping through frigid, crystallized mud lakes down the hill from her house.  But my boots had leaky zippers on the sides.  So we shared our boots;  each taking one waterproof boot, and pushing our stockinged feet into two long plastic bread bags, then into the leaky boots, then into an old five-gallon bucket.  We'd wrap an arm around each other and three-legged race it through puddles and ponds, cold, splashing, wet, and gloriously happy.   

We always fell.  

Our moms never complained about the mess. 

This Sunday morning, when I found these crystal jewels of frozen snowflakes in the mud, I smiled.    It was just a muddy, dirt road.  That's all.  But that's life.  We're all stuck in it together, muddy fingernails, leaky boots, and all.  Glorious, messy life.
 
I hope you can find the crystal jewels of perfection in your muddy life today.  And if you have leaky boots,  I hope you have a friend with a five gallon bucket.  

Today the sky is grey.  Not grey and dreary...  Just grey.

To me, Grey is a beautiful family of colors.  Grey makes me so happy!  Grey is infinite and mysterious and muted and deep.  

Thank you for taking a moment to appreciate grey.  And enjoy this grey day!

This is what happens when the air is so cold that water vaporizes.
We boil pots of water...

head outside...

And toss the water up in the air.  

There ya go:

We make our own clouds.  Our own snowflakes.  And our own ice drops.
​We are that cool.

The death of David Bowie had me feeling sentimental today.  I turned on some tunes while I made lunch for the kids.    As soon as he heard me blasting “As the World Falls Down” (Labrynth)  Doug entered the kitchen.   That was the song we began our married life with.  First dance as a couple.  


Aww.  


I was so desperately nervous to dance in front of all those people watching.  David Bowie’s music calmed me down.  What were Doug and I thinking?  Two artists, in our 20’s, getting married and dancing to Muppet music?  And the song was called “As the World Falls Down”?  Really?


Here we are, seven kids and a few decades later.  Yes, the World Has Fallen.  I cast aside the sandwiches and lettuce, like a bride tossing her bouquet all over again.  And Doug and I begin to dance.  In the kitchen.  No one is watching, so it’s all good.  


“Ewww!  Time to leave!” one child cries.


“It’s so romantic!” says another, dreamily.  


Small One appears out of nowhere, an Easter basket full of Kleenexes on her arm.  She pulls a tissue out of the basket with great pomp and circumstance, and throws it on the floor at our feet.  Again and again, she rains down Kleenexes around us as we whirled around in front of the dishwasher.  


“I’m your flower girl!”

When she asked me to put on my wedding dress, I just laughed.  Perhaps my arm might fit in the skirt part?   She was thrilled when I suggested it might fit her better, instead.  Oh, the twirling that ensued.  Just Joy.


Thank you for the music, Mr. Bowie.  

It's a lovely world, even though it has fallen down.

Good Morning!  
It is my quest to share one moment of Love, Joy or Peace each day for 365 days...

So here it is, Folks:  One Moment in Day 9.

Yes, okay, it happened yesterday.  But some days, like yesterday, are so loaded with glorious moments that the joy overflows into many days.  I think that is the whole point of my 365 day challenge.  If we learn to find the joy, and hang on to it, the world will be a place of hope.   A place of peace.

I hope you find your moment today, too.

​Hope.  
​
That's all we need sometimes.

Around me, the plants are dry and dead, like paper in the wind.  The ice is moving in.  
It is so dark, so much of the time, and always growing darker.  
Winter is coming, and it will be brutally cold.   With it, truckloads of trouble will fall from the sky, and I will have to shovel it for months.  I know it.
The world can be a wretched, cold place.

But when the sun rose this morning,  everything changed.

Bright colors splashed on the lake, ricocheting off the ice crystals in a joyous explosion of light.  Geese floated, weightless, like angels, through the shimmering glass of water and ice.  The air was crisp and fresh.  

I stood silently on the shore...
Breathing in the joy and the peace  and the hope.
I thought of dancing, but I am a clumsy oaf, and the neighbors were nearby.  
Instead, I laughed.  Out loud.  The joy bubbled up like music and my heart danced inside.
Swan Lake in my head, I glided with the heavenly geese, through the rosy atmosphere.

The world is a glorious place!

The next time you feel the ache of the weight of the world, think of a middle aged fuddy-duddy standing on the shore at sunrise.  Laughing.

I hope you can hear the music, too.

