The Cherry Weeps.....But Then Blooms

My precious yard guy and I had a discussion last summer. My weeping cherry had fallen victim to some sort of tree disease that was going around. Trees all over town were hit. The greenery died prematurely.  He looked at it and said "It's dead, Kim. You're probably going to have to get rid of it."

I love that tree. It's the perfect size, the perfect shape. I love where it sits in my yard, right above my glorious quince bush. (I just found out the name of that bush this year thanks to my Facebook friends. They teach me things all the time that I can't easily Google.) Whoever landscaped my yard did a wonderful job. The idea of losing this perfect tree was inconceivable, I just couldn't. 

So I denied it. I wouldn't believe it. I declared it was still alive. He gave me that indulgent "OK....we'll wait for now, but you'll see."

So I waited. It had no leaves the rest of summer or through the winter. With the warm weather, the quince bush below bloomed. Amazing, vibrant orange. But the weeping cherry was desolate in comparison. No blooms there.

Then this week. I was in the car, pulling out of my driveway, and looked in that direction. I saw cherry blooms. Not the normal covering, but some. There are signs of life there. You have to look a bit closer, but it is beautiful. It seems to be getting better. The blooms seem to be increasing.

It's interesting to me that this happens as we begin the countdown to Easter.....the celebration of rebirth. Sometimes we are that tree. Sick and hit by outside and inside plagues. Worn down and tired and a bit dead inside. And worn out. Ugly. Purposeless. Trying to find our joy, but we just can't touch it. And those who look at us do so with pitying eyes that see the disease, that see the death, and doubt our possibilities. Sometimes we believe them. Sometimes that inner glimmer shines just a bit, defiantly, and we refuse to live as dead.

Then it happens. We start to bloom. We come to life. Slowly,  but surely, we fight the blight. Sometimes beyond us works to make us the gorgeous vision of what we were meant to be. Even we seem a bit surprised of the change.

I love the message of Easter. I'm starting to enjoy observing the season of Lent. Anticipation of the dead coming back to life. The renewal of our purpose. The death of winter turning to the blooming of spring.

I've felt a bit of the blight lately. Tired and rundown. Emotional and a bit purposeless. I've been challenged by several to observe Lent in some very positive ways. To give away my stuff that sits unused. Let it have new life in someone else's hand.

The ladies of my church are going to focus on the simple act of walking. Together and on our own. Adding the disclipline of action. Maybe praying as we go, for ourselves and each other and our world. Maybe communing with God. Maybe encouraging each other. Maybe letting God encourage us. Maybe celebrating our bodies and where they are now, and where they can be if we treat them well. Maybe looking around and seeing needs we can meet.

Some people use Lent to give up things that have a hold on them, Just 40 days of this self denial can give new perspective. Especially if you replace it with positive things that free you.

I'm someone who easily loses focus. I need to constantly reset. This is not a bad thing. It is who I am and I know it about myself. It is who most of us are, I believe. We have short attention spans and we are prone to wander. I eventually re-evaluate and recommit to living my purpose, even as that purpose changes. Sometimes just moving forward in faith, not sure where God is leading me. I'm at that place now. Feeling like change is coming, and preparing to embrace it. To set the fear aside and live life well.

God is here. He leads me to good things. He reminds me he is bigger than people. That ultimately he is in control. And that which worries me or paralyzes me is in vain. He shows me that this short life can be long and eternal. We all change this world forever.....the question is how. Do we improve it, make it worse, or increase the mediocrity?

For now that weeping cherry tree is not weeping. It blooms. It is adding beauty to the world. What is ahead for it? I have no clue. But for today I will celebrate it and be glad I wasn't hasty to remove it. It brings me hope and contentment and a reminder that the experts and those who give us their opinions are sometimes wrong. It makes me smile. Sometimes you need to go with your gut and live in anticipation of the gift of rebirth. Joy.

On Grieving

My dad died December 18.

The number one question I am asked these days is "How are you doing?" The second is "How is your mom?" (That may even be first....it's a close call.) Oh, I understand people asking and please don't feel guilty if you have asked it. I have asked it to other people myself, and I am sure I will continue to do it. It's fine. It's something to say. It's a point of connection. It shows you care. But when you ask, if I pause and say nothing for a while, or look back at you like a deer in the headlights, if I stammer and say something that doesn't make much sense, or just give a non-answer, please forgive me.

I have no clue how to answer the question. I haven't reached that point of self-awareness where I know how I am doing,. And I don't know what people are really asking. It never occurred to me before that I don't quite understand the  question, even when I was asking it. Am I supposed to answer it good, bad, or OK? (OK is usually my answer of choice, but do any of those words fit?) Am I supposed to give details of my grief? Explain it? That's something else I am not prepared to do. Am I supposed to answer in the context of how I'm doing compared to life before dad died? Will there ever be a comparison there that could explain? It's confusing....and I have no clue.  I have lost people I dearly loved before, but this is different. I have no experience with life on earth without my dad.

Basically, I am living my life. I work, I sleep, I spend time with friends and family. I try to regain normal. I suspect part of me is denying the reality. I do that with my great nephew Kaelan, too (who we had lost earlier in the year). Maybe a part of us has to let a piece of our brain go there. It's almost impossible to fathom earth without either of them. Dad was there every day of my life. Kaelan was supposed to be in it every day for the rest of my life. They are part of the very fabric of who our family was...and were so important to it. It's hard for the brain to grasp their loss. I guess I compartmentalize the thoughts in my brain and try to forget it. An escape from the reality. Is it really real? Maybe it didn't happen?

But then something will come up, like when I was taking a picture of the trees in my front yard during the snow and realized my yard looks rather bad. My trees need shaping, I think my butterfly bush needs to be cut down and my knock roses cut back. I had planned to plant more tulip and daffodil bulbs out front this year, and add a hydrangea bush to my yard. But when and where and how? I have no knowledge of that kind of stuff. I didn't need to. Dad knew it.

I have cried less than I would have thought. I usually cry easily. Possibly I haven't because Dad was not a crier. McKinneys as a whole are rather stoic and not known for gushing emotion. I've always had some of that in me, too. It could be because I am following in dad's example...how he acted when he lost his parents. Possibly it is the denial, but I don't usually deny it....part of me is always aware he is gone and misses him every minute. It could be shock or the weirdness of it all. If I am here on this earth, dad should be, too. He had been every day of my life. One of my constants.

