Why I Hate Februarys and Other Musings of a Suicide Loss Survivor

      I hate Februarys.  As January creeps along with its cold, stark, dark days my anxiety starts closing in. My mind starts rehearsing a January 6...7...now 8 years ago.  The questions are the same and likely always will be.  "What could I have done?".  "What did I miss?".  "Why didn't she tell me her true thoughts?".  And, the most damning lie, "What did I do wrong?"  and "Why wasn't love enough to heal?".  These are the thoughts you forever rehearse when someone you love dearly dies by suicide-- and it's why I hate Februarys.  February 13, 2015, I lost Willow.  My cousin.  My best friend. Lifelong sister who I grew up with just moments down the road. February...you suck.

     To most people I might look like a fairly high functioning human.  I'm now a nursing professor, business owner, juggling committees, charitable work, friendships, teaching fitness classes, marriage, grown kids, a home, a lovable beagle rescue mix.  But February tests me.  Inside I am a cauldron of-- I shoulda...woulda...coulda.  From my conversations with other survivors this is not unique. Suicide leaves a unique trail of grief on the hearts of the loss survivors.

     Willow took her own life while vacationing in Florida the day before her real life was supposed to resume again.  Maybe the starkness of the reality between how she wanted to live and how she was living was too painful to face and she felt trapped.  Last night I had a dream I went to Florida and visited Disney and Willow was working as Winnie the Pooh (a character she adored) in the Magic Kingdom.  I don't even know if Pooh Bear cruises the Kingdom these days, but it was a comforting thought to cling to that she was just hiding out and having fun and not really...dead. 

     I don't share this for sympathy.  I've had many angels in my path help carry the weight of this grief.  It doesn't exactly get easier you just learn how to carry it and still carry on. The grief doesn't get smaller--you just grow larger around the enormity of pain and grow in a different way then you imagined. I share this for awareness. There are on average 130 deaths by suicide a day in the United States and many more attempts. Mental health care is health care.  We have to collectively erase the stigma and improve access so everyone can get the care they need.

     In 2017 I traveled to the AFSP Advocacy Forum in Washington, DC to advocate for a national 3-digit mental health/ suicide prevention hotline with thousands of other volunteer advocates from every state.  Last year this dream came to fruition with the creation of the 988 hotline--which you should call if you need help or know someone who needs help due to a mental health crisis. It was a sweet victory for that line to go live.  But, in my unspoken thoughts I wondered what would have happened in February of 2015 if 988 was active. Would Willow have called?  Would she have sought help?  I don't know.  I hope she would have.

     I don't really know, but I really need to let myself ask those questions when they arise and feel the feelings and let them go to make room for love, compassion, good memories, and the smiles that we shared for 45 years of my life. I've learned through painful attempts suppressing the questions only prolongs the pain. 

     I hate Februarys.  And, that's OK.  Some things are allowed to suck. Forever.

     If you need help...please know you matter.  Please call 988 or visit afsp.org and get help. The world is better with you in it and Februarys will be better if you stay.  

How's Your Information Diet?

      If the past year has underscored anything it has laid bare how interconnected we all are and how information is merely a fingertip away. Besides reading, writing, and arithmetic one of the most crucial skills our children will learn is how to discern good information.  Information is  like water. We all need it.   At first glance-- water may look like water.  However, water can contain insidious, invisible, and nearly undetectable contaminants that render it to be downright dangerous.   If you are not a discerning information consumer you can fall prey.  Now more than ever, we all have to become savvy and educated information consumers.

     How can you discern if something is true as you are scrolling the web or if a trusted friend posts something on Facebook? Just as you would want to be aware of the ingredients of a food you ingest, or that your water is unadulterated by contaminants-- we must be judicious consumers of information.  We know that people act on information and that you will make choices based on your information diet.  Those choices can be well informed or ill informed depending on the information that supports your decisions.  It's all about being a smart consumer.

