Angels Among Us - Revisited

My husband and I took our Brittany, Cooper, to a snake avoidance class 2 1/2 hours from home. On the drive we played some music CDs. One of the first songs to play was, I Believe in Angels. It reminded me of a time when an angel appeared to me when I needed one the most. I thought others might enjoy a rerun too. 

This originally posted in January of 2012

Angels Among Us 

A friend sent me a beautiful image of an angel with the caption: An Angel to Watch Over You. It reminded me of another time I was given an angel.

 I had not expected the removal of my late husband's name from our joint checking account to be as monumental as planning the memorial or arranging for the burial, but it was. This last task was the final erasure of our life together, only a few mementos and memories would remain.  I barely managed to maintain my composure as I signed the last document.

The bank representative asked me, "Did you come alone?

"Yes."

"I can see how difficult this was, and I am concerned for you."

"I'm okay."

"Well, I don't think you should be alone. You need a companion, someone to watch over you, and be with you."

Turning, she pulled a small pin from her jacket  and handed it to me. "Here, take this angel with you. It was given to me during a difficult moment in my life, and I would like to pass it on to you."

"Oh, no I can't accept that. I don't want to take your angel."

"Take it. It was meant to be passed onto others.  Take it, you need it more at this moment than I do. When and if I need another angel, one will be provided, just as this  one was."

I accepted her gift, and left the bank with my small treasure securely pinned to my coat lapel. Through the woman's kindness my entire day turned from one of unimaginable sorrow to one filled with hope. Every time I looked at the small pin, I thought of her and her kindness to a stranger, a reminder of God's promise to be with us, always.

Several years later my sister-in-law, my late husband's sister, was diagnosed with late stage breast cancer. I recounted the story of the angel, and gave Shari the pin. Shari passed away two years later, and I don't know where that pin is now. Hopefully it was passed on to someone who needed that little extra touch of kindness, the reminder we do not go through these sorrows alone.

After hearing my story about my treasured pin, my sweet daughter gave me another made from Black Hills gold. This little angel reminds me there are angels among us, disguised as co-workers, family members, daughters, friends, and bank representatives, ready to reach out and touch our lives with unexpected kindness, offering us hope and comfort when we need it the most. May God bless them as much as they have blessed us.

Permission to Be Happy

Photo by Stefan Nyffenegger at Pixabay

This time of year, people are happier than any other season. We see it everywhere in small kindnesses, cheerful greetings, and happy faces, except perhaps Black Friday. Yes, I’ve heard the horror stories, but more than any other time of year we have hope of good things to come.

For God to right all wrongs.

For our families will be healed and brought closer together.

For an end to violence and hatred.

For all of us to share in God’s abundance.

We’ve all been in those dark places where there seemed to be no hope. Then, a scripture passage, the kind word of a stranger, or the prayers of family and friends gave us hope of a better tomorrow. We only needed to hang on a little longer.  

Psalm 27 was among my morning devotions.

“The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? The Lord is the protector of my life: of whom shall I be afraid? I believe to see the good things of the Lord in the land of the living. Expect the Lord, do manfully, and let thy heart take courage, and wait thou for the Lord.”

Psalm 27: 1-2, 13-14

That passage has brought me through many dark hours.

I once read a meme about the proverbial half empty or half full glass. I liked the author’s take. It didn’t matter whether it was half full or half empty because the glass can be refilled. 

And so can our hearts.

Thank you, Lord, for giving us the gift of your Son and the hope his presence brings. Amen.

The Miracle Turkey

Photo by SJ Baren on Unsplash

This Thanksgiving my husband and I are thankful for many things, especially my recovery and cure from breast cancer. Hard to believe we will celebrate my two year anniversary this coming January. 

We also are blessed and thankful to have such a beautiful home, loving family, and good friends. 

The list goes on, but these are the topmost.

This year, besides listing the things I'm most thankful for, I want to pull a story from the archives and share this once again. Although this incident did not occur on Thanksgiving, it did involve a turkey and even after twenty some years I can't look at one without thinking of this miracle.  God does indeed clothe us, pay our bills, and does the extraordinary through the very ordinary.