Maybe it's just a continuance of the peace I felt throughout this process of his hospitalization. In the midst of the worse. Never have I had to lean on my faith more, but the peace I have felt through the process astounded me. God seemed so at one with me. Still, noticing God at work often makes me cry. And I haven't much. It confuses me. Doesn't worry me, but doesn't seem like how I would have thought I would have been.

It would have never occurred to me that the most part difficult part of losing my dad would be feeling so inadequate to help my mom. (I felt the same way when Kaelan died and left so many shattered.) I just don't know what to do. We're different, have led very different lives, and I can't really know what she is going through and what she really needs. Everyone has to get through grief in their own way. But thankfully she is taking care of herself just fine. Though life as she has known it for 60 years has been blown to pieces, Mom has been nothing short of amazing. She cries (though mostly when alone), and says she yells at my dad on occasion for leaving her, but then she puts one foot in front of the other and moves. Somewhere. Doing something. By necessity she will have to answer the question "So how do I live now?" I hope the answer to that takes her to great happiness and new adventure. I think it will. She is a good planner and a good decision maker and a vital person. She has a lot to give to this world. She is a people person and hasn't been on her own, ever. She's starting to think it through, to think of what she will need going forward. That's good and healthy. She does no honor to my dad by refusing to move. In fact, she honors the strength they built in each other by continuing to live well. He would want that for her.

One thing I know about grief.....none of us do it the same way. I think my siblings are handling dad's death similarly to me,  but yet not the same. Truly we don't talk about it much.  Not that it is taboo, but I think we understand each other so don't need to. Mom, our verbal parent, has probably gotten us each to talk about it the most, without even trying. But she doesn't push...and won't...and I suspect even she just gets a few sentencs from each of us here and there. That's enough.

Three friends of mine lost parents within weeks of me. We're all dealing with it differently. We all have different needs, different perspectives, different ways to grieve. If you are wondering how to help people grieving, know there is no special formula. Just be there. Don't avoid them. Try to see where they are. Ask them what you can do can help. Don't be surprised if you get no answer. Try to figure out what they need and help them through it, but meet them where they are. How you would handle things is probably not the way they will do it. We are all so different. And grief can make us weird. We may not even understand what is going on ourselves and why we react a certain way.

As for me... most times I don't want to have long conversations with you about it. We had six weeks of the horrors of intensive care hospital time before his death, and it was difficult, stressful, and all kinds of exhausting. Then hospice. Then death. I got sick hours before dad died and spent the days before the memorial service on my own. It was fine. God must have known the introvert needed to be forced to have alone time.

If you are my friend, I don't want you to stay away. There is no greater reminder that life is short than a parent dying. For me that means I want to live life. I don't want to sit around by myself and cry. I want my friends around. I want to laugh. I want to play. I want to try new things. I want the comfort of the old good things. I want hugs and love. I don't want to make a lot of decisions...so suggestions are great. I'm trying to engage, but sometimes the thought of it is exhausting. Someone telling me what we are doing is good. I will tell you if I don't want to or if the timing isn't right. You know me. I will exercise veto power.

The notes people have sent, the simplest of words comforting. The memorials to his life, so thoughtful and kind and sometimes imaginative. The flowers and plants. The texts. The phone calls. The stories people have told and words of what dad meant to them. People who showed up at the memorial service during a weekday, Christmas week, some just hearing about it hours before. So many other things they could have been doing, but they chose to be there for us. Reminders that our family is made up of more than shared blood. It all means so much.

So how am I doing? OK this minute. But it will be a long term adjustment. The number one man in my life is no longer around for me. The loss will be with me every day, for the rest of my life. But still, I will live. It's what I want....what God wants....and what Dad would want for me.

The Legacy of Holding Hands

My parents were hand holders. It always made me smile when I saw it. It was one of the first things people noticed about them.. More times than I can count I had friends call and say "I saw your parents. They were just walking along and holding hands. They are so cute." And they were. It was almost like a game of "I spy." "I spy the McKinneys holding hands. Again." We grew up seeing it, but I got so many of these calls I soon realized what a rarity it was. I loved it about them and what they taught us through this one gesture.

Mom and Dad were married 59 years and 11 months. On January 30, 2017, it would have been 60 years. They were engaged after three dates. Married after just one more. And not just a normal "get married and go on with your life" wedding. My 19-year old mom dropped out of nursing school in Newport, South Wales, packed her things, and got on a plane bound for the United States. She gave up her whole life there to join my dad in North Carolina for a small wedding at my grandparent's house, with only the pastor and his wife, and my dad's parents in attendance. No pictures, no fancy reception. She then moved with him to Massachusetts, where he worked full time and maintained a 3.8 grade point average in engineering school at Northeastern University there. Not an easy feat. Four out of the five of us kids were born there. More of a challenge.

As mom points out, leaving dad was never a practical option, so they had to work things out. Growing up we learned that in real life relationships you love, honor, and respect each other....but sometimes you also get angry. But you work it out. You don't hold grudges. You are always loyal.

If you had met my dad, you probably wouldn't have thought of him as a hand holder. He wasn't what you would consider  a romantic. Romantic gestures were not the norm. If left to his own devices  he would most likely buy my mom a gift on the level of a vacuum cleaner or a mixer. That may be a romantic gift to some, but not to my mother. Yet he could surprise you....on the occasions when he ended up buying her jewelry, he bought her beautiful things. He had wonderful taste. Well, except that time he listened to the opinion of someone else. That was not a good idea. I think he learned his lesson. The one piece of jewelry he bought mom that she never wore.

There was a certain level of emotion my dad just didn't possess. He was a classic engineer. Logic trumped all emotion. He could not care less about what anyone thought about him. This was on a level I have never encountered in another human being. It never occurred to him that it was any of his business or even something worth thinking about. I mentioned this to someone recently and they said that sounded like me. Oh....I so wish it was. It used to be a foreign concept, but I have learned from him in time. No, first I have to feel the pain, but then blessedly the logic I learned from dad now creeps in. Why should such a thing really matter to me? Unlike my dad the feelings are felt, but in my life I am blessed with plenty of love. I've learned, however, it doesn't have to come from everyone. I won't waste precious moments of my life worrying about it....instead I will enjoy and celebrate that which I do have. It is enough.

