Waterfalls

We stopped in the middle of the wooden bridge and leaned on the railing, taking in the breathtaking sight. The slight mist in the air wrapped around us, inviting us into the moment, as we watched the water cascading before us. It was beautiful, majestic, persistent and powerful. The water dropped heavily and noisily into a churning, foamy pool below. At the bottom of that waterfall, it was complete chaos. And that kind of chaos is where this story begins...

It was Friday evening. I arrived home from a stressful week at work with nothing on my mind but escaping into some TV crime drama with witty banter and a problem that is solved within an hour. That is not the evening that followed.

Around noon that day we'd had our oil tank filled, and sometime between then and our arrival in the evening, the tank's legs had given out and it tipped over, shearing off the valve and pouring every drop onto the floor. Our basement floor had a drain in it and the majority of the oil began arriving at the wastewater treatment plant well before we knew any of this was happening.

$900 of oil. Gone. And we hadn't even paid for it yet.

That tank might as well have fallen directly on me from the weight I felt. And the darkness. I felt dizzy and sick - at first simply because of the waste of $900. I had no idea how long this dark tunnel was going to be.

I learned a lot of lessons within the first few days of this.

1. People you consider friends may refuse your request for help when disaster strikes, if helping is inconvenient for them.

2. People you think are allies may turn on you when you most need them to be understanding.

3. People you think are your enemies may surprise you by not trying to capitalize on your disaster.

4. And people you don't even know may just surprise you in ways you could never imagine.

I'll only tell one of those stories.

I was at work when I got a call from the chief of police. Already feeling defeated and terrified about what was happening and all its unknowns, I listened with dread to what he had to say. I knew my spill had affected -and angered - one neighbor, so my mind raced ahead of his words, assuming something else had gone wrong; someone else had complained. He introduced himself and said he was proud to serve as chief of police in our community. He said as the chief of police, the concerns of the people in his community become his concerns. My heart was sinking with every word. I was sure this was leading somewhere very bad. Someone he cared about was angry.  He went on to say that he'd heard about our oil spill and that he and some of his "friends in the community" were concerned about our family. Did they think our kids weren't safe? I only heard every few words for a moment while I felt a waterfall hitting me relentlessly, depriving me of oxygen. Until he said something I'll never forget: "we would like to help you - and send you some oil when your tank is ready."

I was suddenly drowning under waves of various powerful emotions: relief that I wasn't in some kind of trouble; astonishment that someone who knew nothing about us wanted to help; gratitude for the unexpected show of concern for our well-being; and an unfamiliar sense of belonging and acceptance in our community.

There were other good things that have happened - and are still happening - in this story. But I hold on to that moment as confirmation that there really are good people in this world.

And they are not always where you expect to find them.

Bloomers. An Ugly Duckling Story

My husband pointed above our heads as we walked outside. Somehow, when I wasn't noticing, our pink dogwood tree had filled our front yard with the cheerful promise of spring. It seemed that, just yesterday, it was nothing but empty, brown branches. Being busy with everyday life and walking with my head down in a gloomy fog, I had failed to notice that winter had departed and the cure for my cabin fever had arrived at last. As a matter of fact, many other beautiful colors had been sneaking into the local landscape as well. If I had not looked around at reality, I might still be walking with my head down, sulking in winter misery, while spring passed by.

For reasons I won't get into, I pulled out my yearbooks the other evening and looked at my photos. And then I started to cry. Of course, I did attend high school in the 80's...

This was supposed to make me feel better about myself. I was planning to post those pics on Facebook, with the caption "in high school I always thought I was ugly, but that girl is not ugly." I did not get the reassurance I was looking for. As a matter of fact, one of the pictures was partially obscured by a big "X" over it and a mean word. Who would do that in someone's yearbook? Of course, there is a distinct possibility that it was me.

Yeah, I wasn't one of the "beautiful people." I had zero confidence in myself. I had terrible hair that did not respond well to all the perms, feathering, and teasing required for 80's popularity. I didn't stand up straight because I was too tall and too thin. I had actually been called Olive Oyl more than a few times, which was horribly inaccurate because she had straight hair.

I hid behind my friends. They probably never knew that I secretly thought they were better than me. Prettier. More popular. More fun to be around.

I had bullies.

Looking at those pictures took me back in a powerful way. I was flooded with the same feelings of inadequacy and longing that I had then, even though I am different now. Different on the outside, thankfully, but also different on the inside. I'm more comfortable with who I am. I don't hide anymore.

To be honest, once in a while I still feel the need to compare myself to the beautiful people. After the yearbook fiasco, I confided in someone who knew me then. Someone ten years younger than me, who did not know what ugly duckling I was talking about. Someone who assured me that, during those awkward years of feeling like I didn't measure up, she was looking up to me, thinking I was "the coolest, most beautiful teenager."

