Like a blanket (Five minute Friday)

Sitting in desperation I gave in to dark thoughts of what her last moments would have been. The images were tormenting me. I knew their source.

Still, in the midst of it I couldn’t seem to exit, couldn’t seem to replace those thoughts. But quietly I sensed another presence.

He entered quietly, as He always did. And with a hand on my trembling shoulder he simply whispered.

Not empty words that would dissolve as soon as he left my side. Not verses that he had written in the love letter he left me. No He simply said,

“Anne, I was with her.”

And the facts I had been forced to live with, that my sister had been murdered were still there. They just seemed to lessen a bit.

Not because they became less horrible. But because one of my fears was that she was alone.

And even without knowing exactly how she died. Without having her body to lay beneath the ground where her gravestone is. I felt something only God could give.

Comfort.

It was a blanket he gently covered me with. To keep the awful cold of reality from swallowing me up.

It was the same one I felt so many other times in my life. When each loved one was lowered below.

Four words that changed my whole outlook of this nightmare. I was with her.

Comfort. He gave me comfort.

With plenty to spare for you.

Why I used to Sneak into my Mother’s Dresser.

She knew I did it.
I just couldn’t help myself.

Her Treasure

her heart quickened as did her steps
with little time left she scurried to the bedroom,
with a slide of the gold button the jewelry box opened
with warm reception
dazzling bracelets hoping to be held were overlooked
there in a satin pouch lay her treasure
a gold compact case
blue rhinestones stood in a ‘ring around a rosy’
holding her captive
with a press of a tiny button the lid popped open
revealing powdered make-up
the face in the mirror was too young to wear it
and old enough to know
mother’s footsteps shortened fun
sliding her prize back among the jewelry
she made her exit
when questioned if she touched the box
she simply answered, “no”
but everyone knew otherwise

And after all these years the compact case still seems magical to me. To know she looked into this mirror that I now look into is a connection.

I have a kinship with the reflection in the mirror. She has aged through the years, as I have. Yet there is something familiar about her eyes.

No longer can I smell the powder in the compact case, but I remember it just the same. It was a faint sweetness like the fragrance of a honeysuckle flower.

I’d watch her face transform right before my eyes. The bright red lipstick would be the final touch. She looked beautiful with her raven hair and her milky white skin. I wanted to be like her.

I wish I had a mirror to show me her reflection again, instead of relying on the dusty ones in my mind. I wish I had more memories stored away.

One moment in time spans years. It makes you wonder which of your moments will be recalled in the minds of others.

Will it be a word you spoke to a broken heart? A hug you hoped would hold someone together?

Perhaps just the touch of a hand on a shoulder.

Mom didn’t know her life with us would be cut short. If so, she would have played with us and worked less. The memories of having fun with her are so few.

One New Years Day we played a board game. I stared at her as she sat with us.

The few the memories, the more valuable they are.

Watching a movie in black and white on a summer night while eating a sundae she brought home from the Snack Shop.

Riding downtown Chicago on the El after stopping at Goldblatt’s for some block chocolate.

Standing at a bus stop on a winter day and having her put my cold hand in her pocket.

Small memories can affect you in a big way.

Like a compact case, a pink high chair, or even “I love you,” etched on a piece of paper. They are valuable.

Moments make memories we keep forever.

We need to make our moments count.

What’s one memory you’ll never forget?

Today I read an inspiring post by Pamela Hodges. You can read her post HERE. Thanks, Pamela.

Why Perry Como and Bing Crosby were wrong

I just have to say it. As much as I liked the song, “Catch a Falling Star,” and have teared up listening to “White Christmas,” Perry Como and Bing Crosby were wrong.

When they sang, “Let a Smile be Your Umbrella,” they went too far.

Whenever skies are gray,
Don`t worry or fret,
A smile will bring the sunshine,
And you`ll never get wet!

Wearing a smile has never kept me from getting soaked from the storms in my life.

As far as smiles, I have to say, I have seen some smiles that look like they are permanently attached. And I’ve seen other smiles slip off like ill-fitted galoshes.

