Showing posts from May, 2011

Don't Cry For Me, Argentina


Don’t Cry for Me, Argentinaplayed softly in the background. It seemed like every time I turned on the radio the song was playing. It must have been a warning I didn't pay close enough attention to. I took a deep breath, swallowed my initial response to my husband's announcement and replied with a lot less emotion than I felt. 
“Argentina? It’s only been a year since we moved to Arizona.”
“I know, but I’ve been doing some research, and a lot of retirees are moving out of the country for economic reasons. Countries, like Argentina, are less expensive to live in than the US, and right now the peso is running three to one – US dollars. We would have three times the income down there.”

“But, what about the government, the cultural differences, the language?”
“Sweetheart, they have a very stable government, the country is breathtaking and the people are very friendly. I know because Joan’s mother just retired there and she is living very well on only her Social Security. Not on…


My tormentors strike when I am most vulnerable, early in the morning while I am still hovering between sleep and wakefulness. They go after the old wounds that have never completely healed, re-writing the original story, embellishing the worst moments, digging deeper into the tender flesh. These demons have many names: Heartbreak and Betrayal, Fear and Anxiety, Should Have / Could Have, If Only and What If.
On this particular morning, Heartbreak and Betrayal slunk into my room. Scene after scene played out of past, present and future anguish. Through a senseless misunderstanding my close friend, Deidre*, and I argued, then stopped speaking. I wanted to reach out, to somehow mend the rift, but she would not return my calls. If we accidentally met on the street or in a store, she turned her back and walked away.

It was then the Great Accuser entered, followed immediately by Guilt. This Judge and Jury accused me of allowing Jealousy, Pride and Selfishness to thwart my efforts at reconc…

Love Is….

The instruction book said it would only take five minutes. I looked up at the darkening sky, the freshening wind and repeated, “Only five minutes.....”

After a full day of moving, I really wanted a hot shower and to climb into a clean bed, but my husband decided winterizing the RV at the same time we pulled it into storage would save a trip.

I took a deep breath. Okay, I can do this.

Bill leaned closer to the valves. “Now which way do the switches go?”

I repeated what the book said, then added. “To pump the antifreeze through the lines all the water taps must be opened. When the antifreeze begins to come out of the tap, there is enough in the lines to prevent freezing.”

“Okay, I’ll get the hose hooked up to the valves. You go open the faucets.”

Tucking the instruction manual under my arm, I bent into the wind and raced around the trailer to the back door. Inside, I opened the kitchen faucet – and groaned. Water poured out, a lot of water, which of course ran down the drain and into …

Come Into the Light

In the dream golden light filled the church sanctuary and moved slowly down the center aisle. Responding to a gentle urging, I stepped into the soft glow and was joined by two close friends. 

An infinite crowd stretched beyond our sight into absolute darkness, an eternity of yearning, terrified faces, afraid of being judged unworthy and rejected.

I spoke. “Don’t be afraid. This isn’t meant for only a few. This is for everyone. You are invited, regardless of your past. Remember, because of Him you are forgiven. Join us. Come into the Light.”

The radiance faded. The dream ended.

I slipped from bed to my knees. “Dear Father in heaven bring those sad, scared faces to You. Offer them encouragement, give them strength. Help me to help them. Make me your instrument.”

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I …


Mother’s Day. As with everyone else I have been thinking of my mother , reminiscing of all the times she stood beside me, encouraged me and comforted me, especially during the crises of divorce and widowhood. However, one event stands out from all others.  

November 1, 2001 Mother collapsed with a brain aneurysm. My dad rushed her to the hospital. Doctors did not have good news. Mother had only a twenty-five percent chance of survival. A Medic-Vac flight was called. Neurosurgeons were altered and waiting in another town a hundred miles away. We were told not to get our hopes up. Mother might not live through the flight.

During the two and half hour drive to the other hospital, my dad planned Mother's funeral. He told us which dress he wanted her to wear and which scriptures he wanted read. He talked about what he’d do afterward, whether he would stay in the house or move. I prayed –begged- God not to take my mother. I held out for a miracle.

My sister lived near the hospital an…