     The first thing to realize is that everyone who writes, speaks, blogs, and communicates has a world view, opinions, cultural, ethnic, religious, and a myriad of other factors that influence the information they share.  Even the most genuine journalists committed to the truth have a bias--we all do.  The trick is to recognize that and consume your information diet with the knowledge that everyone has an agenda.  It may be a good agenda--to inform an audience about an important health update.  Or--it may be a self serving agenda such as publishing a hopelessly flawed study to boost profits of a snake oil.  It is your responsibility as an information consumer to analyze the information quality to determine if it merits integrating into your knowledge base or before sharing with others.  Remember, if you continually share bad information that can reflect on you.  We all want to be known as trustworthy--don't let insidious bad information mar your reputation.

     The first thing I do when someone posts an article, website, or blog is go to the URL and scroll to the bottom of the page and check out the  "About Us" tab if there is one (Teachnology, n.d).  If there is not an information tab that tells you a lot.  In my experience when an individual or organization is not forthcoming about who they are they likely are hiding something and have nefarious motives.  Read the information tab and then cross reference in your browser any key words, players, or partner organizations that come up.  For example, last year an acquaintance posted an article regarding a Covid treatment from a "doctor" from a particular organization.  I cross referenced her name to find out many colleagues had complained about her.  She had been fired from a hospital job according to a newspaper article I found.  Additionally, using white page lookup info I found a Google image of her "practice" which was next to a church which she pastored.  It was also revealed she had not actually practiced medicine in some time and the subject she spoke about was out of her specialty training. 

     Interestingly, I shared my findings (which took less than 5 minutes) with my acquaintance with a comment to the effect of, "Not sure we want to trust this source".  Sadly, the acquaintance had already made up her mind and was quick to defend the information.  Which brings me to my next point which was my first point--we all have an agenda.  Frequently we try to find sources of information that merely back up what we already believe.  Is that healthy information consumerism?  Certainly, if you knew water was contaminated you would turn it down and seek pure water.  Let's never be so set in our ways or blindly devoted to an idea or a course of action that not even facts can change our mind.  Our health, our safety, and the well being of those entrusted to our care is too important to dig our heels in when evidence of bad information challenges our tightly held beliefs. 

     My next rule I follow for discerning information is, "Follow the Money".  We all need it and nearly nothing can function without it.  Even reputable doctors and researchers are permitted to profit from their expertise.  Med school is not cheap.  But what are they selling?  Are they selling a product they are promoting with their "study" or their article?  Are they promoting a book, TV show, or other platform which they will solely profit from?  The best researchers work hard for grants and funding for studies that are then peer reviewed--vetted by experts in their field and evaluated for the worthiness of further consideration.  These processes are vigorous and consider the kind of research done, the sample size, the sample diversity, methods, and statistical analysis.  The best studies self identify their own areas of weakness and areas for further study.  These studies are often published in peer reviewed journals and promote the knowledge of experts in the field.  As research progresses other scientists can build on the knowledge of peers and consider areas of further study in future research.  Solid and trusted sources of information rarely directly benefit from the public from their research by directly selling a product, service, or idea. Misinformation and fake news are frequently used to manipulate an audience to further the agenda and/or profit of the author or organization sponsoring the site (Islam, et al 2020).

     Who is the author and what are his/her qualifications?  This should be readily apparent on the website or in the article through self disclosure.  This information can be validated readily through a Google search of the author(s).  What are peers saying about the author?  Are they trusted in their field?  Have they been censured? Fired? Have other people written articles discrediting them?  Now, don't immediately dispose of an idea because there is backlash--oftentimes "New" ideas are criticized. However, if someone is repeatedly and consistently discredited or portrayed in a negative light by other professionals who are trusted and whose own credentials check out you have to consume what they are feeding you with a dire warning---information may not be exactly how it appears.  Further research and careful consideration is warranted before you act on information disseminated by someone who is not trusted by their peers.  It seems like common sense, right?  However, this level of detail takes some research and in our instant gratification tech reality--that is time many people just do not care to invest.  But, I repeat--you and your family are worth it!  Remember your information is like water--keep it real. 