My cousin and I were talking when my dad was in the hospital about being raised by these McKinney men for whom the words "I love you" just weren't often said. Yet we never doubted their love. (So OK, there were those times growing up I knew my "real" royal family were going to come for me and take me away from my Cinderella life....but maybe the thought that I read too much during these years was correct after all.)

My dad was in the hospital since November 8.  Much of that time is heartbreaking. Some of it was full of great beauty. My mom lovingly feeding my dad vanilla ice cream underneath his oxygen mask after he had what would only be his first surgery that day. (He savored each bite. I am so glad...vanilla ice cream was his favorite and it was his last real food.) Mom sitting in a chair next to dad's bed, holding his hand as she slept with her head on his bed. Each of his children, and many of his grandchildren, kissing his cheek and reaching for his hand as they visited with him. Him squeezing back. Until he couldn't. Then us just squeezing extra.

I had several friends who during these last days advised me to make sure I told dad I loved him. Does it sound weird that I didn't find that to be important? I never have doubted, never will doubt, that he knew. Oh, this man of logic knew. It wasn't because of us saying the words (because as I said before, those didn't matter to him). It wasn't because of my ability to be the best daughter (because he really didn't require much from me as his daughter....and we all know I was his favorite anyway.). It wasn't because of gifts I gave him.....I realized years ago he took no pleasure in gifts and it was a kindness not to make him open things and appear grateful. It was a burden to him and not a pleasure. No....these typical things others may need were not a bit necessary for him.

I was part of this man.....and him part of me. He knew I loved him just because I did. Would we all have liked more days together? Certainly. Are there more things I wish I'd either had him tell me about or I wish I had listened closer to? Oh yes. But my logical dad wouldn't comprehend wasting time on regrets. He accepted what was. I will do the same.

When we first moved my dad to the Hospiçe House last Friday, and I reached for his hand, it was cold. It was a bit disconcerting. Later that night the radiating warmth returned. The last time I saw him on Saturday afternoon I held that warm hand for what would be the last time. As he and mom taught us, that's what matters.  These McKinneys are hand holders. We are forever unified. He is a part of who I am and forever I'll feel the warmth of his hand in mine. No regrets understood or allowed. I loved him and was loved by him. That will never end. I am grateful for the gift.

These Sad Times

Is anyone else almost overwhelmed with the sad lately? Do you feel like saying "Wait a minute, God, I need a few days to catch up. Are you paying attention to what's going on here? Please, can't you send a bit more happy...or even just a few more days of numbness?"

It's a weird time. As most of you know I just got back from an an amazing trip to Japan with my zestful, joyful, and "full of life" niece, Maggie.  Most of you also know we left still raw from the devastating death of my great nephew Kaelan. A few of you might know we went right after the chilling loss of my cousin Jason. I missed Jason's memorial service. My family understood and was supportive, but I wanted to be there. I wanted to hug his parents and his brother, and absorb some of their pain. Oh, maybe you can't absorb the pain of others....but you hope in some way being there for them can. I think it helps. And I wanted to be there...because family is there when you go through the best of times, the worst of times, and all days in between. And while my family is large in number, every single one of us matters and counts and is necessary for us to be whole.

There have been other suicides in our community lately.  Not only those that devastated my family, but also some that greatly impacted the lives of others that I love. What is happening to our world? What do we do to soothe the tortured soul? How do we recognize they're drowning and get them to grab onto the life preserver?

Orlando happened....and as if the massacre itself wasn't enough of a blow to our nation, the hate that some put out after hearing the news was stunning. Some said that because this happened in a gay nightclub, that these victims deserved it. I felt such despair at the very condition of mankind when I heard this was happening....and frustrated knowing that this kind of thought bred the hate that led to the massacre in the first place.How can anyone, especially Christians professing to speak in the name of God, smugly look at such carnage and say that people deserved it? Have these people forgotten the one requirement to them being a Christian is to acknowledge their own sin? To realize that their sin alone grieves God? That measuring the sin of others is fruitless, and when we do so we always see a distorted picture? When you are pointing fingers at others you are not looking into the face of God and following him.

We who are Christians should not be messengers of woe, but witnesses of hope. We should not be feared for the retribution we shovel out on others by the bucketload  ....instead, we should be a haven from the evil of the world, a beacon in darkness, salve to damaged and hurting souls, compassion for those who go astray. Our message should be "I am here for you, God is here, too. We will stand in harm's way for you and protect you. Even from yourself." That should even be our message to hate-filled Christians. Often that is where I am most challenged.

We all mourn differently. I am not the sackcloth and ashes type. I find it pointless. I want to find purpose in the pain. I want lives we have lost to matter....for others to know about them...and for their life to be more significant than their death. I am still learning how to make this happen, but that is my goal.

In church today we studied Mark 1, where Jesus told Simon and his brother Andrew to follow him and learn how to be "fishers of men". What stood out to me was what they would have seen next. Jesus heals a lot of people. He identified needs and met them. It doesn't mention once him taking his disciples on a sin identification field trip. It doesn't appear that was what Jesus thought was most important for them to learn.

I'm a bit impatient with wall builders at the moment....people who cut people off in this world. People who are different than them, people who exercise their freedom in ways they don't like, people who bruise their sensibilities, people who hurt their feelings...they try to build their world so they don't ever encounter them. 

If this is you, get over it. Get out and mingle. Use your words and talk it out. When others don't agree with your opinions, remember that they don't have to. Talk to them, calmly and rationally. Mostly listen. Actively. You may learn something. They may learn something. Maybe in this world of paradox, you are both right. People are imperfect and insensitive and often just brats....but don't let it stop you. Love them where they are. Don't enable their behavior, but don't condemn and isolate. Does hate, slamming doors in the faces of the world, really help? I can't see that it ever has.

When in Japan we visited Hiroshima. It was thought-provoking. I was reminded that from carnage, hope and peace can grow. Good things can happen. You can choose to treasure grudges, build walls, shut out every one of those who brought you pain, and retaliate against them...or you can use the circumstance to make you stop and acknowledge the senselessness of such gestures and instead build something good.