​

Okay, I know it's not even Thanksgiving yet...  But this just arrived in the mail, and I wanted to share it.  Guideposts has published their 2015 Edition of  "The Joys of Christmas", and inside is a story about Stella!  We're so excited!  This was the big Christmas photo shoot that I wrote about in June.  A great big thank you to my editor, Daniel Kessel, and to Guideposts editor-in-chief, Edward Grinnan, who writes about his brother, Bobby, in the notes from the editor.  Also many thanks to David Bowman Photography for patiently taking pictures.  
 Thank you all for sharing in the Joys of Christmas with us!

Small things matter.

Especially when the Big Things sometimes get out of control and overwhelmingly negative, 
small things matter.   

The daily news sometimes hits me like a ton of bricks, and I feel crushed by the pains of this world.  I can't write.  I can't paint.  Empathy hurts.  

“Are you crying about that, Mom?”  

Of course I am.

“You don’t even know those people!”

I don’t need to know them.  I see the homeless, the downtrodden, the oppressed, and I feel their sorrow.  Some great people feel called to action.  They become powerful and invigorated when they see others’ needs.  They are motivated to do great things and change the world for the better.  Dorothy Day, Mary Jo Copeland, Mother Teresa…  They are Real, they are Extraordinary, they are Magnificent. 

I’m not one of them.

I see suffering, and I just get knocked down to my knees.  But I am beginning to think that’s not only a bad thing.  Because on my knees, I am praying.  And only when I am on my knees can I see the small things that make all the difference.  

Small things are easy to overlook.   Like these dewdrops on the grass…


If I wasn’t on my knees, I never would have noticed them.  The veins in this beautiful Maple leaf show me that there is order and design here in the universe.  I didn’t make it.  I can’t understand it.  Certainly can’t control it.  But I don’t have to.  Even if I feel chaos or pain around me, those feelings do not sum up the entirety of the world.  News headlines cannot take away the perfection surrounding us.  
​
God is here, and He has it under control.  I just need to pay attention to the little things.

They are everywhere.  They are perfect.  Just as they always have been.

And that matters.

Before my daughter was born with Down Syndrome, some people painted a grim and terrible picture of what my life would be like if such a thing happened.  

“Your life will never be the same!”  
“Your life will revolve around hospitals.”  
“You won’t have time for your other kids.”  
“You will always be sad and regretful of the things your child cannot do.”

Even after she was born, a geneticist at a specialty clinic upbraided me, using primitive scare tactics.  
“I know you like babies, but you will never want to have another baby after this one,” she said in an authoritative voice, towering over me in my daughter’s cardiology office.  “You will worry and agonize every moment of another pregnancy.  You’re old and your risks are high that this will happen to you again.”  

She said this to me as my small, almond-eyed daughter cooed softly in my arm, tightly gripping my finger and my heartstrings.  

Despite that doctor’s admonishments and scolding, a couple of years later, my daughter grew into a  glorious, curious toddler.  And I did get pregnant again.  On purpose. 

I was 39 years old.   

At that ultrasound appointment, the doctor examined my prenatal son’s body closely.  He measured limbs, organs, examined bone structure, checking all the typical markers for Down Syndrome.  

“You need to have a Triple Screen done,” he said.  “I don’t see results in your file.  You are considered a geriatric in the ob/gyn world, so you need to have that done.  The fetal matter is high risk for abnormalities.”  

Wait.  He had just told me I was having a son.  Why was he now calling my little man fetal matter and wanting tests for abnormalities?  

“Look.  I’m not afraid,” I said.  “I already have a child with Down Syndrome, and she’s not the least bit scary.  She’s wonderful and absolutely beloved.”

The doctor looked me in the eye for a moment.  He closed his file, stood up, and left the room without another word.

After he was gone, the young ultrasound technician leaned in toward me, with a confiding smile.

“I’m not allowed to say this in the office", she said in a hushed voice. "But I’m so happy for you!  My friend has a toddler with Down Syndrome, and he is full of love.  He has made their family’s life so rich and happy!  I know how much love your daughter brings.”

We chatted about babies and Down Syndrome for a few more minutes, quietly sharing the joy that we both knew well.  Babies with Down Syndrome are, like every baby, full of Love.  

As an expectant parent, you may feel afraid.  You will be tested, and categorized, and railroaded.  You will be counseled, scolded, and warned.  You may feel inept or not up to the task, or just plain stressed out, because all circumstances are not ideal.  But talk is talk.  Threats of doom are just threats.  You don’t have to go down that path of worry and fear.  Especially if your child shows some characteristic that seems unique, or challenging, or just plain scary… 

Don’t lose sight of the simple truth.   

Your life will change forever, because you will be filled with Love. 

