Name Your Storm…by Anne Stewart Helton

PERTURBED…PREPARED…PRAYERFUL…PANICKED…PARALYZED… PETRIFIED….PESSIMISTIC…PERSISTENT….PASSIVE…No words can really describe the actions and feelings one has when information hits social media or the airwaves about a coming weather storm. The Meteorologists, for the most part, become your best friends!

For some, a coming storm, conjures up memories of past storms, denial of the potential hurt, feelings of piling on to existing problems, shock about what to do or perhaps going into a control mode of preparation, attack and craziness! When there is time to anticipate a Storm in life, it seems like people go into a grief process and once the shock of what is coming hits the reality of what needs to be done, they move quickly forward to manage and get through it…sometimes leaving their feelings trailing on a leash by necessity.

All normal. All explainable. All part of the Storms of life.

The recent 2017 Hurricanes, Harvey in Houston and Irma in Florida, brought out many feelings, actions, desperate situations, shock, denial, scapegoating, leadership traits, mobilization, heroes, supporters, workers, bonding situations and forever changes. These storms brought out mostly all of the good in people, even when some tried to focus on any bad. The people spoke. The people showed up with…”we don’t have time for negative“. We have to get ‘boots on the ground’ and fix this situation and help each other. We are forever changed.

Yes. Forever. Changed.

In Houston, as I still watch my City and friends struggle with the pain of rebuilding their homes, jobs and lives after Hurricane Harvey’s flooding (many of them having flooded several times recently), I realize they are forever changed. How could it be possible to not be changed whenever we go through a major Storm in life? In Houston, many remember Hurricane Carla from the 60’s, in New Orleans, we remember Hurricane Katrina, in Beaumont we remember Rita, in the North East we remember Sandy, and now in Florida and the Caribbean, we remember Irma. We learn from these named Storms and all the life events that surround them.

With a named Storm, we can put the experiences, the pain, the good, the feelings, the lessons, the new friends and the grief and loss in a box and name it. It’s not to minimize the situation but we can ‘time stamp’ the Storm. And it allows us to put these named Storm boxes on shelves in our brain and have some control over them, bringing them out when we want. We can tell stories from them, we can remember lessons, we can help others learn from our experiences and we can cry on our pillow about them, if needed. We can reach back and compare new situations to them and we can learn to feel stronger because we went through them. Think of the stories we have heard of the past storms…usually named by locations. My grand-father spoke of the “Great Storm of 1900 in Galveston”, and my Mother often remembered the Long Beach Earthquake, scaring us to death about jumping over cracks in sidewalks! Currently, residents are describing the fear surrounding the La Tuna Canyon or Montana Fires. In the Gulf Coast we even named the floods in Houston of the past few years: the Memorial Day Flood and the Tax Day Flood, both for the dates they occurred. And when people speak of moving from New Orleans the word Hurricane doesn’t even have to be mentioned, just the word Katrina says it all. And now as Hurricane Irma has devastated parts of Florida and the Caribbean, her name will define the entire event just as Harvey will define the great flood of Houston, 2017.

We grow from these stormy situations and we bond with each other, we reach out and help, we learn new skills, we move on to new places and we reach up, yes, reach up to God. Sometimes the washing of flooding waters brings new spirituality, life and hope.

So, I propose that we name all the Storms of our lives. They are already in our memories so let’s package them and define them. We can put our arms around them and put them on shelves with the memories, the lessons, and then move forward. For instance, name the storm of your divorce, your miscarriage, your lost child, your job loss, bankruptcy, flooded house, automobile wreck, health issue, emotional crisis, etc., etc.

Yes, name your Storm….names like: Hurricane Cancer of 2016. The Flood of Tears when the baby died. The Overdose Fire when the brother was in ICU. The Poverty Wind when a bankruptcy took the home. The Terror Tornado when the car was hijacked. The Boyfriend Quake when a heart was broken or the Mommie Tsunami we went through when my Mom died.