I've asked God "Why?" a lot lately. I've looked at my own life and tried to dissect how I can better love in a way that plants goodness and breeds love. How I can open my eyes to those who are hurting and instead of instinctively running in the other direction (as I would prefer), stand my ground and open my arms?

I was not created for hate. I was created for love. I was not created to isolate. I was created to live in a world full of diverse people and be at peace with them. I was not created for despair. I was created for hope. 

I can be sad for all that has been lost, but I should not allow myself to remain overwhelmed. God is here. In the midst of it all are seeds of joy. Let's plant these seeds in the name of hope. Let's bring healing and beauty to our sad world.

The Kimmons and Me

I met John and Nancy Kimmons when I was around nine years old and my family began to go to their church (Covenant ARP on Greenbriar Rd.) They were very different types of people and I had very different relationships with each of them.

I consider John Kimmons Sr. to be my first adult friend. When I was in high school and whoever was appointed to be our Sunday School teacher never showed up one semester, we spent about six weeks or so on our own....our high school Sunday School class was very small, usually only three or four of us at the most, and we would just hole up in our room (which was in the corner of the church basement) and hang out. One day John popped his head in the window and saw us there without adults, came inside, and became our self-appointed teacher. Well, teacher of sorts. No curriculum. He just talked to us. Like people. He shared his shortcomings, his humor, his faith. Like I said, he was a friend. He was quite open and honest about everything. More than most adults would be with teenagers. An alcoholic, he told stories of where he had been. What it had done to his family. The regret he had that his children had grown up with that man who drank. He talked of his days as a salesman. He introduced me to contemporary Christian music, and would loan me his albums. He had long conversations with me about dating and marriage (I don't think my perpetual singleness has anything to do with the promise he made me make about making sure I was cherished....and not just loved....when I decided to marry.) He made me laugh often, made me think, and I always felt he had the very manner of Christ. I saw Jesus as a better friend as a result of that relationship.

But oh, Nancy.....Mrs. Kimmons.....our early relationship was a bit different. She had the demeanor of the teacher she was. I kinda always felt like I was getting in trouble when I was around her. OK, often I was usually in trouble. There were a few lectures. When John was laid back and funny and I would have easily done anything he requested of me, Nancy made me want to rebel. Of course, I didn't. She was tough and I was a bit scared of her!

While John taught me to think about the goodness and forgiveness of Christ, and taught me how to be comfortable with my faith, Nancy challenged me in a different way. For example, I hated....really hated....having to be in the kid's plays at church. They made me physically ill. I had a tendency to start giggling uncontrollably in my nervousness, or talk with a voice shaking with fear. Not what you want people to see at the point in life where you are approaching adolescence.

It was time for play practice to begin one Christmas and Nancy was in charge. When I told my Mom how much I dreaded it, she said I didn't have to be in it if I didn't want to (Mom hates that sort of thing, too.) I went to Nancy and said "Mrs. Kimmons, my mom said I don't have to be in the play this year." Nancy knew my issues, I know, and I believe most adults would have just agreed and said it was OK. I thought she was going to give me a hard time and was surprised when she said "If that is what you want to do, Kim, that's fine." It was one of those times you turn around and want to do a fist pump. Score! But as I walked away she said "But you say you are a Christian, and you know that God says where you are weak, there He is strong." Pow!

With great strength I just continued to walk away, but I guarantee there was horror in my eyes. "Why is she doing this to me?" "Isn't that emotional blackmail?" "I hate her." Yeah, I think that was the general train of my thoughts. But I kept thinking. And I started praying. And I cried out to the Lord to make me not have to do it. In the end, however, I couldn't deny that she was right. Yes, I was in the play and yes, it was hard, and yes I had to pray a lot, but it was OK.  It was a day of reckoning. If I trust God, sometimes I have to do things I hate, that I am not good at, that don't come naturally. Sometimes my minutes should be sacrifices, times where I deny me and my comfort, and let God work through the great weakness. (So OK, my whole life should be like that....but yes, I am a sinner. God gets that.) It is a lesson I carry with me to this day and am still trying to perfect. I'm not there yet, but I haven't stopped trying.

John died when I was in college, and while it was one of my greatest losses, I also was prepared for it. He prepared me. In one of our talks he said "This heart isn't going to last forever and one day you will hear it has given out. When it does, know that my body will go over to Winston so that medical students can learn from it, and my soul will be more content than ever."  His was a presence just made for heaven, so I was always able to find comfort in that. My life suffered loss when he died, but because I knew how much better he felt having shed that body and damaged heart, I had to rejoice.

During subsequent years, I saw Nancy going about life, seemingly so strong and capable through everything. Yet now I know from talks with her how difficult it was. I know she missed John every day. But she also knew God wasn't done with her yet, so she spent her time well. She invested in ministries and people. Her first few years moving to Greensboro were difficult, but she knew it was best. She had already learned "When we are weak, then He is strong"....so she put it into practice. I always just thought she was strong naturally. It was pretty amazing to learn how much she had to lean on God, too.

These past few years,, as she was in her 90s, I have seen a difference in Nancy, a vulnerability. She was shakier on her feet, shakier in her confidence. I think she was at the point where she felt she was a resident of heaven, and an alien to earth. As several mentioned at her memorial service, Nancy probably got to heaven and said "What took you so long?" She was ready to go....several years ago. In her own way, like her husband John, Nancy prepared me for her death. She was never as blunt as John about it, but she made no secret of the fact that she longed for heaven.

Like with John, I rejoice that she has shed that body and that her soul soars. Like with John, I will miss her so very much. Like with John, she will never die as long as I am on this earth. My eyes will remain open to the things that they both loved, and I will pray as they would have prayed. The lessons both taught me are part of the fabric of who I am. God has breathed through them into me. They both lived their lives as modern day disciples, and spent their lives investing in others. What a great legacy. What a gift for people like me.