     Another question to ask--is the information I am reading being disseminated elsewhere?  Have other researchers replicated these results? Science is not "One and done".  A solid research study is able to be replicated with similar results.  If it cannot then there are study flaws that should be identified.  Researchers with integrity should not be so emotionally attached to their hypothesis that the study methods are manipulated--that's how scientists fail peer review of their studies and lose trust.  In the past it has resulted in some very high profile study retractions and falls from grace of once revered doctors.   In the world of science trust is a precious commodity that can garner research and grant opportunities, so top notch scientists do not toy with it. 

     Additionally, look at the forum the article is written on.  Is it a scholarly peer reviewed journal or is it click bait designed to draw you in to advertisements, or other revenue generating content? Does the claim sound reasonable and consistent with other known facts? (Pennycook & Rand, 2021).  Is it a .com, .gov, .edu, or a .org?  Whether it originates from a commercial, governmental, education, or non profit source will skew the information and you just need to know the angle (Teachnology, n.d.).  How does the web page feel?  Is it easy to navigate and is information easy to access?  Can you easily find out information on the authors, board of directors, or other leadership  information or does it feel like you are trapped in an aisle at Walmart and you keep getting distracted by the merchandise?  That  may be okay if you are trying to catch up on Britney's progress dissolving her conservatorship.  However, if you are trying to find reliable information to make a health decision that is....no bueno. 

     Lastly, do you have an expert in your life you can correlate the information with--like a real live living person you can talk to who will be straight with you.  In the example I gave above I called my sister-in-law who happens to be an ICU nurse with nearly 20 years of experience in a leadership position.  She has been caring for Covid patients since day 1.  I said to her, "Hey, this acquaintance posted an article about this treatment for Covid.  What has been your experience?"  Notice, I didn't tell my sister in law what I already had found about the quack doctor with her office next to her church talking about content far outside her area of expertise.  My sister in law quickly and authoritatively rebutted the effectiveness of the stated treatment and told me why.  In great detail she told me of her experience in the early stages of the treatment and how the patients responded negatively.  She told me how they had tried various dosages and techniques. Then she told me what the current standard of care was and how it worked.  I went to an expert.  She knows her stuff.  She is respected in her field.  She herself knows and trusts and respects experts and follows their lead and that has lead to her breadth of knowledge.  Do you see what I did there?  By the way-- I shared this exchange with my acquaintance who was completely undeterred by these facts.  Is that how you want to live?  I hope we never are so arrogant that we cannot defer to trusted experts.  We cannot know everything.  We need each other. We are not islands.  The choices we make do affect those around us.

     One of my jobs is a clinical instructor to nursing students.  I ask a lot of questions. When my students look up their patient's information I will ask them, "Why do you think that patient with that medical condition is taking that medication?".  "Hmmm yesterday his labs were "X" and today they are "Y", what do you think is going on with his disease process?".  No matter how many questions I ask there is one answer that I always respect and it opens the doors to new knowledge.  It shows humility and a desire to learn.  You cannot be filled with the gift of knowledge if you are full of yourself.  There is great humility and wisdom in the three simple words, "I don't know".  The first day with my clinical group I tell them the most dangerous nurses are the ones who don't know, what they don't know.  And that is true for all of us.  

Stay curious. Ask questions. Know what you don't know.  Seek quality information. Follow the money.  Confirm the author qualifications, education, and their other work.  Check their reputation among peers.  Consult experts people in your life and have a real conversation with them when you are trying to make a decision.  Have a medical question? Ask your doctor.  A tax dilemma? Ask an accountant. A massive car repair?  How about consulting an expert--a car mechanic you trust.  We are only as smart as we are willing to recognize our limits.  When we go beyond our knowledge base we are just faking it and playing roulette. 