When my daughter was about a month old, I was holding her in my arms, speaking to a friend.  A man in a suit, a stranger, approached me.  He was visiting from out of town, he said.   "My own son has Down Syndrome, too.  I miss him so much when I travel.  May I hold her, please?” he asked.  He cradled my baby close to his heart, then kissed her soft, peachy face.  Tears dripped down his cheek and into his beard.  “You have no idea of the Love that is in store for you,” he said, and walked away.  

He was right.  

You have no idea of the Love that is in store for you.  

That is the truth.

Sometimes when I look at my grown children, it’s as if a shooting star crosses the sky, and I catch a one-second glimpse of them when they were eight years old. Or three  or five years old…  

A flashback to childhood…

One burst of light, and then it’s gone.  

There are moments that I suck in my breath as my grown child is talking, telling me about work and college.  And suddenly, I see her as she was:  Freckles, missing and crooked teeth, three and a half feet tall, telling me about science and how she is going to be an archaeologist when she grows up.  Or in a shimmer, I see my little author child, pen in hand, holding up her latest story.  Her braids fly wildly askew under her straw hat, which she wears to help her get in character to write.  Her freckles are drawn on with brown crayola marker to look more like Tom Sawyer.  “It’s all about a girl who wants a dog, Mom.  And she finally gets one!  That’s the happy surprise ending, see my illustration?  She gets a dog!”  Or, as my now-teenager asks for the car keys, and reaches out her hand, I see the chubby little fingers of her at two years old, holding my hand just because I was the powerful one who kept away the monsters in the dark.  She’d grip my fingers in hers, and hold on tightly until she was sound asleep.  Ah, the days when I could fix everything that was important to them.  

Those days didn’t last.

And at these lucid moments, when I again see a mirage of my small children, my heart beats on my chest wall with a pang of longing, and tears spring to my eyes.   I smile and reach out, but they are transformed.  They are grown.  

It was just a shooting star.  A glimmer of what used to be.

Suddenly, I am old, and they are taller than I am.  “You okay, Mom?” they look at me quizzically.  “What are you smiling about?”  Snap.  They are adults, and they take the vision of my tiny child with them when they walk away, unknowing.  “Are you smiling and crying at the same time, Mom? Are you?”

Of course I am.  

This week, the Perseid Meteor Shower hit around here.  Carpe diem, I say.  This is one of those moments!   We all stayed up until it was extremely late, and extremely dark.  Then my youngest kids and I camped out, wrapped in quilts under the dark sky, and counted real-life shooting stars.  

“One!”  
“Oh Mom!  Did you see that?  I saw one! I saw one! I saw a shooting star!”
“Don’t kick me.”
“Watch out!  You’re crowding me!  I don’t want to fall off the roof of the truck.”
“Can I have some of your blanket, please?”

“Two!”

“I saw it! I saw it! I saw it!!!”
“I lost my shoes, Mom”
“Pass the binoculars.”
“Did you know that stars are made up of burning gas?”
“Mom, what’s a star made of?”
“Well, she’s right.  But quit worrying about burning gas!  You’re not a star.”
“Foot out of my hair, please.”

“Three!”  
“Wow!  That one was huge!”
Small One nestled in my elbow, on the hood of the truck.  She lisps through the new hole in her teeth, where a baby tooth fell out earlier.  “I’m tho glad you got me up the thee thith, Mom.  Thankth.”  

“Four.”
We whispered now, partly because some kids had fallen asleep.  And partly because we were deep in Awe.

“Five.”
We felt the dark silence of the universe surrounding us.  Alive, burning, sparkling.  

“Six.”
We were small. 

“Seven.”
Silence.

We stayed out there until the wee hours, counting shooting stars.  It was priceless.
This is one of those moments in life that will keep coming back to me.  

Watching the sudden, silent bursts of light in the darkness with my kids…finding the joy in the stillness of the night.

As I carried the small ones back inside to their beds, I promised myself that in the rush and bustle of life, I will never be too busy to hug someone under the stars.

Because shooting stars don’t last forever.

Carpe diem.

Merry Christmas!

Yes, there is a Christmas tree in my living room today.
Yes, I know it is June.  

Need an explanation?

We had a photo shoot at my house for a story that will be published around Christmastime.  Publishers work months ahead, in order to have the material ready by December.   So we set up Christmas a bit early, and took the pictures.  This is the first time that I have ever decorated for Christmas when it is NOT December.  And you know what?  It has been a fantastic experience!   

The kids are beside themselves with Joy.  Not kidding.  I never realized how magical this could be.   

I mean, it’s not like June is a dark and sad month or anything.  We don’t NEED Christmas tree lights in June like we need a sparkly tree up north in December.  By the third week of December, we Minnesotans are desperate for anything that twinkles like the sun.  The world is such a dark and cold place that even tiny Christmas lights and Advent candles make us happy.  Christmas gives us HOPE!  

