Tag Archives: God

Is happiness possible when you are picking up poop?

poop bag

I heard a message today from Joel Olsteen which really resonated.  Mr. Olsteen was giving a sermon on choosing to be happy.  He gave an example that went kind of like this, “Suppose you have a job you can’t stand, and you want something better, something different, something more fulfilling. I bet if you lost that job, went months and months without finding another job, had difficulty paying your bills, and then were offered your old job back, you would probably be happy to take it!”  Same job, but a different attitude.  His point was, most of us already have everything thing we need to be happy but often, our attitude keeps us unhappy.  This blog isn’t about Joel; it is about choosing to be happy with your circumstances.

When Joe was alive, I had all I needed, and more, to be happy.  I had a house (with working air conditioning…a VERY important happiness maker), a husband who loved me and our children, and who put himself last, two healthy children, a number of pets, three crazy fun sisters, both mine and Joe’s parents, the ability to be able to stay home, and food to eat.  I had so much more, but for illustrative purposes, these should suffice.  I was abundantly blessed.  And yet, on far more occasions than I am comfortable admitting, I grumbled, I moaned, I complained.  “Joe, I need more help with the kids!” was a frequent refrain.  Plenty of times I would yell at Laurel “How many times do I have to tell you to clean this pigsty?”  Jackson was not immune; I would get on him too.  Instead of choosing to be happy, I chose criticizing and grousing.  I focused more on the negatives, and not nearly enough on the positives.  I could have given thanks for a spouse who worked so hard, for children that were healthy and relatively happy.  I should have been thrilled I was a parent, when so many people are unable to conceive.

Please don’t think I am championing some unobtainable, utopian pipe dream where all is peace, love, and harmony.  We are all going to lose our temper, get frustrated over the dog poop on the floor that no one but you seems to notice, and maybe we just feel argumentative sometimes.  I get it!  I still have days where nothing seems to go right and I want to yell, or punch something (and a pillow just will not work!).  But, more often than not, I am learning to choose happiness.

I have mentioned in previous blogs my unwavering belief that God produces good from bad.   He will always triumph over darkness.  I do not believe God punishes us or gets our attention by making us sick, killing our loved ones, or any other catastrophic method in order to accomplish His means.  Honestly, if you are a parent, or if you know a toddler, would you place their little hand on a hot stove to illustrate not to touch the glowing burner?  Obviously not; it is obscene.  Given the unending and magnificent love God as parent has for us, do you really think He would cause us pain on the magnitude of death or sickness in order to teach us to appreciate what we have?  Absurd!

Could God have healed Joe, or stopped the heart attack before it ever began?  Clearly.  But He did not, and I will probably never understand the why nots of that while I live here on earth, nor is that relevant for me.  God has created positives by encouraging me to seek happiness over discontentedness.  He sends reminders in the form of radio broadcasts, illustrating that attitude is most often the key factor in choosing to celebrate amongst the midst of the chaotic, churning free fall called life.

Losing Joe continues to remind me life with loved ones is never long enough and I want to treasure my time with them rather than focus on perceived shortcomings.  I want to be happy I have a dog, rather than be irritated I am the one who sees (and scoops) the poop.  I want to celebrate my fortune I can stay home and drive Jackson to school rather than whine because he doesn’t yet have his license.  I especially want to be happy I have two children who I love, rather than berate the testosterone fueled manboy (thanks Laura for the word) because he thinks of hundreds (or so it seems) of ways to “jokingly” call me stupid each and every day!  My prayer for you is if you are not already living each day choosing contentment,  you can learn, before a loved one dies, to be happy with the blessings life bestows.

(It IS possible to be happy while picking up poop, but it does help if you carry a bag!)

Cracked Pitchers and glue

via Google images

via Google images

As the first day of  Joe’s death merged into the first evening and I was alone with my thoughts, I began to ruminate on Joe’s and my marriage.  Round and round, in a seemingly endless loop I replayed situations where I ignored Joe, wanting my “alone time,” moments where I could, and should have thanked him and failed to do so, times when I yelled at him for not helping out enough with the kids and other less than admirable moments.  Basically, I had a tape relentlessly torturing me with my failures as a wife, and there was no stop button with which to end the pain.