She is so much smarter than me. :-)

If I Were God

Trees were down everywhere. Some were uprooted completely, their massive roots leaving gaping holes in the earth. Some were snapped in two from the unbridled fury of winds the night before. The trees that were spared had been stripped of their leaves and some of their branches. The trails I had become accustomed to were littered with new obstacles. The air was silent - no squirrels or birds chittering from above, no rustling of leaves from small rodents on the ground. It was the eerie aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. Though destructive and powerful, the storm was not fueled by anger or vengeance. It did not have a vendetta against these trails and the wildlife that lives there. Nature has no malice or evil intent. Not like humans.

I've been asking some tough questions about God lately, most of them beginning with why? Why does He let evil prevail? Why doesn't He protect His children from harm? Why doesn't He seem to answer prayer? Why is He silent? Why does He stand by while people mock Him? And the biggest one: Does He really care?

Those questions continue to go unanswered, but in asking them, I have come to the conclusion that my issue is not necessarily disappointment with God, but disappointment with people. Think about it...

The reason I became frustrated with church was because of people.

The evildoers and mockers - people.

The unanswered prayers? If I'm honest, many of them come back to people. Lord, change their heart.

If I were God, I would probably do things differently. If someone mocked me, I would strike them down with lightening. If someone threatened the people I love, I would turn their evil upon themselves. My responses to evil would be very theatrical, like the superheroes in movies who get the audience cheering and laughing when they take down the villains. Wouldn't anybody do that?

If I were God, I would not have infinite patience to wait and let things run their course, knowing the end from the beginning and seeing the good in the face of the bad and knowing how my power not only can defeat evil but has defeated it. But then maybe I would, because I would be God and only God can do that.

Only God can still care about us when we don't deserve it. Only God gives us infinite chances to find Him and the redemption only He can give. Only God can love the unlovable.

Mere humans aren't that pure. We all fail. We all disappoint. So maybe I walk into church and someone makes me feel unwelcome. That is not a reflection of me or my value. It is a reflection of their human inadequacies.

Maybe someone says or does something cruel to me in anger. That is not a reflection of my worth, but of their own struggle for control, or even self-control.

Maybe my struggles contribute to someone else's disappointment in me.

We are all on a journey. We all have struggles and we all have sins. I need to learn to let other people be who they are, to not take things personally, to continue being who I am no matter what storms are raging around me. And I need to remember that God cares enough to be patient with me.

Muddy Banks

Sean climbed onto the bank to explore while I waited in the raft. The moment he stood up, his feet slipped out from under him and he landed on the muddy bank, sliding back down into the water. I watched him struggle to get his footing until he was able to pull himself back onto land. Keeping a watchful eye on him as he explored, I drifted close to shore in the raft, listening to the rippling of the water and the rest of the family playing downstream. It was just a day at the creek with the family. Just a day of catching crayfish and splashing and exploring. Just a day of making memories...

Quite often when I think of my family, I feel like it's us against the world. My oldest just reached his seventeenth birthday and I am starting to realize these days are numbered. Soon he will be an adult and will set out to make new memories with his own family. Of course, I'll want to share in those memories also - how fun it will be to take a multi-generational camping trip and tell stories to my grandchildren about when their daddy was little and used to call chicken nuggets "nummy guggies"...

I'm getting ahead of myself...

When I was growing up we had Christmas Eve at my Aunt Patricia's house every year. It was a fun time. My mom was one of six kids and all who were able would attend with their families. I would play with my cousins, my mom and aunts would sit around the dining room table playing board games or card games or word games - and get quite boisterous - while the men would stand in the kitchen or sit in the living room chatting about whatever men talk about.  I remember little details: mini cherry cheesecakes, punch with sherbet in it, my uncle Billy pretending not to like kids but not really fooling us some of us...

My niece and I have talked many times recently about those Christmas Eves and discussed our mutual wish that we could bring everyone back together and just do it again. One little visit to the place of our fondest memories - the center of a large, fun-loving family.

A few weeks ago I traveled to South Carolina to be with my relatives for a different kind of reunion. We were there to mourn the tragic loss of my cousin Vickie. It was a sad time and not at all the kind of family reunion my niece and I had talked about.

I realized while I was there that I had not seen most of this family since my dad passed away 16 years ago. Part of my visit was a complete immersion in memories and a sense of belonging that I had forgotten about. The other part of the visit was an odd outsider feeling, as though I was a spectator in someone else's life. Same experience as my last South Carolina trip, I suppose, but stronger. Even though I can't return to them, it was nice to be reminded of those special memories that were made as I was growing up. Those memories that were "just another day" back when they were being made...