     You are worth good information.  Your family, your children and those in your care rely on you to be a savvy information consumer. You are what you eat, drink, and think--and your thoughts are shaped by the information you consume.   Be willing to know your limits and consult those you trust and only share what you really know. Be well! Be safe! Be smart!

Kim Mihelich RN, MSN, CPAN

References

Islam, M. R., Liu, S., Wang, X., & Xu, G. (2020). Deep learning for misinformation detection on online social networks: a survey and new perspectives. Social network analysis and mining, 10(1), 82. https://doi.org/10.1007/s13278-020-00696-x

The Pennycook, G., & Rand, D. G. (2021). Psychology of Fake News. Trends in cognitive sciences, 25(5), 388–402. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.tics.2021.02.007

Teachnology, n.d., "How to Evaluate the Accuracy of a Website", accessed How to evaluate the accuracy of a website (teach-nology.com)

                                                                            Trail Brothers

     Their footsteps thundered behind me.  I was a casual slow runner and had the chance to catch a few miles after work.  It was their practice time--and their foot falls in simultaneous rhythmic cadence sounded like a herd of gazelle as they ran from the school past our house.  Their brotherly debates and prodding pierced through the thunderous running. They cantered past me in a hail of laughter, "Hey Mrs. M...."-- Always pushing each other on and inspiring the best while keeping each other humble. I wasn't sure exactly how they did it--but it worked.  They were trail brothers and they had run thousands of miles together.  Any time I caught a glimpse it filled my heart with joy.  My son had found something rare and precious--a brotherhood few stumble upon forged by friendship, not blood. 

     Some of them had run together since sixth grade.  However, their group coalesced in the mid fall of 2017 after my son Logan, or "Logdawg" as he became known--won a key JV race which bumped him up to this Varsity group.  They proved themselves over and over, becoming one of the winningest teams in the school's history.  For some time my son was the 6th or even the 7th man--but always there--together with his trail brothers and ready to take up the team banner when they needed him. 

     I saw them during spaghetti dinners, giggling and busting each other's chops.  Late night camping trips in the woods.  Runs to Little Bow Pond, jumping in to cool off before the ice had barely melted, months before anyone else would dare to go ankle high. Hill repeats at the Meadows and the famed "Mama Mo" hill, fartleks  that elicited snickering from Logan's dad, to the disgust of the serious runner--who diligently recorded his summer miles, turned down brownies when his biological brothers inhaled whole pans--because he had a race the next day. Mile after mile I watched and cheered from afar.  Year after year I spent at the finish line, holding the vomit bags, cheering all their names at the top of my lungs, taking pictures and texting photos of Logan's trail brothers to the other moms.

     There were overnight adventures out of state to New Englands and Regionals.  There were tents to be hoisted, gear to be packed, sweat wobbed socks to be accounted for,  safety pins to be rationed, victories to be celebrated, and elusive defeats to be turned to inspiration to come back stronger, more focused, and more determined.  There were mom texts about catching rides and sign up sheets and borrowing forgotten jerseys on occasion.  Trips to Runner's Ally for team night, then more trips two months later because the miles and miles just kept coming and the trail brothers needed fresh gear.  It was wonderful, and tiring, and amazing and emotional.  It was magical.    

     Covid hit and the dreams for their senior year dramatically shifted.  Visions of possibly making it to New Englands and even Nationals evaporated as our nation collectively hunkered down and assumed survivial mode.  We were fortunate to even have a season.  However, this band of brothers rallied and by the end of their season they placed eighth in the nation. These trail brothers were served a challenge and they rose to the occasion, exceeding the expectations of a community that rallied with a parade of every vehicle with a siren they could muster.