Intermingled with my vignettes of failure, and causing the pain to pierce more deeply and with such precision I knew my heart had been punctured and my blood was running free and stealing my peace as it abandoned the heart, were scenes in which Joe had the starring role.  I saw Joe kissing me on the top of my head as he passed by,  Joe regularly and fervently whispering to me “You are SO beautiful” (and although I laughed at him, I surely did feel beautiful in those moments),  Joe as “Daddy”: being at Jackson’s soccer and basketball games and encouraging him (“Run Jackson, run!”, “That’s it!”, “Shoot the ball Son, shoot the ball!”), and Joe, chanting the requisite responsive cheers at Laurel’s competitions and later, hugging her, always telling her she did great regardless of whether her team won or lost.

By the time the sun’s first weak rays broke through the blackness of night, I was a broken, useless vessel.  I was alive, in so much as much as my heart continued to beat in regular rhythm, but I existed as a cracked milk pitcher exists, unable to perform the function for which it was created.  I was overflowing with self-loathe and recriminations, to the point I could do nothing but cry silent tears of anguish as I slumped over the desk having attempted, but failed to begin the practicalities of  burying my husband.

As the tears flowed, the ringing of the phone disturbed the morning’s stillness and I grabbed at it so the children would not be woken.  I heard my sister Kathy ask me if I was ok, and as I tried to explain how badly I failed as Joe’s wife, I was choked by the volume of tears that overtook me and made it impossible to speak.  Kathy began to tell me it was ok, I was not a bad wife,  Joe loved me, and other banalities we feel compelled to say when there really is nothing to say.  And then she told me something which, didn’t stop the tears but did stem them.  She asked me a question, “Cindy, what do you think was the first thing Shannon said to me after Dennis died?”  I knew Shannon had lost her husband a few years back after caring for him for years during his illness.  I couldn’t think of what she would have said and told Kathy so; Kathy responded, Shannon said, “I was a terrible wife.”  I was floored!

After ascertaining she was not making this up in an attempt to help me stop crying, I began a lengthy process of realizing I was not a horrid wife, and Joe did love me; indeed, he treasured me.  It didn’t make the pain go away altogether but it lessened some of the guilt crushing me and enabled me to move forward.  I decided to try to relax with a bath while waiting for Kathy to come over and help me with various details.

The children were still asleep, or at least not up and about, and I was sitting in the bathtub reflecting on what Kathy had told me, grieving the loss of Joe, while tears slipped down my cheeks.  The shower curtain was partially, but not fully closed, to allow light into the tub.  As I was pondering, I heard Joe speak; he was just behind the curtain.  He quietly said, “You will be all right; you are strong.”  Silently I told him I would NOT be ok, and that I was a horrible wife!  He lovingly reassured me, “Puddyhead o’ mine, you were a fine wife!”  I had to laugh among the tears; Joe was the only person who EVER called me puddyhead (he gave me the nickname; I will share the details later for those who don’t know them, and he only called me “puddyhead o’ mine” when he was in a particularly good mood.  Joe’s words took my cracked and useless self and glued me back together; it wasn’t seamless but it held up under pressure.

God sent Joe to me in my darkest time, to give me the comfort He knew I needed from Joe, and the reassurance that Joe was with Him, and was in a great mood!  I treasure that visit, and it wasn’t my only one.  I will blog later on my nighttime visit with Joe and my big blowout with God.  Stay tuned and stay thankful.

God, Grief, and Cough Drop Wrappers!

Image via Google

Image via Google

I would probably (maybe definitely) “turn back the hands of time” as the song goes and have Joe back with us, and yet there is a part of me which understands I am becoming (I hope) a wiser, kinder and more faithful person through the process of grief. I don’t really like the idea that sadness can produce benefits because I do not enjoy pain, but I am growing through my travels with my companion, Grief.  Sometimes Grief is enough steps behind me that I think I have lost him, and then he runs up beside me and taps me on the shoulder to remind me he is still with me. There are moments I am carrying Grief, cradling him, and days when the sun is so bright I cannot see him. But Grief is a constant, and I am learning to slow down, listen, and respect the lessons he is teaching.

God is also a constant presence and has held me so tightly, and at the same time, so gently in His hands that I can only worship Him and say Thank you; thank you for holding me up when my legs will no longer support my weight, for prompting a friend to pray for me and then text me to let me know, for surrounding me with the love of family, friends, and truly special and blessed people of the preschool, and for giving me answers before I knew the questions.