Even when our Storms are named, we will still hurt when we recall them but we can talk about them a little more objectively and place the Storm in the past tense. We can describe the event, the lessons learned and realize how strong we were / are, knowing we survived them. Perhaps we can move forward more readily and know that as it is written in John 16:33 “I have told you these things, so that you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

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“The Empty Rocker”…by Anne Stewart Helton

How many times have you held loving arms in your arms? How many babies’ cries have you heard sighed to sleep? How many eyes have you helped close? And how many waiting hearts have you soothed?
Oh, Empty Rocker of Mine.

In a year when my Mother has died, the empty arms hurt more, especially at this time of year when we honor a Mothers’ love. Yes, it’s the good ‘ol Hallmark branded ads on TV…all the time… just to make you cry and buy time of year….it’s Mothers Day.  So, if you are a Mother give yourself a Break AND if you have or had a Mother, and everyone did, give her a Break!

My Mother, Geraldine A. Stewart, was a loving Mom. She sat in my Rocker many times and even cradled my own grandchildren in it. She had a full heart and alas, it was her heart that failed her but only physically. She always wanted everyone to get along, sometimes to a fault, but that’s how Mothers are wired. We want our families, communities, employees, preachers, politicians and animals to all get along. Also, mothering doesn’t have to always involve having children, it can be a trait, a nurturing of others, a behavior of encouragement, kindness, or loving protection and loyalty for a friend.

For some people, their mothering wasn’t special and loving. But Mothers can’t be blamed, just understood. Not all people or Mothers were mothered correctly, sad choices may have been made and just like babies in the wild, those traits can be passed on. And as a community, we can step up and mother those who are ‘lost in the wild’, but it’s important, particularly for our own hearts, to give Mothers everywhere a break. Especially if we ever find ourselves blaming our Mothers for our own life choices or judging them for their lives.We must try to let go of blaming and judging and look in the mirror….and wish our Mothers thanks, happiness and love.

However it was that you came into the world, you did have a Mom.

She may have carried you for nine months, gone from zero centimeters dilation to ten centimeters with twenty hours of pushing to get you in her arms; or she chose you after years of searching from an adoption agency or foster care; or she stepped up and took over a family members’ role to raise abandoned or orphaned children or she’s was a brave step-parent, blending with a new family or she was a Grandma raising Grandchildren, or she volunteered at a mission or shelter to read to children who needed an extra Mom or maybe she was the fun, crazy, Aunt/Mom.

Whoever….You had a Mom!

Being a Mother is hard; it’s not like rocket science…it’s much harder!  Motherhood provides moments of pure joy and love…smiles and tears at those first steps, silly songs, playground fun, recitals, art work brought home, scholarly accomplishments, first dances, weddings and dinner table holidays but Motherhood also involves sacrifice and down right humiliation, with a smile….from defending a child to a teacher at school but finding out later you were so wrong; to screaming at a baseball game for your child to run faster only to have them turn around and scream “MOOOMMM stop”;  to  cleaning up vomit in a mattress;  to picking out lice from hair follicles; to walking the halls at night in worn pajamas holding the fretting child with 104 degree fever; or to refinancing loans to pay for sports leagues, clothes, cars, camps or college. Being a Mom may involve seeing your child ignore you or roll his or her eyes at a comment you’ve made; or perhaps it involves caring for a special needs child, with no one around who understands, so you cry into your pillow at night; or praying unceasingly for the brave military child not seen in years; or having a chronically ill adult child to care for or walking the streets to find a child in a shelter because of their problems or choices; or having to watch them face hard consequences for those choices and then maybe hearing in later years all the things Mom “did wrong”…some true… but most not so true.

It’s tough, just plain tough being a Mom. We will never know everything our own Mothers went through to have us, keep us, help us, and love us. Maybe our Mothers never felt real love themselves. Maybe they were scared. Maybe they had dreams and hopes that were interrupted. Maybe they gave up everything for us. Maybe Moms don’t have all the answers and just need God to help children know their Moms better, have more empathy and return love to their Moms.