But in June, we have sunshine and sparkling water and boats and loons crying.  And mosquitoes.  Those too.  And kids out of school, and broken arms, and trips to the orthodontist and dentist and doctor and gophers digging up the yard that I just mowed in 80% humidity with a herd of mosquitoes trailing me like flying piranhas through the woods…I don’t worry about wolves in the woods, because the mosquitoes leave so little flesh that no wolf would be interested.  Wolf spiders are more scary, anyway.  June in Minnesota is special that way.

I guess what I am trying to say, is that even though it is summer, and the kites are flying, the sparrows are hatching, and the roses are blooming, I still need Hope.  I still need a little help finding Love, Joy, and Peace.  And you know what?  It is really easy to find those things with a Christmas tree in the living room and a creche on the mantel.  

The kids’ excitement and anticipation of great Joy were contagious.  So I rummaged around the nooks and crannies of my house, and found many odds and ends for presents.  Mostly books.  And silly things like a Bonne Belle lipgloss giftpack (90% off in January!) and some Jolly Rancher shower gel.  How is that even a thing?  Who wants tasty shower gel?  These things are in my house because I can’t pass up a 90% off sale, no matter how ridiculous the items.  I also grabbed all of the individual-sized snacks out of the cupboards, like Cheetos and Sour Cream and Onion Chips.  I wrapped everything up in Christmas paper, and tucked it all under the sparkling tree.  

Then we invited friends over.   

I think they were surprised! 

And you know what?  We had a lovely, unexpected, and Joyous afternoon.   We ate popcorn, we talked, we laughed.  We played a White Elephant gift game with all the wrapped presents, and the mystery gift that everyone wanted the most turned out to be the Jolly Rancher Shower Gel.  Imagine that.  It was wrapped in the shiniest paper.  

If you are looking for Hope or Joy, I highly recommend celebrating Christmas in June!   The sparkly Christmas tree brought us excitement and Joy.  But there was more to it than that.  

Amid the decorations and presents and laughter, something else was there.  

The most amazing part of this week has been the quiet parade of plastic animals and shepherds, making their way across my mantel, looking for the small Christ Child in the manger.  Despite the rickety barn, despite the darkness of the night and the chaos in the world, the baby sleeps peacefully in the manger.  Silent night, holy night.  That is what gives us Hope.  That’s the source of our Joy.   And that is worth celebrating, any time of the year.  

Merry Christmas!

I miss you, Blog Friends!  I hope you are having a wonderful summer vacation!  Life is good out here in the sticks.   

The Mud Pies are made fresh, daily.   In their little bakery that is the front yard, they line up their baked goods on rocks and steps, drying in the summer sun, topping them off with the best blooms from the garden.  This week, however, I turned my back for 15 minutes, and the entire bakery staff and their customers decided to use the pies to make Celtic war paint.  In fifteen minutes, a mighty battle ensued, wherein many kids were plastered in mud.  One child enjoyed this so completely that he covered himself in it.  Head to toe.  Mud.  He was so pleased.  By the time I returned, it was clear that my bathroom was going to be the complete and total loser.  Sadly, the outside water was too cold for me to turn the hose on them, and when they had all cleaned up enough to go home for supper, the bathroom was a wreck.  “Please don’t make me wash!”  the dirtiest child had said, with a smile.  “I want to show my Mom!”  Oh, no, you don’t.  

Watch out for mud pies.  
They make excellent weapons.

Career opportunities abound here.  The laundry pile is climbing half way up to the ceiling, with no signs of stopping.  If the average American washes two loads of laundry per week, (a conservative estimate)  then it is reasonable to assume that I should do sixteen.  Not counting sheets and towels.  Those add up, too.  The dishwasher runs, merrily, three times a day.  It actually doesn’t load itself, though, so good workers are always needed.  And for those career-minded individuals with a “Big Picture” mentality, the heavy traffic around here means the floor is always dirty.  All of it.  From front door to back.  Please send help.  And some Clorox Wipes.

“Success is when your knees are stained green and brown at the end of the day,”  says a local twelve year old.  With that ideology in mind, you might be surprised that so far, only one arm has been broken this summer. But it required surgery, with pins, so that child’s status as a Tag-Playing Superstar is quite secure.  

Did I mention I am working this summer?  Yes, the fridge is empty, unless you want a sandwich.    I have given up grocery shopping entirely to illustrate another (beautiful and amazing) children’s book for Behold Publications.   It is like entering another dimension for me, drawing the Little Flowers saints and virtues.  Very peaceful and gratifying.  And no mud pies anywhere in sight.  