My late husband had been laid off for weeks. My part-time job and his unemployment benefits barely met our basic necessities. With three kids still at home our grocery bill was bigger than our house payment and that week we were flat broke with several more days to payday. Things looked pretty grim with a bare pantry.

As I drove home, I remembered this story. 

A flood ravaged a small community, forcing many residents onto their roofs to await rescue. One man looked at the water already lapping against his ankles and realized he couldn't wait too much longer to be rescued. Desperate, he cried out to God to rescue him. God promised He would.

 A rescue helicopter appeared and lowered a rope. A rescuer yelled down for the man to grab the rope and they would hoist him up to safety. The man waved them off. God was going to rescue him and he didn’t need the helicopter. The crew shook their heads at the man’s foolishness and moved off.

Two men came by in a row boat and offered to take him with them. The man refused their help also, again stating God was going to rescue him.

A surge of water swept the man off the roof and he drowned. Standing before God he asked why He hadn’t saved him as He had promised.

God replied, “I sent you a helicopter and a row boat, what more did you want?”                                                                                                                 

Author Unknown

Whatever God sent my way, by whatever means, I would not decline the offer. I would look for and accept a helicopter or a row boat, but I didn't expect Him to send a turkey.

A twenty pound turkey, thawed and ready to cook, sat in my kitchen sink. I really didn't believe it just materialized out of thin air. Someone had to put it there, and only one person outside my family who had a key to the house, my mother.

I called her, and listened to a story almost as amazing as if the bird had suddenly materialized out of nothing.

The freezer belonging to a woman on the other side of town malfunctioned. She was able to salvage most of the food by either cooking it or transferring to the small freezer in her refrigerator, except for the twenty pound turkey. She offered it to a neighbor. The neighbor accepted it, but passed it to a friend. That friend decided she didn't want it and passed it on to someone else.

This was repeated over and over until the bird crossed town and landed at my mother's doorstep. My dad hated turkey, but Mother knew my family and I loved it. She brought it down to the house and set it in my sink just before I arrived.

I marveled at the timing. It was early afternoon and I had plenty of time to cook the large bird. As with the feeding of the five-thousand, we not only had enough for dinner, but enough to last  for several days until the next paycheck.

Since that miracle, whenever I'm faced with difficult circumstances, I think of helicopters, rowboats, and turkeys - for truly nothing is impossible with God. 

Why Me and Not Others?

Original Photo by Cecilia Marie Pulliam

I am sitting on the front porch looking out over the canyon, listening to the creek and songbirds, quail and dove. The tangy scents of pine, sage and wet grass tinge the air. Sunlight and shadows dance among the trees and along the lawn. No human noise mars the peacefulness. I can stay for as long as my heart desires. There is no early morning commute or a long list of chores.

I’ve dreamed of this all my life.

But one thought clouds the moment. I don’t deserve it. Any of it.

Why me? Why has God given me visions and dreams, promising the last half of my life would be better than the first? What have I done to deserve these wonderful gifts?

Yes, I have known deep sorrow, but who hasn’t?

My devotions this morning stated God sends sanctuaries to the weary, giving them rest. Is that what this is? My sanctuary after a lifetime of struggle?

Perhaps I am to use this quiet time for art, writing and prayer. But will sharing those make any difference to anyone else?

I may never know the answers, at least not in this life, but I can be thankful and not question His judgment. Many others have asked the question,“Why me?”, and I must remember God sees things differently than us, and He doesn’t make mistakes.

“The Lord rules me: and I shall want nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures: he leads me beside the still waters.” Psalm 23:1-2.

Amen.

Happy Valentine's Day, Sweetheart

For the first few years of marriage, my husband and I followed all the usual traditions, but as we aged, we found other ways of saying, “I love you.” 

When he repeats the same story, I listen as if hearing it for the first time. I make the bed, cook his favorite foods, and clean the kitchen without complaining. When he leaves his used napkin beside his chair, I pick it up without announcing it. 

We both take turns getting up with the puppy and letting the other one sleep. One of us offers to do the chore we both hate — with a smile. We don’t say cruel things when we’re angry and think the best when it looks the worst. 

The list goes on, encompassing a lifetime of little things that all add up to one big, “I love you.”