     One by one their birthdays rolled around and these trail brothers I had watched grow up became an adult--now ready to graduate in a week.  Today, they participated in their final home events and they took their place in the 4x400 relay--trail brothers--back to back-- rounding the track together yet separate just  one last time.  

     Watching these trail brothers grow together has been one of the most rewarding highlights of motherhood.  Each team mate is a dear friend to my son, but to me they are precious because collectively they grew together into manhood and pushed my son to be his best.  They will go their separate ways--some to college--some to business--some to the Navy.  I have no doubt the bonds they formed as trail brothers will follow them the rest of their lives.

     Thank you trail brothers for taking such good care of my son.  I will always cheer for you. Run well.  Your race has just begun. 

 

                                                         Maslow's Hierarchy of Disease

     

      I'm going to preface this by saying, I am not a front line nurse.   I've been a recovery room RN for 21 years and I'm in a fairly low risk sector of healthcare right now.  I work in an ambulatory surgery center and as a clinical instructor for a local college.  However, I have family members on the front line and I have colleagues I care for deeply on the front line.  In April, at the height of wave 1 I traveled to New York and cared for a friend who had a lung transplant 2/29.  Instead of going to a rehab center and risking Covid, she came home and I was her rehab nurse.  I was the traffic cop at the door for the repairmen making structural changes to her home to accommodate her needs--sanitizing the heck out of everything constantly.  I was the meal prepper, wound care, PT nagger--and miraculously my friend is doing great now.   I've been following the science, and am involved with screening patients prior to surgery.   So now you know the background it brings me to our subject-- Maslow. 

     Have you heard of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs?  Twenty -six years ago in my first day of nursing school I sat in a lecture hall learning of this concept for the first time.  We all know it instinctively.  We know a kid cannot go to school and accomplish any meaningful learning on an empty stomach--so we say, "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day", and as a society many schools have even made provision for students to get their bellies full before they dive into the books.  Makes sense, right? 

    When  I stared at Maslow's triangle for the first time, I never imagined how much it would guide some critical practice decisions--but here we are.  The blue zone--the basic stuff we all need first in order to accomplish anything else is a safe place to live, food, shelter, clothing.  Advancing career, education, innovation, creativity, family connection--all of it gets put on hold until those things are accomplished.  

 

     As we are today, the US is sitting at about 100,000 new Covid cases daily and climbing. We are approaching critical mass of exponential growth of cases.  I saw a map today that was all red, bar one lonely Midwest state doomed to be swallowed up soon.  There's a new doctor in the Whitehouse-- Dr. Scott Atlas, a neuroradiologist.  That's great if you have had a stroke and need someone to read your MRI--but he is not an expert on viruses and infectious disease.  That's why we have Tony--but apparently they have a muzzle on him these days.  But I digress, having a neuroradiologist from Fox news at the upper echelon of the pandemic response is like having gynecologist intubate you.  They may have read about it in medical school and tried it on a manikin,  but they are not experts on the subject and really have no business dabbling.  That's the other thing I learned the first day of nursing school--know what you don't know.  Otherwise you are dangerous--which is why we consult experts.  

     Most of my life I have generally voted Republican, fairly conservative with a strong Independent streak.  But this year is different.  My fellow Americans----we will be stuck in the blue zone until this virus is under control and contrary to White House tweets we are not rounding the bend.  We are ballooning the curve.  You may think it's just a flu.  You may even think masks are a government conspiracy to take away your freedom.  That's for another blog.  However, there are 220,000 dead Americans in 8 months so we don't get to have nice things like normal school, normal work, low unemployment, unhindered weddings, family gatherings without the consideration of illness, and a multitude of other things until we have a handle on this.  

     Other countries have done it but we missed our chance.  We should have emerged from lockdown with national mask guidance and we didn't.  We had all summer to get it right but there were too many people on rabbit trails of conspiracy and infringement of rights to realize we all just want this to be done.  No one wants it to be done more than the front line workers, especially frontline workers who are now having to homeschool or remote school their children.  They are tired and they are fighting two battles.  The first is the daily battle to care for the ill.  The second is the uncooperative public who suddenly has become an expert on Hydroxychloroquine from a Facebook course they took on the subject. The mass dismissal for basic science is boggling. 