Well, that is the news from the sticks.  

I wish you many days of restful Summer-Vacation sunshine…

Life is good.

Before, I didn’t know.

Before my child was born with Down Syndrome, I never thought about what it meant to have a child that was Special.  Because all my kids were special.  Each one is unique, with his or her own talents, abilities and struggles.  They are all special.  But Stella is Special, with a capital S.  It’s a little something extra.

That extra chromosome has done something remarkable and different to her, that I never could have understood before I knew her.  One tiny extra chromosome has changed everything.  

Let me explain with a story.

One evening, when Stella was about two years old, our family visited a church that was not our own.  As presentations were made by speakers, Stella got a bit antsy, so I left the pew and stood in the back of the church to bounce her in my arms.  Maybe she would fall asleep, so I could hear the presentations and learn something.  I had a few stressors at the time, and could use a bit of a spiritual boost.  I was looking forward to this.

But Stella had another idea.  She wiggled and wriggled, trying energetically to get down, away from me.  In her deep, low voice, she started to repeat  “Dow.  Dowww!”  She emphatically wanted down, and she wasn’t about to be shushed.  I set her down on the floor, and she began ambling straight toward a man against the back wall.  I followed, trying to quietly corral her back in a corner where we could have a little personal space, and wouldn’t disturb anyone.  No way.  Stella persisted, and beelined as fast as she could, right up to the man.  

He was stern looking, bearded, and wearing old jeans.  Stella walked right up to him, and hugged his leg.  

“Sorry,” I mumbled, and sheepishly retrieved my child.  

For the next five or ten minutes, we repeated this scene.

People were starting to stare.  

Stella would yell at me to let her down, and right away, she’d run to the man, and hug his leg.

Soon she began to call “Uppa!  Uppa!”

The man looked bewildered.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered.  “She wants you to pick her up.”  

“Really?”  He looked surprised.  Then he leaned down, and held out his arms.  My little Stella embraced him, tightly wrapping her arms around his neck.

I stood right next to him, watching. 

Stella buried her face in his bearded neck, gently touching the back of his head with her small fingers.  She petted him, and rested.  A group of people watched Stella, no longer paying any attention to the speaker.  Everyone in the back of the crowded church was watching the toddler hugging the grizzled man.  

She rested for about ten minutes like that, nestled in his arms.  Loving him.

When the speaker finished whatever it was she was saying, the man gently handed my daughter back to me.

“Thank you,” he said, and walked away, into the starry night.  A tear glistened on his cheek.

After he left, a man and woman approached me.  “Do you know that man?” They asked. 

“No.”

“I am astonished that your daughter went up to him like that!”

“He’s the crankiest, grumpiest man!  He doesn’t talk to anyone, he always just stands in the back, scowling and waiting.”  

Before I knew Stella, I would have been surprised.  Perhaps embarrassed, even.  But not now.  Now I know Stella.  That little extra chromosome has given her a superpower, an ability to love others, unfiltered.  Unchained by manners, or propriety, or personal space issues.  Without words, without a presentation, or a speech…  With something as simple and uncomplicated as a hug, she helps people feel God’s love.  

And I am not surprised at all. 

Because now, I know.  

Sometimes Special comes with a capital “S”.  

This week, I found five unexpected surprises in my yard.  

2.  Bleeding Hearts.  Every year, Dog makes a bed out of this plant, wrecking it entirely.  He starts out by losing his tennis ball nearby, and tears up the earth looking for it.  This plant has always gotten in his way, and become nothing but a sleeping mat for Dog.  And I always get angry.  But not this year.  This year we outsmarted him by enclosing the plant with rocks.  We win!

3.  Poison Ivy.  Yep.  This is what Dog chose to roll about and play in, since he couldn’t reach the Bleeding Hearts.  Dog has had two very soapy baths this week.  He was alternately pleased, unhappy, and confused.  We lose.

4.  I will never go out in the woods again.  This girl wasn’t afraid of my camera in the least.  I am the one who found her, and I am terrified.

5.  Someone planted a garden here, long ago.  It’s only when I am too busy to breathe that I get surprises like this.  When I have no time to weed the garden, when I just let the green little sprouts alone, the strangest and most beautiful surprises pop up.  Sometimes it’s good to be too tired to meddle.  Lovely Things happen all by themselves.  

What is the point of all this rambling, you ask?

I’m getting there.  

Usually I just write about the Love, Joy, and Peace that I find.  

And I do find it!  Even in the strangest places.

That doesn’t mean that other things don’t exist for me.  The proverbial Poison Ivy, black eyes, creepy spiders…everyone has them. 