Nancy's memorial service this week was perfection. The service was so beautifully a gift from her family to her and to their dad John, and Nancy had planned it with her son John (my former pastor and teacher.) Yes Nancy was a planner...and in this case she couldn't have done it any better and her kids and grandkids couldn't have executed it more perfectly. There was laughter, there were tears. There was music. The room was full, and when John Jr. asked how many people in that room had been discipled by his mom, hands went up all over. Mine included, of course. I was privileged...I got some of the prime time and the prime lessons. I got the wisdom of someone who not only knew life well, who not only knew God well, but knew me well. The delivery changed as the years went on.....from bluntness and correction, to pure encouragement. She wasn't my first adult friend, at least as I realized it at the time, but she was my friend indeed.

Nancy's last words to me were that she loved me, and those were my last to her. The great thing about love like ours is that it goes beyond this earth. The love doesn't stop by earthly death... it just flows from heaven. Purer, truer, and carried in me with the power of God's spirit. My hope is that I can pass on the lessons that were passed on to me, and multiply the love. They are great and treasured gifts and were made for sharing. Let me know if you need extra. I've got plenty to give and it would be a privilege to share them with you.

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A Place To Go Home

I received word today that one of my school mates was being transferred to Gordon Hospice House. I know I said recently that I am starting to see the beauty in the cycle of new life and death, and that is true, but I think that such news will still always produce chills and sadness. Even living in my home town, I generally see little of my classmates. Still there is a special place in my heart for them. When I do see them, often it is like no time has passed and we're 16 again. Part of them will always be their younger selves in my eyes.

What has also occurred to me tonight, though, is how much often the Gordon Hospice House touches those I know. So many folks pass through there during their last days. I remember when it was new and I toured there, before patients were admitted. It was beautiful and functional and designed especially with the hospice concept in mind....keeping patients comfortable and caring for them, so the family and close friends can focus on their loved ones, and the patient can die with dignity and peace. At that point it wasn't personal to me....I joked about wanting to stay a while to use the shower (it really was a very cool shower!) But now friends and family members of friends have spent extended time there, have used those facilities and experienced the services, and I am nothing but grateful that such a place exists in our town. It has become personal and warms my heart.

My mom was the first nursing coordinator of Hospice of Iredell County. Back then there was no facility to go to, so Hospice staff spent much time going around to homes, and were called at all hours of the day or night. The phone would ring, and my mom would drop everything to go to them. Her attitude shaped our attitudes...there was nothing more important than supporting someone in their last days. There was nothing more important than being there to help their family members cope. It never seemed to be a burden to her....she really was glad to be able to do it. And when it changed plans for our family, no one thought of complaining. That was a higher calling. We were fortunate to be healthy and have our family around us. But still, the families often had to wait for people like my mom to arrive after making that panicked call. I can't imagine how scared many of them were when they were alone.

So tonight I am so grateful for the Gordon family and other donors who have made this facility possible...a place where folks can rest knowing that they are in the midst of care. A place where kind and wise people, like my friend Lynn Kunkle who is chaplain there, can lend a hand or give words of comfort or say a prayer when needed. A place where medical professionals can help make them comfortable and lessen their pain. A place where sometimes the definition of hope changes for people, to a hope that their loved one can leave their sick bodies behind.

As Teresa spends her first night in this place, I pray for peace for her and her family. She has dealt with this condition for quite a few years now, and is at peace with the decisions that she helped make. She is aware of what is going on and what is to come. As a woman of faith, she knows that her time on this earth may be short, but there is hope of a better tomorrow. My prayer is that she will be surrounded by peace and love, as she is ushered into her new forever home. I am thankful for a place that will provide comfort until she leaves this earth....or until a miracle occurs. Rest in peace tonight, Teresa Hope Nash. I hope your last days on this earth are lovely. And thank you God for the Gordon Hospice House and for all the hands you used to build it and sustain it. It is a great gift to our people.

My Friend Ann's Mom

It was December and I was preparing to go on a cruise with my niece Taylor (finally celebrating her high school graduation that took place in June) when I got word that the decision had been made to stop treatments for my college roommate's Mom, who had been suffering from multiple ailments for far too long. She was not expected to live much longer. As we drove to Charleston to board our ship, Ann was driving from her home in Tampa with her husband and brother, to her hometown of Wallace, knowing her mom was going to die soon. While I knew I needed to be on that cruise, I admit to being frustrated with God's timing. Why was this happening when I could not be there, to comfort someone who has been my friend since the age of 18, and to pay tribute to a lady who had been a lovely part of my life since my college years?

I first met Ann's mom when we paid a surprise visit to her one Sunday when we were in college. We were hungry, in need of home cooking, and Ann said "Let's go home for Sunday lunch." I was a bit concerned that we didn't call first, that we would take her mom by surprise and there wouldn't be enough food, but still hopped in the car with Ann and we traveled from Chapel Hill to Wallace. The concern was unfounded. Her mom was thrilled. The house was full of both people and food, but we were honored guests. The food was plentiful. I was a bit in awe of the spread before us. There was her mom's amazing fried chicken, several other meats, potato salad and vegetables of all kinds, biscuits and fried cornbread and lots of sweet tea. I'd never had fried cornbread before and had not often eaten fried chicken (KFC was usually the only fried chicken consumed in our house. Except for that one time my daddy made fantastic fried chicken when my mom was in the hospital....but that is another story).  My Welsh mother only slightly embraced Southern cooking.

Even we starving college girls were full at the end of the meal. Ann's momma said "I love when someone comes for the first time and actually eats!"  It was not a backhanded Southern insult. She really did take pleasure in the fact that the food she fixed was enjoyed so much that any thoughts of polite denials for second portions went out the window. That was the first of many times of eating my fill of her chicken and potato salad.

There's a special bond with some of the parents of your close friends. On one hand you are just purely grateful to them for raising this magnificent person who is such a big part of your life. They're grateful to you for being a friend to their child. There's also a purity. None of the tension that is felt sometimes between parents and their children. They may have to tell you like it is (and most of the parents of my friends that I am close to are that type, for some reason), but you listen to their words with emotions that don't get out of hand. You know they care for you and want the best for you, but that caring doesn't seem to be conditional.

I'd last seen Ann's mom in the fall, stopping for a quick Sunday visit on my way home from visiting friends. I was a bit nervous. I knew there were days she got very confused and I wondered if she would know who I was. I walked into the skilled nursing center she had been placed in, and she was sitting in a wheelchair, slumped down over the tray in front. I very hesitantly said "Mrs. Brock, do you know who I am." She looked a bit stunned and confused so I thought the answer was going to be "no". But she said "Kim!", with pleased astonishment in her voice. Then "JC (Mr. Brock, Ann's father) is going to hate that he missed you."