     So how does a life long Republican/ Independent voter suddenly feel compelled to write a blog about voting for Biden?  Maslow's Hierarchy--we have an unmet need for safety as long as this pandemic is spiraling out of control.  Who will listen to experts?  Who is humble enough and collaborative enough to build consensus and have a plan?  Right now we have 50 separate plans with states competing for PPE.  This is a national problem.  There has not been a coordinated national response.  If your house was on fire you would not instruct each of your children to just figure out how to get to safety on their own.  The stakes are too high and safety is involved.  No--you make a coordinated, and clear plan from the top so everyone would be as safe as possible. Our current administration doesn't even recognize there is a problem--never mind have a plan to get us out.  This week news from the White House bragged about Covid being under control on a day when a new case total record was announced. The unmasked Trump rally train and the continual tweets of disinformation underscore the man does not have a grasp on this.  Meanwhile every reputable infectious disease doctor is desperate for him to just listen to the experts.  The arrogance is deadly.  

     I want my young adult children to be able to get on with their schooling and career plans which have been put on hold.  I want normal family gatherings and restaurant dates.  I miss vacations.  I miss normal. But what I miss even more is respect for science and those who dedicate their life to medicine and caring for others.  Those who have the most disdain may very well find in the coming months they are in need of an expert.  All I can say is I hope you don't have to get intubated by a gynecologist because the surge is coming and we do not have infinite resources.

     On Tuesday, vote like your family's health depends on it because it likely does.  Oh, and mask up, wash your hands and take care of each other--and pray.  It's the only way we are getting out of this mess. 