Maybe we should actually thank our Mothers for having the courage to even claim they were our Mothers!!!

The only way to get through the Motherhood thing is with a lot of prayers and humor. My Mother had both and I thank God for that. She had to, she had TEN children, to which her famous line was always: “Someday, I want to talk to the Pope about this.

Oh, what a Mom she was.

So, when I see you Dear Empty Rocker on this Mothers Day, 2017 , I am thankful for my Mothers’ humor, so I keep ‘Minnie Mouse’ in your arms.

I also think about the last time she rocked me.

And sadly, but with Heavenly joy, I think about the last time I tried to rock her before she was swept up to be rocked by HIM.   Happy Mothers Day Mom!    I love you!

 

 

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“AWAKE and AWARE: Get Your Easter On”….by Anne Stewart Helton

As children, my family loved Holy Week. Not only did it signal the holiest time of the Christian religion, especially in the Catholic Church, but it also meant the end to whatever we had “given up” for Lent. Our sacrifices usually meant giving up candy or Television in my era. We took it very seriously, probably too seriously but it did build self-discipline, which meant a lot in those pre-’60’s years.

As I contemplate this Holy Thursday evening of Holy Week, as well as Passover of 2017 for my Jewish friends, I reflect on the years I thought that I was totally connected to God. I practiced all the required and embedded religious practices and went along side my Parents for all the traditional ceremonies. I loved the smell of the candles, the sounds of the bells and symbols of Christ. They helped me to visually connect with God.

They. Brought. Stability. Tradition.

Washing the Priests’ feet on Holy Thursday was always a special portion of Jesus’ Last Supper, especially the delivery of the message of humility as HE washed his followers feet, even The One who would betray him. How in the world was HE able to follow through on that message of forgiveness!

With eyes wide open, and I do mean wide open, I realized a few years ago I had not been awake and aware enough over many years of religion, even to the point of judging others who talked about a special relationship with Jesus and HIS walk on Earth. I especially realize the importance now as I want only real relationships with others just as Jesus demonstrated to us. Maybe like you, most of my enlightenment or denouement moments have come during difficult, painful storms of life. Just like a Holy Week. That’s when we learn to grow.

About a decade ago, I found myself in one of those dark times as I was away from my life mate and alone. It had a happy ending but it was exactly where God wanted me at the time as the only thing I could do was reach up to HIM, so I did. Sometimes that’s how HE reaches us. I desperately wanted to know that someone really cared about me and would carry me through the pain I was feeling. This often happens during a health crisis or death of a loved one. I bought many inspirational books to read and I went to every Church in town! I would find prayers to say from my computer, all the while crying on the keyboard.

I had never believed that I could actually talk personally with Jesus.

It seemed that it was at night-time, especially about 4 am, that was always the worse for me. It was probably like that in the Garden of Gethsemane. I have heard others in pain say the same about that time of the morning. Once, while praying for solace, I asked God to show me he was there. Now don’t judge me, but deep down inside I heard these two words: “I AM”

I sat straight up in bed and looked around. I was still alone.

Still trying to learn more about the Bible then, I had no idea what the words meant. I called my brother-in-law Dr. Mark, an Old and New Testament Scholar, the next day and he explained how in Exodus 3:14 God said to Moses, “I am who I am. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I am has sent me to you”

My brother-in-law was floored about what I heard in my heart also and then he humbly asked me, “What did God sound like??”  I loved this because it made it even more real to me.

“Well”, I said, “HE sounded like…well,…HE sounded like God!!”

It was then that I knew, that I knew, that I knew that God was real and he was with me.

(art work by Baron & Barbara Bissett)

I knew HE must have a plan for the pit I was in, I just didn’t know yet how I would get out or what the plan would or could possibly be!! BUT.GOD.DID. And he does for You.