I’m not a smile-hater; far from it. But come on! There’s a time for smiling, and a time for NOT smiling.

As a speaker, I have asked for feedback following one of my talks. Is my tone appropriate, my gestures? Shaking on the inside,  I waited for one volunteer’s verbal critique. She was both kind and direct.

“I thought your talk was great, you really held my interest.”

So far so good.

“But, I also noticed when you talk about painful experiences, you’re still smiling.”

And there it was. I was guilty of the very thing I hated. Inappropriate smiling.

Over time, I discovered why I did this. Worried my audience would get sad, I tried lightening my subject matter by smiling.

But instead of it helping them, it confused them. My face was disconnected from my heart. I was incongruent.

I’ve found, there are people in this world who know when to smile. They’re probably the same ones who know when to wear white.

For years, before I walked out of my house, I made sure every hair was in place. Then I’d put on my smile, no matter how I felt.

Why? Because it was acceptable, sometimes required.  And if I didn’t wear it? Then people might see me.

Inside Out

Don’t be fooled when you look at me,
things are not as they seem to be,
The smile I put on carefully,
does not reflect the inner me,
It cannot hide the pain inside,
So don’t be fooled when you look at me.

I’m thankful someone cared enough about me to mirror me. Or how would I ever know? Watching a video of myself, I recognized what I needed to change. I had to trust my audience, letting my words and tone carry them to the other side of my talk.

Smiles are great, everyone should own one. But there are special care directions for smiles:

• Don’t let your smile fray around the edges.

• Wash your smile carefully so it retains its shape. (It’s embarrassing when a smile is bigger than your face).

• Make sure you always wear pockets when you wear your smile, so it can be tucked away, if need be.

• Wearing a smile too much lessens its value. Cheapens it, if you will.

So, let me be clear, I do like the old tunes I heard coming from our white, Zenith radio on top our fridge. And I do like Mr. Como and Mr. Crosby.

I just long for authenticity. I want to know when I’m hurting, I’ll be accepted; with or without a smile.

And believe me, sometimes when I’m sitting with my grandsons or nestling my brand new granddaughter, my smile appears magically. And it’s real.

As little children, when we came home from church, we heard, “Take off your good clothes so they don’t get ruined.”

Smiles are good clothes.

We just need to know when to wear them, and when to put them in our pockets. Along with the falling stars.

Why I remember my birthday party so long ago.

Little fuzzy chicks. Made of feathers with little orange feet. Not beautiful, unless you were nine and they would be on your party table. Each one had bright colors and little funny hats. I loved those chicks.

This was before party stores with aisles and aisles of themes. Back then, moms had to think of ideas to make their little girls smile. Mom was good at it.

Butterflies danced in my stomach. When would my friends be here?

Thinking of my friends in my house felt strange. I had never had my school friends over. I had a friend who lived down the street and one next door, but we usually played at our friend’s houses, or outside.

I was okay with not having someone come over. I was afraid they’d make fun. Like those kids did when we went to the drive-in for ice cream and they saw my huge dad. Spreading out their hands wide they imitated his size. And then they laughed and laughed, except it wasn’t funny.

I saw them as I stood in line with my brother to get our cones. And then, I had to get in our 57 Chevy with my dad. My ice cream didn’t taste good that day.

But today would be different. Dad was at work. There would be no laughing like that. I would have friends over. Just for me.

When you’re one of five kids, there isn’t much time for things just for you.

The party felt like a dream. The doorbell would ring and magically another friend would appear all dressed up.

Maryann Kenny. She was actually at my front door! And in her hands was a present. She got me a present!

The table mom and I set looked beautiful. Paper cupcake liners perched by each plate, filled with jelly beans and m&m’s. Candy I picked out myself. Just for today.

I’m glad my birthday came before Easter, when the chicks waited in the dime store to be adopted. I took my time inspecting each one.

“Choose ten,” mom told me.

They had to be perfect. Just like my party.

Then I picked out Hershey bars for prizes. Not a package of them, but big ones.

We played “hot potato.” Sitting in a circle, we passed a little potato around while the music played. When the music stopped, whoever had the potato would be out, and we’d start again.