We had a great visit. They brought her lunch in when I was there and she would barely eat a bite, even with my encouragement. I finally had to acknowledge that after a lifetime of her own cooking, this institutional food was lacking. Which got us talking about all the meals we had shared together. We found reasons to laugh. We talked a bit about her life now. I could tell she hated not being able to care for herself and others. She had never been in that position before, and I think she missed her purpose. As wonderful as the time with her was, it was difficult not to be sad on her behalf. Still, to me there was so much life in her. She always had such a spunky spirit, which she passed on to Ann. That spirit was still evident, but was also weary.

I still can't conceive of the fact that I won't see her again on this earth. That my dear friend no longer has her loving, but exasperating, mother.

It will be in the simple things I will remember her. I doubt I will ever eat fried chicken and potato salad without thinking of her, for instance. Possibly a strange memorial, but one that I believe would make her smile. There was love in that food and she passed much on to me.

Taylor and I left on our cruise on Saturday, Ann's mom died Sunday morning. Ann and her brother Ronnie made it there in time. God knew the number of hairs on Frances Brock's head and the number of days she would live on this earth.  He knew I wouldn't be there at the end for her or for Ann, and for whatever reason He allowed that to happen. He provided for them both quite sufficiently. But my relationship with Mrs. Brock, built on her kindness and her gift of hospitality, is part of who I am. 

I thought of her often when I was traveling around the beautiful Caribbean. It was a reminder that life is short, and that we should fill our days with good people and good experiences. We should enjoy the simple times of good companionship, as we eat and drink together. Those are the times that fill us, not just with food and drink, but with love and memories.  And that love and those memories, will outlast our life on this earth. 

Dance with joy in heaven, Mrs. Brock. I love you! Thank you for the gift of your daughter and thank you for loving me.

A Normal Day?

Before I went to bed last night our local paper, the Record and Landmark, posted on Facebook that there was a wreck near my neighborhood where two people were killed.  They did not yet have identities of those involved.  I said a quick prayer for their loved ones and those public servants who were dealing with the accident, and my next thought was "I hope it wasn't anyone I know."  Made me pause when I realized it....as though the life of someone I didn't know would have any less value and be any less of a tragedy.  I went to bed, shaking my head a bit at myself.

I go to bed and I woke up about 4 this morning with a paralyzed neck.  You know....when the pain sears through you if you move it one iota.  But you know you need to move it, and tiny micro-movement by tiny micro-movement you do it.  Ouch!   Not sure why it does this....possibly because I lay completely still and don't move it.  (And never replace my pillows as as they say you should.)  The pain, and interruption of  my sleep, was annoying and unappreciated.

I finally went back to sleep for a bit and when I woke up the next time, I just felt at peace.  My neck was still a bit stiff (still is....15 hours later), but I felt good.  And happy.  And content.  And ready to start the day.  So I did.

I signed on to my work computer and my mind started thinking about all of the things I had to get done.  While the computer was booting up, I glanced at Facebook.  It was then I found out that my friend Dorothy's husband had been one of the people who was killed in the accident.

My stomach immediately did flips (the bad kind) and it seemed to cast a surreal pall over the day.  Not only was Dorothy's life forever changed, but our community was forever changed by the loss of this bear of a man who was bold and brave and a presence wherever he went.  Woody was a world changer...and kept fighting to change it more every day.....and our world is changed without him.

Our world was no less changed, I am sure, by the other lady killed in the accident, who was a 65-year old kindergarten assistant at the elementary school up the road.  Someone still spending much of her life impacting young children.

But...today our world was also changed by the birth of another friend's grandson Ryker.  And another friend who KNEW her grandchild was going to be a boy (because Ashleys always have boys!), found out she was going to have a granddaughter.  Both events made me smile.

Today we also celebrate the first birthday of Mason, a little boy who has fought and fought for life this year.  It's also my friend Brenda's birthday.  And yesterday was the 3rd anniversary of her death.

I worked, and accomplished and got through the day.  It was a horrible day.  It was a wonderful day.  It was a normal day.  It was a day that the world rotated on its axis, but maybe with a microscopic jerk or two.  Drama happening all around us.  Moments created we will never repeat, we will never get back.  Often we don't notice them because we're not looking around... we're stiff necked and moving creates pain so we don't move.  But we must.  Because as we continue to move, life continues to happen.  The drama of life is precious and worth experiencing and celebrating.  And our time on this earth is way, way too short.  Twist that neck and notice where you are needed now.  Don't waste a moment.

A Most Lovely Love Story

"For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you,when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them."     
Psalm 139:13-16

Today is my friend Becky's birthday.  It is also the day that she buried her mother.

Becky was the youngest of four children and a "later in life" baby for her mom Rosa and her dad Guye.  When she was a teenager she made a commitment that if ever her parents were alone or in bad health, she would be their caregiver.  While a lot of teenaged promises are forgotten, Becky takes commitment seriously.  She remembered that commitment.  When her dad died and the time came, she packed up and moved from her home in Charlotte to her parent's house in her hometown.  For the past eight years she has been there, with a dedication that goes beyond what most of us can comprehend.  (Or maybe it is just selfish me that can't conceive of it.)

Becky's job is in Raleigh, which requires an hour and a half commute each way.  Add in work hours and that's a long day in itself.  Rosa has been in a skilled nursing facility for the past four years.  In this facility, there is about a 12-1 patient to caregiver ratio.  As Becky says, even with the absolute best caregivers out there, that ratio is not sufficient to give the kind of care these patients need.  So before her commute in the morning and after her commute in the evening, Becky would visit Rosa and make sure her needs were being met.  She would talk with her and try to keep her mind active.  When Rosa got so that making complete sentences on her own was difficult, she would finish those that Becky would start.  "See you later...." "....alligator."  "After a while..." "....crocodile."  "God is good....."  ".....all the time." 