As the marriage vows state, we love and cherish each other through lost jobs, health challenges, forgetfulness, and sometimes feeling taken for granted. 

Words are important too. I tell my husband I love him, admire him, respect him, and appreciate all the things he does for our welfare. I say it often, not just now and then. He tells me the same. We are a partnership, built on mutual respect and admiration for the other’s abilities and contributions. 

Today we won’t go out to dinner. We’d rather eat at home, away from the crowds. We

won’t exchange cards. Instead, we will restate our love in the kitchen over coffee. We will spend the day doing our usual things, peppered with touches, kisses, and long conversations. For us, Valentine’s is every day.

St. Paul and Three Christmas Miracles

I think of Saint Paul often.  He thought of himself as the lesser Apostle, not worthy of being called an Apostle. I feel the same unworthiness being called a child of God. I recount my failings in an endless cycle I can’t seem to stop.

  

While the Apostle often speaks of his transgressions and weaknesses, he also exhorts God’s mercy. God forgave all of his sins, including the persecution and murder of the Church, and called him to be an Apostle.

This same mercy also applies to my sins. Yet I still fall into an all too familiar state of wretchedness, which seems to escalate during the holidays.

Christmas day, I struggled with wanting to go to church and dreading going alone. I decided to put my personal issues aside and attend.

 A woman walking just ahead of me, stopped and said, “Good morning.”

I smiled. “Good morning. I see you’re going alone too.”

She nodded. “Yes. Shall we go alone, together?”

My smile broadened. “Yes.”

God’s first miracle. This woman and I sat together as friends although we had never met. We shared the knowing looks, the small talk, the smiles, and the little courtesies good friends share. 

Just that was enough, but God had more planned for me that day.

As our pastor told us the story of the angels appearing to the shepherds, I saw a vision of angels surrounding him, a line of celestial bodies extending farther than I could see, a tiny glimpse of the glory of that holy night. God's second gift. 

The scene changed. I saw my death, my body collapsed on the floor of our living room.

Jesus appeared, reached down and grasped my hand. He pulled me up into his embrace, put his arm around my shoulders, and personally escorted me into heaven. He showed me amazing things, delighting in my astonishment with each revelation as a loving parent would a child. With my every exclamation, His joy increased.

The vision faded, but not its impact.

  

I no longer fear death. How can I?

I understand St. Paul’s desire to complete this race we call life. I am ready anytime God calls me, but in the meantime, I will live my life with an altered set of priorities, and with less fear. God's third gift.

“In all things we suffer tribulations, but are not distressed; we are straitened, but are not destitute; We suffer persecution, but are not forsaken; we are cast down, but we perish not: Always bearing about in our body the mortification of Jesus, that the life also of Jesus may be made manifest in our bodies. For we who live are always delivered unto death for Jesus’ sake that the life also of Jesus may be made manifest in our mortal flesh. So then death works in us, but life in you.” 2 Corinthians 4: 8- 12

Foot Note: It just occurred to me, the church I attend is named for St. Paul. God never leaves out a detail. 

Christmas Past, Present, and Future

This time of year means different things, depending on the person and their situation. My family focused on the religious aspect growing up. My parents wanted my sister and me to concentrate on Christmas Mass, and so we opened gifts Christmas Eve.

Later, with my own family, we changed that tradition to Midnight Mass Christmas Eve and opened presents on Christmas Day.

In later years, after the loss of my husband and with both sons out on their own, my daughter and I struggled to keep traditions. They brought a mixed set of emotions. The first year after my husband passed away, I waited too long to buy a tree. Not a single lot had a tree I could afford. I brought three accent trees home from the flower shop. They weren’t Christmas trees, more of a bonsai Sequoia. We laughed every time we looked at them, turning our melancholy joyful.  

After my daughter married and left home, Christmas became another holiday to endure with memories of what was. After my husband’s passing, we stopped the big family gatherings, the gift giving, and almost all the traditions. They were too painful those first few years.

I eventually remarried. My daughter and sons had families of their own and their own traditions. We still yearn for those remarkable Christmases of the past, those big joyous celebrations with twenty people for dinner, a whole department store wrapped under the tree, grandparents drinking coffee and watching the kids with their presents. Perhaps my children can recapture some of that with their families.