                                                                    Kimberly Mihelich RN BSN CPAN, MSN Student                                                                 

Of Olives, Pandemics, and Purpose and Making Good Salad Dressing

     It's been awhile since I've written.  All my life I have used writing to work out emotions. Most of it is archived in a hard drive somewhere never to be accessed again--the act of writing it accomplished the purpose.   Some people bake and knead dough to press their fear and frustration into kinetic energy.  I type.
     So here we are in our own little corners at a time like none other, as a pandemic sweeps across our big beautiful world.  Overnight some have lost jobs and become homeschool parents.  Others with pre-existing medical conditions have recoiled in fear knowing their risk is higher and they are more vulnerable.  Unfortunately other people are having play dates and hoarding toilet paper.
     The underlying current for shutting down an education system and an economy is really ….human.  As a nation we are trying to protect our vulnerable, elderly, and immunocompromised.  Now individually we are not all buying in.  I see you...the rule breakers.  But as a matter of national  policy for at least this brief time we have taken decisive action that our most vulnerable, fragile, elderly, and sick citizens are precious to us.  And that my friends, gives me hope.
     I find it ironic during this time I was charged by my women's group at church to develop a lesson on "Suffering Prayerfully".  You know if you take on a lesson like that you're going to have to do the homework...so here I am doing my due diligence.  One of the aspects of my lesson discusses Jesus in the Garden of Gethsamane.  ( I don't want to give it all away lest I get the chance to really teach this).  I'm not very vocal or open with my faith....I'm more a live it out in silent action type--so here I am awkwardly sharing what is nagging me.
     Gethsamane was a beautiful garden at the base of a hill where an expansive olive grove was.  This garden would serve as the central collecting area where the olives would be pressed into oil. You see-- here is the thing my friends-- One does not have access to that precious, nutritious, tasty oil without the essential application of pressure.  When we had a chance to visit France last year I got to see the olive groves as we traveled. There were miles of manicured slopes of olive trees, soaking up the sun of southern France.  I even got to go to an olive oil tasting.  I was pleasantly surprised at the many different kinds of olive oil which I tasted right off the spoon, unadulterated by bread or anything else.  Sometimes they mix the older and younger fruit--allowing the olives to stay on the vine at different levels of maturity until they are pressed. They utilize different kinds of olives.  The vine tender in his wisdom and discretion cultivates, gathers, and presses the olives according to his good pleasure for different purposes. Some olives produce oil that is good for cooking.  Other oil is used for dipping bread or making vinaigrettes.  Each purpose has a different process and the vine tender knows them all.  But they all get pressed before their vital promise is released. Those little fruits don't get out of this life without getting pressed if they are to become a useful oil.
     Have you been pressed this week?  Are you living in fear because you know you are about to be pressed and you don't know how long or how painful the pressing will be?  I know I am.  But I rest in this......God, my vine tender has me.  He knows me and my family and He loves us all.  He loves you too.  You are safe in the Vine Tender's hands. When He presses you it is to release the vital riches that otherwise would not be available. He has a purpose in mind.  You are not a random olive bouncing against the millstone.  Your particular process of pressing was hand picked just for you.  This is not the first time I've been pressed and I can tell you as I approach a major decade birthday--with each pressing a new aspect of faith and character is revealed and tended.  It's not fun by any means but I see it as a necessary journey, one I've yielded to.  I've yielded to the press and ask myself these days what is it I am supposed to reap from this exercise.  When I come through this what does God want from my life?
     Tonight at dinner my oldest son sat to my right.  He was supposed to leave for school in Vermont to start studying a new trade in mid March.  He had already quit his job based on the date he was scheduled to leave--then he got the word school entry was delayed at least one month.  He's 21, frustrated, itchy to hang with friends, and uncertain about his future.  Across from me sat our middle son whose hours at work went from greater than 25 a week to 6 or less.  All of his classes are online now and he is uncertain as he studies to be a high school history teacher and a lot of his hands on practical education classes have dramatically changed.  Our youngest son is overwhelmed.  Normally a high honor student he is juggling a barrage of online material, emails, and assignments.  He misses his friends and his running buddies who were all preparing for track season.  Even my job as a nurse is uncertain as vital surgical supplies are not readily available and being diverted to other sectors of healthcare. I was to be caring for a friend in NY right now as she is one month post lung transplant--but all plans are on hold as she is in the epicenter of this pandemic and neither of us knows what tomorrow holds.  We are all being pressed in ways we never imagined, sometimes beyond comprehension and comfort on all sides.
     But there is blessing in the pressing. It's personal and it's different for each of us.  It may be momentary snippets and gems of faith but it is there. It is the painful but beautiful process that gets us to our purpose.  We only see the blessing if we are looking...and look we must.
      Around our table---all five of us gathered.  It's been a few years since we've done that regularly.  The older two boys have worked evenings, attended classes, and there were sports and meetings and work obligations.  But here we were--gathered in together socially distancing together.   There was laughter and brothers chiding each other and an overwhelming gratitude that for right now we are healthy and together.  This. Just one of the blessings in the pressing.
     Once the olives are pressed they become valuable---oh so much more valuable then when they sat in their original state.  Nothing more is added to them to increase their value.  It is the application of pressure and the time and attention of the Vine Tender that makes them valuable and useful and makes the oil available. Before the pressing that vital potential is locked away and unattainable. And so it is with us.  We reveal our best, when pressed.
     Don't despair if you are being pressed.  The way I see it is that God is just getting you ready for your true purpose.  This is not the end.  This is just a new beginning.  This moment can define you--with a Devine view of your future.
     Be safe.  Be well.  Be humble and kind but most of all....... be looking for the blessing in this pressing.