“Let your friends win the prizes,” mom told me.

And there was the potato walk, where each of us put a potato on top of one foot. Then we had to go across the room without dropping it. Sure it sounds easy, but those red potatoes from the bin were shaped funny. I practiced over and over.

Then finally there was the clothespin game. We stood in line and dropped wooden clothespins into a bucket. The one with the most would get a prize. I liked the clothespin game.

I looked at my cake sitting on the table. Homemade cake with pink frosting and different colored candles. It was the most beautiful cake ever.

I had so much fun that day. I did a lot of smiling. Maybe this party would help. Maybe I would feel like I belonged instead of feeling different.

The time went by too fast. Soon I was saying goodbye.

“Thank you for coming, I smiled. But inside I was sad; sad the magic was over.

I watched them walk across my front porch and down the stairs.

My friends were in MY house. I couldn’t believe it.

It was the best party in the whole world. One that would last me forever.

And now, when Easter approaches and I’m shopping for my grandsons. If I see a little chick I have to pick it up. And think about the special day so long ago, of Happy Birthday to me.

My Strong Heart Broke

It was just like she said. When the ER doors opened, people began rushing towards me. Someone put little patches on my chest while a blood pressure cuff was strapped on. Another nurse looked for a willing vein.

I just wanted the pressure in my chest to stop. Especially since my brother, George had been to the doctor just a few days prior with a 70% blockage. 70% used to be a C, it was good. But not when it comes to blockages.

I couldn’t relax. And forget about modesty it’s impossible in an ER.

“You’re blood pressure is dangerously high!”

“Are you on medication for hypertension.”

“Did you take your meds today?”

More probing, more cuffing, more questions. And then the room got quiet. We waited for results.

My husband Mike decided to go back home to Jess, our daughter who was worried. I could wait for the results. I could call Mike if I needed him. And honestly, I relaxed more without seeing his worried eyes.

Quietly I wondered if coming to the ER was a mistake. I had spoken to Prompt care, telling them my symptoms and she advised it. I made the right decision.

The cuff around my arm tightened. That hurts. I could tell my pressure was still high.

One hour turned into two then four. Someone came in to attend to my upset stomach. In the meantime Mike was back with Jess. The nurse told me,

“I’m giving you this special drink. It will numb your tongue and eventually numb your stomach. Then you won’t feel any pain.”

I took a swig. I could feel my mouth numb, but my stomach wasn’t cooperating.

I couldn’t stop looking at the nurse.

“You look just like my brother, Steve” I said. “Don’t you think so, Mike?”

“Maybe around the eyes,” he answered quickly.

When the doctor finished talking, Mike followed him out of the room.

“What was that about?” I asked Mike when he returned.

“Nothing,” he lied.

I would be spending the night. Soon I’d be taken to my room. Maybe I could finally get some rest. I said goodbye to my family.

Around 11:30pm, I was wheeled to my room. My roommate and her guest were sleeping, so I slipped into a waiting bed and closed my eyes.

In the morning, I met my roommate and we visited a bit.

The doctor came in and explained my heart was strong, I had not experienced any trauma. I was to return next week for a stress test.

My roommate’s family members trickled in the room. When Mike came in with Jess I introduced him to everyone.

He was preoccupied. After shaking hands he suddenly turned to me with urgency. The words blurted out.

“I’ve got bad news to tell you. Your brother, Steve died yesterday. He had a heart attack.”

Immediately he stood by me, while Jess joined us. Someone pulled the curtain shut for privacy and I heard people leave the room.

I started yelling over and over, “No, no!”

Thinking back on those two days, I remember that nurse. Steve’s look-alike. I wonder if God sent him as a gift?

I learned while I was on my way to the ER, Steve died at home. That week all three of us struggled with our hearts.

I can’t believe he’s gone. He called me to tell me,

“Anne, I read your book. It’s really good. And I’m not just saying that.”

At Steve’s funeral I saw so many people he had touched with his big heart.

I wish I could talk to him once more, see him again.