My holidays are much quieter, simpler, particularly Christmas. We exchange phone calls rather than gifts. I spend more time reflecting, meditating, praying. I am thankful for my husband and our quiet celebrations. Life changes and moves on.

My husband and I will share dinner with close friends and their family rather than try a large gathering with my family since snowy, icy roads, and long distances, prevent travel at Christmas. We did manage to all gather in my hometown this past Thanksgiving for the first time in ten years. With luck, it won’t be ten years before the next gathering, holiday or not.

I am acutely aware of how precious those times are. My parents won’t be with us much longer. My dad is eighty-seven, and my mother is eighty-two. My children are in their middle ages, and I’m counting decades I thought were a lot further away.

However, putting those thoughts aside, at the moment, snow is falling outside, covering everything in white. The fire is on, Christmas Carols are playing, a cup of coffee sets on the table next to me. My husband and I will put up our tree this afternoon even though no one will see it except us. We plan on a special Christmas Eve dinner for the two of us. I’ll attend Mass Christmas day alone. There will be the phone calls, the good wishes, and photos.

Melancholy doesn’t rule the season even though it does promote reminiscing. Contentment is the word I would choose, a slowing down from the hectic former years, a quiet time for reflection and praise-giving for past blessings, current blessings, and future blessings.

I hope your season is filled with peace and joy however you spend the holidays. If you are alone, my prayers are with you. Remember, we are never really alone. God is there in every situation, every season, every holiday.  

Merry Christmas.

Apples, Oranges, and Lemons: the Stuff of Nightmares

Night terrors. They come at bedtime, in the middle of the night, and sometimes early in the morning, terrifying images robbing me of sleep, and peace of mind. Some are so frightening they force me out of bed.

Several tricks help to eradicate these scenes: Solitaire, a book, and a few simple computer games. These, however, are only momentary distractions. It is Scripture that usually exterminates them — for a while.

After a particularly rough night of self-accusation, I rose, went into my study, and opened that day’s devotions. In Living Faith, Fr. Martin Pable, O.F.M. talked about humility. Alcoholics Anonymous gives their members this definition: “Humility means not to make comparisons.” 

The Unexpected Christmas Gift

This Christmas my church offered only one Christmas Eve service, at eleven pm. I am not a night owl and any event, church or party, starting later than seven pm is a challenge for me.   With an abundance of churches in our area, I began an on line search for a Christmas morning service. I found a church offering a 10:30 am service only six miles from the house. Not a bad commute. I used to drive much further than that to attend church. However, there was one little flaw in this plan. Attending services at a church other than mine meant sitting in an unfamiliar church, with an unfamiliar congregation and minister, alone, on Christmas. 

My resolve to attend wavered. After a moment of prayer, I decided it was important I attend, regardless of how odd, or sad it would make me feel. I pulled on my coat of Courage and Trust, and went.

The church parking lot was almost empty. Was the web sight wrong and there wasn't a 10:30 service? Well, there were a few other cars..... I grabbed my purse, got out of the car and resolutely headed toward the front doors. As I passed a car parked in the handicapped spot, the occupant, and older woman, leaned out. "They are having a 10:30 service, aren't they?"

"As far as I know. At least the web site said there was. However, this is my first visit, and so I am not entirely sure, but thought I would try the door."

The woman smiled. "Well, I'm fairly new as well. I'll follow you, and if you would like, we could sit together."

"I would like that."

There was indeed a service. About ten other attendees were scattered about the small sanctuary. My companion led me to a pew much closer to the front than I am comfortable with. (I prefer the anonymity of the last row. ) Prior to the service, the minister moved from pew to pew, personally welcome every attendee, including me. His words of welcome touched my heart.

The celebration was simple, elegant and stirring, and with my companion beside me,  I felt welcomed, and at home.

After the service, Carol gave me a huge hug and invited me back. The minister also extended a personal invitation to return next Sunday.

I thank God for my unexpected Christmas gift. Carol will never know what a difference her simple act of kindness made. I am taking this beautiful lesson to heart, and asking God to help me be a doer of small, yet mighty, things.