Rosa's funeral was at Maple Springs United Methodist Church, a church Rosa's parents helped found.  She and Guye were pillars of that church.  They are both now buried in the cemetery on the church property.  Though Guye has been gone since 2004, he was very much a part of Rosa's funeral service.  Their lives were intertwined, their faith was intertwined, they were definitely two who became one that day they walked into town to get married all those years ago.  Their four children were with Rosa on the day she died and she held their hands and told them she loved them, and quietly slipped away to heaven.

We celebrated Rosa and Guye's lives today and we worshiped their God.  Afterwards some of Becky's friends walked over to the graveside with her, thanked God for Rosa and for Becky, then went to supper and celebrated Becky's birthday.  Some of us were strangers, some were old friends, but there was instant community.  All of us love Becky.  There was laughter, and maybe a few tears.  There was a lot of conversation....a lot of old stories.  A lot of discovery of each other.  There was talk of future fun.  There was the Happy Birthday song, a little cake and ice cream, and a candle blown out. (Twice.  Should have done it one more time so I got a picture of the lit candle.  I can be a bit slow on the draw.)

I am in awe of my friend Becky and her amazing sense of commitment to her mother, and her great gift of mercy.  I love the verse that speaks of God's knowledge of us before we were ever born.  He knew before Becky was conceived that October 6 would be the day Becky entered this world.  The days that were formed for her are not blank pages in his eyes.  He knew the content of every single one.  He knew that teenage commitment would mean eight years of total devotion and He knew that she could not do it without preparation.  Even with that preparation, there was great weariness and times she could do nothing but depend on Him to see her through.  She did and He did.
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 "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."  Lamentations 3:22-23 
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God did not forget that it was Becky's birthday this week....nor was it a coincidence that this was the week that her dear mother's spirit left this earth.  It was all allowed in God's perfect timing.  This is the birth of a new phase of Becky's life.  Once again, birthed by her mother with God's full knowledge.  As Becky's friend, as one of many who will be praying for her during this time, I look forward to see what God will do in her life next. Because she will be used by Him.  (And if one of my specific prayers is answered, she will also have some crazy fun and relaxation.)

Tonight at dinner we toasted Rosa's life with glasses of water.  It seems fitting for a lady who from all accounts lived her life purely and well.  Now as I write this, I would like to make another toast (or a prayer of sorts) to all of the caregivers out there.  Grab your glass and join me!  "To the caregivers, those by relation, by profession and by friendship.  May God grant you strength, peace, power and refreshment and may you not feel alone in your burden."  You are God's hands on earth.....and I salute you.  And I will pray for you.  You are not alone.
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"The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong, and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail."  Isaiah 58:11

Remembering Claire

Claire Mangum met my sister Deryn over the phone.  Her family was moving to Statesville and she called about an apartment and a friendship began that lasted through the rest of her life.

I met Claire on the phone, too.  A little different circumstance a few years later.  The Children's Museum was doing a Victorian Tea Party for mothers and daughters and I was asked to host the event.  Only after I agreed, was I was told I needed to dress Victorian.  Probably something that should have occurred to me from the start, but it hadn't.  Not exactly part of my wardrobe.  It put me in a panic.  I told my sister my dilemma and she said "You need to call my friend Claire.  She'll take care of you."

I hate calling people on the phone in general, really hate calling people I don't know....but to have to call a complete stranger and say "Hi, I'm Kim.  Can I borrow some clothes?"  I just couldn't imagine.  I tried to get Deryn to call for me, but she just rolled her eyes at me (anyone who knows Deryn can just see that, can't you?) and said "Here's her number, just call her.  There's no reason for me to be in the middle of it."

So I reluctantly made the call....knowing that she was going to think I was a crazy person.  But when I called, she didn't seem to think it was an odd request at all.  She said "Come on over tonight....I think I do have some things that will work."  My first meeting with her, therefore, was showing up at her house trying on clothes.  You know it's a good girlfriend if they let you borrow their clothes.... so we had that kind of relationship from the start!  Once we figured out the wardrobe, she walked me out to my car and we spent two hours standing out in her yard talking.  When I returned the clothes, same thing.  Great conversation.  Even years later we would bring up something we had talked about during that time.   

Claire was one of those people I wouldn't see for a while, then would run into out of the blue.  She seemed to change her look a lot, so sometimes I didn't even recognize her.  She always noticed me.  I'd be walking around the library, totally absorbed in the books around me.  Up would pop Claire.  With book recommendations if I was having trouble.  Walk around town, up would pop Claire.  Always, always, always, the day would be better just having seen her.  Even through the worse stresses, she found the positives.  I loved her dearly.  Odd considering we never ever seemed to get our schedules in sync to spend much time together.  Most of our encounters were by chance.

In July of 2010 Claire was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer.   I remember when she told me.  We were downtown at some event and I ran into her at Sabine's....maybe the Art Crawl?   I don't recall for sure.  But I remember looking her in the face, I remember focusing on her words, with lots of activity around me, and just being in a state of disbelief.  Claire?....she apologized that she was having to give me the news!!!!!  Made me sit down.  Then she proceeded to tell me the plan of care, and her determination and positive attitude made me know that as grim as it sounded, that Claire was going to beat this nasty stuff.  And try she did!

Claire lost her war with cancer last night, but she won so many of the battles along the way.  Since her diagnosis, Claire has done a lot of living and done a lot of loving.  You'd be exhausted to hear the list of things she did.  She ran the after school program at the Renaissance School, and did it as long as she possibly could.  It comforted her to be able to stay involved with those kids, to teach them and love on them. (What an inspiration she must have been to their lives.)  She enjoyed great quality time with her family, lots of fun time with friends.  Whenever I would see her, she would hug me and tell me she loved me.....and I would hug her and tell her that in return.  I don't think there was a moment through the whole ordeal where she didn't know how very much she was loved.  There is much beauty in that.

Claire would want me to encourage you to keep up your physicals, pay attention to your body, to talk frankly to your doctor about anything unusual that is going on with your health (even if you don't think it is real important), and most importantly to get your colonoscopy (or at the very least fecal occult tests)!!!!   I promise you if you take that nasty prep drink for your colonoscopy and use it as a toast to Claire and to life, it will make it go down a bit easier.