But we all get to choose what we want to keep in our pockets and memories.  I want to remember the Love.  I want to cherish the smile and contentment of a girl who played hard and won.  I want to treasure Joy in the plant that actually survived the Dog!  I want to remember this blueish flower.  It’s unique and exciting, and I did nothing to create or nurture it.  It needed me to step aside and let it be, in Peace.  I can appreciate that. 

So now you know.  Love, Joy, and Peace are here, right in the middle of everything creepy.  

And you get to choose what you want to hold on to. 

I met him two years ago, in Washington DC.  

Within the shadow of our nation’s capitol, the citizens of the First World bustled past, unnoticing.  I was among them.  We moved across the sidewalks and crosswalks as fish swimming in a school, fluid and fast.  He sat against the side of a brick building, alone, clutching a worn backpack.

Our eyes met.  

I stopped.

“Please,” he reached up his hand with a whisper, “I’m so hungry.”

I stopped because he whispered, gently.

“Have you had lunch today?” I asked, reaching into my pocket.

“No, Ma’am. God bless you, Ma’am.”

My own lunch money weighed on me heavily.  I had restaurant plans.  The five dollar bill I handed to him seemed, suddenly, grossly deficient.  I switched pockets, knowing that 5 bucks wouldn’t buy him much lunch at Burger King across the street.

“Where are you from?” I asked.  I was not accustomed to being called Ma’am.  “What’s your name?”

“James. I’m from Mississippi,” he began.  Then came Vietnam.  Then just drifting… I did some coal mining.”  he began to unbutton his shirt, revealing two large, mirrored scars on his dark chest.   “I just got too many problems at once, so I come up here… I got kids, too.  I don’t see them anymore.  I figure life’s gotta be better in the city.”

We talked for a few more minutes.  He told me my daughters were beautiful, just like their Momma.  

I gave him my lunch money.  

And that was that.

It was time to move on.  But before I left, he asked me for something more.

“You pray for me, Ma’am.  And I’ll pray for you.”

“I will, James.  I will.”

Then I walked away.

I walked away, but something about my conversation with James had changed me.  

He was a vagrant.  A miner.  A veteran.  A father.  Somewhere, someone loved him. 

He told me that Someone was Jesus.  “He’s with me, right out here on the street,” James had said.   “He’s the one that sent you to give me lunch today.  He brings me joy, every day.  And he loves you, too.”

Oh, James.  

You; the Forgotten, the Hungry, the Abandoned, the Alone…

You have Joy?

You have Love?

You told me that you also have Peace.

You, James, Unknown Soldier, have the three elusive riches that the Wealthy World strives to find, and cannot.  You have nothing, and yet you have everything.



Well, James.  Today I am back in Washington DC, and I went looking for you.  I wanted you to know that you changed how I see people, James.  You helped me to find Love, Joy, and Peace in my own little world.  I wanted to remember you in a real way, and say thank you, James.

So I went to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.  

I didn’t find you.  But you know what I did find, James?  

I found hundreds and thousands of you…

Your fellow veterans were there for you, James.  They came in massive caravans of motorcycles, swarming the National Mall, slowly making their pilgrimage to Arlington National Cemetery across the bridge.  They rode, they walked, they held each other up as they climbed the hill.  They brought their families.  They brought flowers.  They came with children.  And burdens.  And tears.  

They wore leather, and white ponytails, and grizzled beards.  They wore crisp military uniforms and brass buttons and crew cuts.  They wore baby packs and held on to strollers, walkers, and canes.   

Though they came to the cemetery, they also came to give respect and honor to the Other Unknown Soldiers…to the veterans whose lives are still a living sacrifice.  They honor the veterans who are still fighting the battles of disability, woundedness, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  

Like you, James.  

This day is for you.  

Thank you.

Happy Mother's Day!  
 
I present to you the Ideal Mother:   She is gentle, kind, generous...

Selfless.

At the opposite end of the Mother Spectrum, this is my reality:  

Selfie.  

With kids. 

Good thing I have a sense of humor.  It's one of the best things I have.  Well, besides all those kids.   A bunch of us are in there, somewhere.  Piled up, in each others' faces, laughing and choking together.  Heaven knows we don't have any peace and quiet.  

"Click."  

Say a prayer for all the mothers today, will ya?  Motherhood is a wild ride!

Everything is brand new today.

The world is awakening...

The birds are singing their hallelujah chorus...

Today is a gift of possibilities for you.   What will you do with it? 

Dear Newbie, 

Today you became a mother.