I may be slightly morbid; Laurel accuses me of being preoccupied with death and dying. I was planning my own funeral years ago, just to “be on the safe side.”  One early morning as I was leaving for work, I guess it was about 15 years ago or so, I saw what might have been a  small explosive device on the street ahead of me.  Joe would be leaving shortly with Laurel, and I knew I had a choice; I could drive over the device and sacrifice myself for my husband and small child, or I could drive around it and save myself.  As mentioned, I may be somewhat morbid (and I definitely have one hell of an imagination)!

The reason for sharing the above is this, and I think it is important.  I believe God knows what will happen, can change it, and yet seldom does (for reasons He alone understands) and yet, because He loves us unfailingly, tries to prepare us, hampered only by the limits of  our human understanding.

I had gone to a memorial service a few weeks before Joe died, and afterwards found myself reflecting on how meaningful the service was.  I wanted to incorporate aspects of that service into my funeral service (as I wrote above…a wee bit morbid).  I never thought of Joe’s funeral; even though he complained (all the time!) of being tired and not feeling that great, I just figured he would live longer than me.  And to really be honest, I never dreamed I would be particular about funeral details of another person (Hello, who was I kidding?  I am a Virgo!)  But when Joe died, his service and the particulars of it became very important.  I took those aspects of that memorial I attended that I thought were particularly meaningful and incorporated them into Joe’s service.  And garnered real peace from them too.  I believe that perhaps God, knowing the peace I would receive from the details,  spoke to me through that memorial service.

This will be hard to believe for some of you (smile), but Joe and I did not have the smoothest path in love.  In fact, it was filled with bumps and sharp curves!  And he had always traveled, for the 25 years we knew each other.  So we didn’t always say good bye when he left; we knew he would be back in a few days.  And often, we forgot to say “I love you” as he left.  But the day before THAT day, I was at the door as he left, and with a quick peck, I said “I love you.”  I am thankful Joe heard those words as he went on his way and I believe God pushed me to that door (because I was probably either watching a DVR’ed show I loved, or cleaning the house and feeling very busy) so I would have one less thing to regret (cause there have been many things although I am working with some success on not beating myself up on something I can no longer change).

Note to others, and with no preaching intended because I have been there: life can be shorter than you anticipate and when your partner/child/friend is gone, those dirty clothes on the floor, or cough drop wrappers on the floor next to the trash can because he/she is such a bad shot or in such a hurry they can’t pick it up (damn, I miss those wrappers), or whatever other habit drives you crazy, will seem childish to you that it ever bothered you.  But, ok, even after such a lesson, I am still working on not letting the small stuff drive me crazy (like needing the sheets and blankets to be perfectly balanced and smooth; Laurel knows what I’m talking about!)

Here are a couple more examples for you.  Laurel did a really dumb thing (as we all are prone to do), and she lost her Resident Advisor job as a sophomore.  Because of that, she lived at her Granny’s, beside us; I mean, I forgave her but didn’t think she should be rewarded with an apartment!  Because she was at home, she had two years most college students wouldn’t, snuggling with her Dad on the couch watching tv, going to ‘Canes games, having Friday lunch dates, and in general, soaking up his wisdom.

Remember I told you Joe had always traveled?   Well, about three-four months before April, Joe wasn’t traveling quite as much.  This coincided with my requests (i.e. demands) he help out more with Jackson, and Joe began taking Jackson to school almost every morning.  Now Jackson considers himself quite the audiophile, and he really is, but he had nothing on Joe!  Joe was in a band in his late teens (and maybe early 20’s), composed songs, played guitar, and with his remarkable memory, probably remembered the year, artist and song title of almost every song he heard.  So Jackson and Joe played what I call “the music game” on the way to school, and so for that three-four months, Jackson was able to quiz Joe over and over again.  It was special moments between the two of them.  (Jackson tries very hard to play this game with me, but I am no fun because even after he tells me multiple times an artist’s name, never mind the name of the song and forget about the year, I cannot remember any of it!  He is currently seeking replacement musical genius’s!)