For years I have joked that whenever butterflies fly around my head, it makes me feel like a Disney princess.  Claire's special symbol was a butterfly.....and you know, she was just a Disney princess kind of woman.  Kind and generous, with a beautiful smile, a contagious joy, an open heart, a willing spirit, someone who loved well and often, caring more about others than she did herself.  If you were not her friend, I am convinced it was only because you never met her. And if that is the case, I am so sorry.  You missed out!

Our earth is missing some extra joy today.....and will forevermore.  Claire personified life.  As she entered heaven, I have a feeling she already knew some of the angels on a first name basis.  The others she probably knows now.  And a celebration is going on.....I'm thinking it may be to Irish music.

As I see butterflies, I will remember Claire.  When you do, too, know that it is a smile sent down from our own Disney princess, with great love and a hug especially for you.  And a reminder ...come out of that cocoon, be proud of your beautiful self, get out there and fly, and see and experience the world around you!  Life is for living.  Just like Claire did.

Joy in the Mourning

When I was in my 20s, I was a member of two singles groups in Greensboro.  The first was at Westover Church, the second Christ Community.  I first attended Westover Church when I was in my early 20s, made some of my best friends there, and then moved over to Christ Community ARP around my mid-20s, (where John Kimmons, whose parents were some of my adult friends when I was growing up, pastored) and I met some of the rest.  Both groups intermingled as we introduced friends to friends, so the numbers just grew.  Both groups were similar....full of fun people who loved God, loved people and knew the meaning of the word community.  For a lot of us, who never seemed to have any money, we used each other for things like moving, painting, eating, and cheap entertainment.  Sharing our lives and our meager stuff.  Entertainment that included dollar movies, themed parties, ballgames, general hanging out in packs, and beach retreats Memorial Day and Labor Day (50 people + 1 house = fun chaos!).  And encouraging each other.  Lots of that.  The kind of people who know you and still love you.  The kind with whom you build lifelong bonds and great memories.  Those you laugh with and cry with.  Those who cheer you on for life. 

Two of my friends during this time were Lou and Brenda.   I had friendships with each, but those friendships didn't really interconnect.  I loved them both individually and cherished my time spent with both.  When I had moved away from Greensboro and found out that they were dating, and then engaged, I was surprised ("when did that happen?"), but ecstatic.  Had not been on my radar, but it seemed so right.  They just fit. 

With all of the moves I made over the next years, I was difficult to keep up with.  Them too.  At one time we all lived in Raleigh for a brief time....had dinner one night, a few phone calls with Brenda to catch up, but busy lives took over and contact was sparse.  Then it was onto moving around again for all of us (me back to Statesville, them to Singapore and then back to Raleigh.)

Lou and I reconnected on Facebook a few years ago.  Though Brenda was never a Facebook person (she always being someone who would prefer to look you in the eye), I felt that she was back in my life again, too.  And it was on Facebook I found out about an incident that would forever change their lives.  Brenda was driving a friend to chemotherapy (because she did things like that), and for some reason drove the wrong way on an exit ramp.  The friend she was driving realized something was wrong, and told her to pull over so she could drive.  Brenda pulled into the first place she could, got out of the car to move to the passenger seat, when she fell to the ground in a seizure.  That was the beginning of the nightmare that eventually led to her death, in May 2010....the day before her 49th birthday.

My former roommate from those Greensboro years, Nancy, and I shared a lot around that time because we had a similar reaction.....it shook us to our core.  We trust God, but to no longer have the opportunity to see Brenda again on this earth was a shock.  Even those of us who hadn't seen her in a long time.  We grieved our loss.  We grieved for our friend Lou....whose heart was broken and who had so quickly lost his helpmate.  He was on our minds constantly and it was difficult to not be able to fix things for him.  We grieved for their four children, who we knew would dearly miss the woman who was maternal even before she had babies, and for whom family was second only to serving God. It was a time of sadness.

From the first moments we heard of Brenda's illness and then death, there were prayers.  That God would care for Lou and the kids.  That all of their needs would be met.  That somehow out of all of this there would be great joy.  We believed these prayers would be answered, even when it seemed like a difficult thing for God to do.  We watched and we waited, and saw Lou's heart heal little by little and life grown into a new normal for him.

Meanwhile, amongst that same group of single friends from the Greensboro years, was Amy.  I  didn't know Amy quite as well as I did Lou and Brenda, but always liked her very much.  Even though she is a Duke grad.  She was smart and funny and had a great heart.  While I had not kept up with her over the years, I found out later that she had married, adopted a couple of children (a cool story in itself), but then had also become widowed far too quickly.   She was living in Arkansas.... seemingly far away.

But as God does things, Lou and Amy ran into each other.  In the midst of each of their pain, they found the support of each other.  People who share similar experiences, but also common faith.  Sparks flew.  And this weekend they were married.  A lovely gift of joy to a couple of people who have been bruised by life.  A new family of eight created.

On one of those singles beach retreats long, long ago that I remember sitting out in the sand with my Bible and finding a Psalm that has become one of my favorites.   It's weird that it struck me so strongly at that time, since there wasn't much pain or difficulty in my life.  Even then I didn't quite understand why it meant so much.  But it was one I memorized and has come to mind lately as I think of Lou and Amy, as it has during some other poignant parts of my life.

"You turned my wailing into dancing;
   you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
 that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent.
   LORD my God, I will praise you forever."   Psa 30:11-12 (NIV)

I believe in providence.  I believe that God sends us what we need when we need it.  I believe He directs our paths, and even between Arkansas and NC He can be the magnet that brings people together.  (Even when they are State and Duke grads, who sometimes can be really hardheaded.)  As I have said in the past, I try not to pray passively.  So now, I get to acknowledge that God not only  has answered these prayers, but He did it in such a sweet way.  Once again, this wedding just seems right.  He sent Lou another member of our family....plucked from that special group of people that bonded long ago. 

Neither Lou or Amy are the silent types....and their overflowing hearts will be a beautiful thing to behold.  I can't wait to hear of the great things that will come out of the blending of their lives and their families.  So yea God!  Thanks again for a great picture of life, your way.  Thank you for caring for my dear friend Lou in such a special way, and for your provision for Amy.  Thank you for turning wailing into dancing. 

As verse 5 of the passage above said "weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning."  Let us rejoice!   I know that my friend Brenda sees the beauty in it....and in heaven is doing some dancing of her own.   Because that is the type of soul she is.