I know you have waited a very long time to become a Mom.  No matter how many months or years you have longed for this, no matter how many tears have been shed, no matter if this is a natural birth, a c-section, an adoption, or foster care, today, everything changes. 

You have become a Mother.

I know that you are nervous.  Even scared.

You should be.

Advice is usually given by those with no experience, but I’ve been around the parenting block a time or two…or seven.   I shouldn’t say anything.  I have made enough mistakes that I have learned to keep my mouth shut.  But today, I just can’t be quiet.  I have something to say to you, New Mom.  It’s important.  

You don’t have much time. 

From the very first moment you look into the face of that little helpless child, you and I, and all mothers throughout the time continuum, are on the same path.  We are mothers.

I am getting a little choked up here, because I know what is in store for you.

Becoming Mom is going to hurt you.  
It’s going to turn your heart inside out and tenderize it.
Today, when you become Mom, you will never be the same.

You’ll look into her eyes, and instantly, every fiber of your being is going to go haywire.  All synapses will fire at once, flooding your brain in chemical Mama Love, and you will feel the primeval maternal instinct that swells from the depths of your soul, erupting into a force that wants to nurture and caress that baby, while at the same time, you’d fight a rabid saber tooth tiger just to defend her.

I don’t know if you have ever felt this way before, but today you will.

In your world yesterday, you may have been an attorney, a pharmacist, a highly skilled professional, a construction worker, a student.  It doesn’t matter.

Today, you will talk baby talk.
You will.
And she will open her eyes, and look up at you, and she will smile.
So you’ll do it some more.  

Today, you will begin to clean up messes that you never knew could exist.  You will be aghast.  You will be drooled on, cried on, sneezed on, puked on, leaked on, 
perhaps simultaneously.  She will look up at you, crying, needing you so much.  You’ll bathe her, and she will smile.   Or she might scream because she is afraid of water.

But when it is over, she will smell just right, and she will curl up in a towel and breathe softly on your neck.  She’ll hold on to you and her small hands will be warm and sweet as she clings to you.  
She will feel safe with you.

You’re her mom.

As she grows, she will begin to crawl, and she will start to discover the world.
And she will break your stuff.

All of it.

And you won’t even mind, because those tiny little hands 
reaching up to find a place to grab onto in this world
Are also reaching for your hand.  Wanting your help and your guidance 
And your love. 
Your love is going to mean more to this little person than to anyone else in the world.

You’re the one.

Love her with all you’ve got.
Tell her every day, show her every day.
Love her whether she is graceful or awkward, special needs or typical, healthy or frail. None of that matters as much as the very important fact that love heals everything.  If you are broken, her love will heal you.  If she is broken, your love will heal her.  She is just what you need, and you are just what she needs.  

You are perfect for each other.

Put down the phone, and play blocks.
Close the laptop, and have a tea party.  Eat cookies together.
Cancel the meeting, and instead, sit on the couch with a blanket wrapped around you like a tent, and read Go Dog Go for the 373rd time.

Look her right in the eyes and tell her she is worth it.

She is.

Let her style your hair till it’s tangled up in knots and barrettes, and she tells you that you’re the Most Beautiful Mommy in the World.  
You will be.
Sing her to sleep at night.  Try to be patient.
Be her model for compassion and kindness and forgiveness.  

Forgive her.  

Forgive yourself.  Because you will both make mistakes.

You will not get paid anything for this.  You will get no raise, no promotion, no street cred.  You will spend your money on her.  All of it.  She will need diapers and formula and snacks and braces and school uniforms and sports physicals and auto insurance and oh dear, college tuition.  

You will be the one she needs when she scrapes her knee, drops her sucker, loses her laptop, gets her heart broken,  and crashes her car.  You will also be the one she wants when she needs a hug, loses her first tooth, wants to serve tea, makes a friend, learns to read, starts to drive, graduates.

If you do your job right, then someday, 

She will leave you.  

She will walk away, or drive away, or be carried away.  

No matter when that happens, it will be too soon.  When that day comes, your heart will stretch and break again, erupting and overflowing with Mama Love and 

You will cry.

If you get the precious gift of being her mother for just one month, or just one year, or five years…or even eighteen years…don’t let it pass you by.  

Those tears that I shed for you today, New Mom…They were tears of joy.

Congratulations, My Dear.  

Today, your life is going to change.
And that is a beautiful thing.

So, it happened again yesterday.  

I’m quite used to it now.
Ever since my child was born with Down Syndrome, I became Conspicuous.

We are no longer passed by on the street, unnoticed.  We stand out.  We are smiled at, hugged, patted on the arm, greeted warmly as if we are long lost friends, and welcomed.  We have also been frowned at, turned away from, and even cried to.  