Eight or so years ago (Joe was the keeper of dates), I mentioned to Joe’s Mom to let me know if the house behind her, or the one beside her, went on the market.  Especially the one next to her in the cul-de-sac!  She said she would, but that she was pretty sure the one next door would not go on the market because the couple was fixing it up, and seemed to really like the neighborhood.  Five days later, they went to her to let her know they were selling the house.  She and Papa agreed to loan money to Joe and I so we could put a non-contingent offer on the house and we were the proud owners of two homes.  Our home sold in five days!  Alton and Ginger had eight years of being able to see their son every day he was in town!  Praise God!

Janet and Chuck were Jackson’s mentors for church confirmation.  Jackson really admires Chuck, who is an FBI agent, and Chuck has been a great male role model for Jackson, especially since Joe’s death.  Both Janet and Chuck have supported our family and in particular Jackson for the last two years.  When Joe died, they were there for Jackson, Laurel, and me.  Sadly and unexpectedly, they lost their 25 year old son in a car accident almost two months after Joe died.  Amazingly (to me),  Janet said the way I handled myself, and Joe’s service, was an example for Alex’s service.  I think God used Joe’s service to give her guidance she would need.

God always works for good (although we are not always able to understand).

Broken hearts and Big hearts

I led Laurel into the preschool, directly to Penny’s office, and as I walked, tears began to slide down my cheeks.   Penny came over, shut the door, and immediately embraced us.  I can’t remember if I voiced the worst, or if she could read the truth in our faces, but she began to cry with us.  She called the minister of the preschool’s church, and asked if she could call our home church with the news.  Soon, we had two ministers by our sides, but there was no relief from the pain.  To be honest, I can not recall any words spoken by either of them; just that each of them prayed with us.

Besides emailing our Sunday School class earlier, asking for prayers, I had also requested prayers on my Facebook page.  I began to imagine well-intentioned friend after friend commenting on my post and asking for updates; I knew I would begin to crack, and then shatter, into sharp, piercing shards, such that I would never be able to put myself back together if I had to answer those queries.  In an attempt to forestall more pain, without any other thought, I changed my FB status to “Please pray for my children and in-laws (and me) in the loss of our Joe.”  It did not begin to occur to me family members might read my words, and learn of Joe’s death from Facebook; I was on autopilot.  Indeed, our beloved nephew, who lives in San Francisco, regretfully did receive the news in this most impersonal and inappropriate way.  Winston, I am so sorry about this; I am sad you read about Joe, rather than have a family member call you.  (You know, Joe would NEVER had made this mistake but I bet he would not be surprised I did!)

Luckily, God took over for me, and had my sister Vicky call me about that time for an update.  She immediately took charge, and began calling family with the news.  I think she probably called everyone on my side of the family.  Penny took charge at work, and drove Laurel and I to my mother in law’s office; I did not want Ginger or Alton (my father in law) to have to drive.  Penny then drove us all home, and stayed all afternoon.  My sister Kathy showed up soon after and she began dealing with incoming phone calls.  My Dad arrived and enveloped me in a hug of warmth and security that only a father can provide.  One of my coworkers also arrived and stayed all day; her husband arrived later to provide his support.

Someone (I am sorry I can not remember who, but thank you) drove Alton and me to Jackson’s school.  I had called ahead to let them know the situation and when I arrived, they led me straight into the principal’s office and got Jackson.  Those that know Jackson may understand when I write that I was unsure how he would react; he surprises me at times by either over, or under reacting and I wasn’t sure which I would get this time.  As soon as he saw me, he asked me irritably what I was doing at school.  I explained that his Dad had a heart attack earlier in the day, and didn’t make it.  Jackson, with angry desperation insisted I was joking.  I quietly told him I wasn’t, and as the news began to register with him, he said not another word, as choking sobs overtook him.   I led him to the car, where Papa (Alton) sat waiting for him.  My heart, which was already in pain at losing my partner broke when faced with the despair of my children in losing their Daddy.

Although our hearts were broken, beginning immediately after the news of Joe’s death, and continuing through the memorial service, my family was upheld with selfless acts of kindness and petitions of prayer for the strength which only God can provide.  We did not have to think about food; there was more than enough.  The prayers were answered in a most powerful way; I was filled with spiritual strength which allowed me to put one foot in front of the other and move forward, and take one breath after another when what I wanted to do was crawl into bed and just wait until the nightmare ended.