I have no regrets. Steve knew I loved him.

When I was in 5th grade I wrote a story about my shadow who followed me everywhere I went. At the end of the piece I revealed it was Steve, my three year old brother. As one of the winners, I got to read my essay on the radio in downtown Chicago.

I’ll always miss my brother, but I’m thankful. Thankful God gave me Steve. He was a great guy with a big heart.

———————————————————

Do you have a story to tell? Need some direction?

Why not think of joining us at Tribewriters? The next session is starting up soon. It’s an online course with Jeff Goins that will give you direction and help you on your journey. It’s one of the best decisions I have made.

Just click here or on the Tribewriter logo on the sidebar to find out more.

Note: This is an affiliate link which means if you sign up through me, I benefit as well as you.

The Secret of Encouragement

 

Do you know what I’ve discovered about words? Not just any words, but those encouraging words? Words that give hope.

Not everyone has them. Everyone needs them, but not everyone has access to them.

Encouragement lives in a house that once knew pain. A house that would sometimes wonder why, but still longed to trust. Still dared to hope.

How have I arrived at this observation?

Life has pain 

While looking at those who hurt, I notice something. The ones with encouraging words are those who have tasted pain and tasted God.

When it seems like some people don’t understand what you are going through, it’s because they can’t.

Our brains are wonderful organs. We have the capability of creating and discovering umpteen thoughts per second. I learned a lot in a class I took where I actually held a human brain.

Our brains are storehouses for our memories as well. Our brains pair our pain with our ability to remember. It’s a strong cohesion.

Emotion does that. When we feel deeply, we remember. So, in our times of pain, God whispers to us, and we hear him.

God gently pours balm on our hurts and feelings of loss. God lifts a heart so laden down it barely beats.

God heals

In my deepest pain I hear him the clearest. Because he is acquainted with grief. There’s nothing we can go through which he can’t feel.

If he knows when a sparrow falls, how much more when we do?

God is a storehouse of encouragement. He can give words that can ease pain.

And you can tap into that storehouse. All you have to do is be willing to feel with someone. To weep with those who weep.

The God opens up his hope chest and chooses the choicest of words. The gentle phrases that seep into our very souls.
Just words that come from a hurting heart.You won’t find platitudes in there. Nor will you find quaint phrases that fit on a plaque.

Words are powerful

And we are given the privilege of keeping these words and meting them out for comfort.

And will we run out? Never.

Do you know why? Because the all powerful one is the source. And his resources are eternal.

So, go ahead and enter into someone’s hurt. Lean into it with all that you are.

Give someone encouragement. Everyone needs it.

My friend James Prescott is passionate about encouragement. So passionate, he wrote an eBook about it and wants to offer it free! Click this link to receive the book.

http://www.jamesprescott.co.uk/blog/free-gifts

Why you should read this little book

The world is full of hurting people. I am one of them.

When you have losses in your life, you feel alone. Like no one cares. When you have one loss after another, it’s even harder to feel loved.

After losing my mom, my dad, and going through my sister’s disappearance and death, I had so many questions. Then I got angry. I pushed my anger down along with my questions.

How could I ask God questions when I was mad at him?

But I found out God was bigger than my emotions. He made my emotions and he could handle them.

I remember when my son, Nathan was three years old. I once closed the car door on his fingers. I’ll never forget his surprised look as he cried,

“Mom, why did you do that?”

He knew me enough to know I wouldn’t hurt him, and yet, I had hurt him. Badly.

We are going to be hurt in this life. People we love will die. But, that doesn’t mean we’re not loved.

Are you going through a hard time right now? Then you need to know you’re not alone.

You are truly loved. When I realized I was loved, it made all the difference in the world.

This little book I wrote is for anyone. It’s a book for everyone. It is my story of how I found real love. And if you’ve never experienced this love, I want you to know about it. And if you have experienced it, then share that with someone else.

Everyone needs to know they are loved.

You can download, “Real Love: Guaranteed to Last.” It will be free February 13.

Here’s the link.

Real Love: Guaranteed to Last

You can also visit my website.

http://www.annepeterson.com

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