Time For Hydrangeas

     It had been such a busy day.  After school I  ushered my little tribe outside for some much needed play time.  The oldest saw me raking up the leaves that peppered our lawn.  He asked if he could help, knowing he was saving his allowance for a special toy.  He worked diligently raking the leaves into a plush pile of red, gold, and brown.  When the pile was to his liking he would run and jump in them with an eruption of toothless giggles.
     Soon it was time to leave for soccer practice and I began issuing orders to my three sons.  “Get your shin guards on”, “Go use the potty”, “Where’s your sweatshirt?”  As he went to fulfill his mission, my oldest son stood up to grasp the hydrangea tree that was blooming in our yard just beyond where he had been raking moments earlier.  He marveled at the beautiful rosy blooms, when all around him everything else was dying and slipping into winter’s long sleep.  I urged him to hurry—the clock ever present upon my wrist.
     In a flurry of activity we set out to leave—water bottles packed, toys to occupy the little one, mail to read while I waited at the field.  The flurry did not stop when practice was over—bath time, supper time, homework time, story time…time…time..time.  It always seems so short.
     Later that night, everyone was tucked in soundly.  They were all clean and fed.  Backpacks all set for the coming day. Lunches packed and awaiting the morning rush.  Dinner dishes were being washed with the low hum of the dishwasher drumming away in the background. As I collapsed in a heap on my bed to read I wondered if when the busy flurry of raising children is over if I will miss it.  I wondered if I would have the energy to do this again tomorrow.  I wondered at what opportunities I had missed, what things I should have done differently, what my kids would remember about their childhood.
     As my glance moved upward I noticed a new addition to the room.  Upon the windowsill, stood a large plastic tumbler, nearly brimming with water.  Floating on the top were a few hydrangeas—rosy blooms—a reminder of the splendor that remains when all the impatient flowers in the yard have long since withered.  Sometime between, “Where’s your sweatshirt?”  And “Put your shin guards on!”  my eldest son had thought of me.  He had picked me some flowers, carefully preserved them, climbed upon the counter like a monkey to get the tumbler, filled it with water and snuck it into my bedroom upon my windowsill.
     I sat there in amazement, and in deep gratitude.  In the midst of the whirlwind, my oldest son reminded me to stop and treasure the flowers.  I walked into his bedroom to hug him and thank him—but there he was, exhausted—sleeping, with the face of an angel.
     It’s been 2 days now, and that big plastic tumbler still sits on my windowsill.  The hydrangeas have slumped a bit in their generous bog.  But, the mere sight of them fills me with joy—and when I walk by them I’m reminded not to let the clock around my wrist keep me from missing the hydrangeas on my sill.

Be Still

Be Still

When the surf of disappointment washes over me

And eyes darkened by grief fail in hope to see,

When my identity –crafted by my hand—crumbles before man

And the high places I constructed withering fail to stand,

When those I love shrink back in fear

And all my efforts fade like mist,

You beckon me come closer.

You pursue though I resist.

When grief so deep enshrouds my soul,

When I ran so far and fast

To shake the depths of the night

Though I knew relief wouldn’t last,

When joy is an elusive butterfly

I could see but n’er catch

And peace a winsome breeze

Never caught in my net.

When my toil exhausted, mind unrelenting,

In never ending work

Up again, must do again, n’er slacking

Never shirk.

Busy. Oh stay busy. Lest your mind come rest on grief.

Busy.  Stay so busy. Navigate  tumultuous sea.

Always working. Never shirking. 

Like the buzzing of a bee.

Stay busy.  Oh so busy.  Lest your mind come rest on grief.

But for love could divine rest exert  It’s perfect will

Oh so busy but I love you so I grant you to be still.

Be still my child—you may not move—sit right here—toil not.

Be still my child—rest.  Listen.  Learn.  The sea with peril fraught.

Be still and rest.  Lean back and sleep.

You can entrust  Me with your ease.

The wind and waves still know My name

The surf and sea is mine to tame

You toil for not—dear child so weary

Labor not.  Observe my perfect will.

Dear child, for this season

Come here. Rest.

Be still.