People notice us.

Once, when Stella was only about three months old, she slept in her carseat next to me while we ate at a restaurant.  One of the employees began to wipe down tables near us, looking inquisitively in our direction.  She cleaned closer and closer, until at last, she walked right over to me, staring at my baby.

“What a beautiful baby you have there,” she began.

“Thank you.  She’s pretty new.”

“She is adorable.” The lady cooed at Stella, then her misty eyes began to drip.

“Is she very hard?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Is she very difficult?  To take care of, I mean?”

“She’s quite easy going, actually.  She likes to be cuddled. She has been to doctors quite a lot, but she is pretty calm there, too.  She’s a content baby.”

The stranger then started to cry.  She explained to me how 50 years ago, when she was a very young mother, she had given birth to a child with Down Syndrome, also.  The people in her life and the doctor convinced her that the child would be too much work for her.  “Too many needs,” they said.  “They told me she was a big problem and that she would never function in the world and she would be a burden on me the rest of my life.  But you know what?”  The woman continued, “Not a day has gone by that my heart doesn’t break over her.  I wonder what she is doing, and what she would look like.  I wonder if she was ever happy.  She will be fifty years old this month.  They never even let me hold her before they took her away…”

I held this woman’s work-worn, wrinkled hand while she cried in the restaurant.  Then I placed Stella’s tiny hand in hers.  She held on, and my daughter’s hand became the link that somehow connected her to her own long-lost, beloved daughter.

When her tears had run dry, we hugged and parted ways.

“I wanted her.”  She said. “I always wanted her.  And I love her to this day.”

My own heart ached with this woman’s fifty years of hidden pain and regret.  I wish I could have said something to her, to support her way back when she was a young mother, afraid.  I wish I could have put her baby’s hand in hers, and helped her give and receive the Love that her child brought.  The Love that they both needed to be happy.  My heart aches with compassion for her and all Mothers like her, those who hold on to pain and heartbreak instead of small hands.

I am a very Conspicuous Mother, noticed and confided in where ever I go, holding my child’s hand.  And I promise you that Mothers love their children forever, no matter what.

I am so grateful to have this small hand to hold.  

Happy Easter from the real Easter Bunny!   Her name is Philomena.

She worked very hard last night, delivering all those baskets.  As your kids search around for candy and eggs,  Phil would like you to know that it is always possible to find joy, no matter what your circumstances.  You just have to know where to search: 

Look Up!  Philomena says to Cheer Up, Keep your Hopes Up, Look Up, Rise Up, the Sun is Coming Up... The answer to what you are looking for is Up.  
Always Up. 

Happy Easter!

“Good night, I love you.  God Bless You.”

A kiss on the forehead, a caress on the cheek.  Tuck the covers up over her shoulder and around down, under her chin.

She has her flashlight, the closet door is closed.  

One last look around the room…  “I love you.”   Then I shut the door.

But not all the way, of course.

How many times did I go through this routine?  

I was always too tired to appreciate it.  Exhausted and weary…
I didn’t really comprehend that one night was going to be the last night.

But it was.

One night, I tucked her in, she smiled up at me with dreamy eyes, half mast.

Then I watched the glowing sun, sinking so slowly on the horizon, the colors were spectacular and vivid and I thought it just couldn’t get any more beautiful and precious.   

It seemed only a few moments.

The stars appeared in the darkness, and I felt an ache in my heart and a lump in my throat as a premonition, warning me of change.

“They grow up fast,” the old ladies warned, when they had arrived with baby presents.  “Cherish every moment,” they had chided when she was noisy at church.  “It can’t last forever,” they had smiled through gritted teeth, waiting to pick up their own kid from driver’s ed.

They were right.  

When the sun rose the next morning, the birds sand a joyful song and the world awoke to a brand new day.

And she was all grown up.

What do you see when you look out at the world?  Do you see a big mess of darkness? Tangles of trouble, insurmountable pain and fear? Hatred and despair?  

All those things are there, I know.  
The world can be a tough place.   

Just reading the news headlines is enough to scare me.  Add my own personal troubles, and I could be overwhelmed, buried in negativity.

I could be jaded.
I was jaded.

But I have found a secret weapon that melts away all my fears.  
I have discovered that even in the forest of fear and doom, beautiful things grow.  

Little things.

You have to search for them.  

Once you learn how to find the little things, you will find hope and joy everywhere.
Because hope and joy are everywhere. 

Here is what I found in the middle of that dismal looking forest this morning…
I hope you can find some wonderful small things today, too.  
The small things make all the difference.

It's World Down Syndrome Day, 3 - 21.  Love, joy, and peace to you!