In the storms of your life, whether its’ health, relationships, addictions, sin, finances, loneliness or whatever…Get Your Easter On. It may feel like a sad, somber Friday but Sunday is coming. You will be stronger after your life storms and find great purpose from them.

And You will be AWAKE and AWARE!

 

Happy Jesus Nurse: Heart Lessons – Book Page

 

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“Begorah St. Pat” by Anne Stewart Helton

Shamrocks, Parades and Green hats…oh my! You have no idea what you did St. Patrick!!

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Those of us who are of Irish descent, and those who claim to be, go crazy this time of year. March 17 is our day to celebrate you, St. Patrick, and we do it up big. We have Parades, we wear green, or get pinched, we put a little brogue in our speech and we think lovely, magical, leprechaun, gnome, thoughts. You bring out the Spring in us, you bring out some family heritage, you cause us to remember our ancestors who struggled to come to an exciting America and you even bring out some spiritual sayings and family rosaries. You cause us to long for our roots, our home, our Baile. You help us remember the importance of our connections and friendships with one another, our Cara. Perhaps that is why everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s day. We long for that friendship.

Oh, yes, I almost forgot…you bring out many a pint in the pubs for those who want an excuse to toast! Unfortunately that aspect has perpetuated many a stereotype…o’ those Irish! We are wistful, romantic, feisty and brave people and we love our words, toasts and stories. One of our favorites is: “May you be in heaven a full half hour before the Devil knows you’re dead.” We hold strong to traditions and legends, even when we know they maaaay not be true! But, of course, we know there are no real leprechauns but, oh my, don’t ask us not to tell the stories of the wee-ones to sleepy bed heads of children. And, of course we know that you didn’t drive the snakes out of Ireland as there were no snakes in Ireland but you know what??… that devil can be a snake and you sure stood up to him!! We know you weren’t actually born in Ireland but most of us claiming to be Irish weren’t either! Also, we know there are no pots o’ Gold at the end of a rainbow but, you know what??… many a beautiful field or home is at the end of a Rainbow.

For a Saint, who wasn’t even officially canonized by Rome, you sure caused a lot of commotion.

There was so much more to you, St. Patrick, than all the green fun we have on March 17th. You have become a cracked mirror for how we would like to live. Perhaps it’s because you lived an adventurous, spiritual life but with great purpose and legacy. Being born in Britain and then captured by Irish Pirates as a Teenager, you would hold up to any Johnny Depp movie, especially as you ended up as a slave, herding sheep in a land of pagans! Perhaps it’s because you knew what it was like to be held down or held back but you continued to fight the good fight between good and evil, paying attention to a dream from God, escaping from the Irish slaveholders and going back to your homeland. But, perhaps it is mostly because even after much adversity you remained humble and followed the vision of returning to Ireland as you heard the voices crying from the people: “We appeal to you, holy servant boy, to come and walk among us.”  You sought to focus on God, to go and help the people of Ireland, using the shamrock to explain the Holy Trinity, and arriving back in Ireland in 433. Some say you were smart politically in your methods however you lived a humble life converting Ireland as you built Churches and taught others to do the same.

Flowering Esperanza – HOPE

We thank you, oh mighty spiritual patron Saint of Ireland for giving our ancestors Hope and for still being around for all of us in this day of cynicism. For our protection, faith and trust in God, help us to always keep the poem attributed to you, “The Breastplate”,  in our hearts and homes.

“….Christ be within me, Christ behind me, Christ before me, Christ beside me, Christ to win me, Christ to comfort and restore me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ inquired, Christ in danger, Christ in hearts of all that love me, Christ in mouth of friends and stranger….”

And then join with us in spirit St. Pat, on our silly, fun-loving day of March 17th as we wear green, lest we get pinched, and we smile a little bigger with the luck o’ the Irish on our side! We Irish still have sayings for everything. So, then at midnight on March 17th, I’m sure if my Gaelic speaking Grandmother, Mary Catherine O’Gallagher,  from County Mayo, Ireland was still alive, she would give thanks to God and to you and say something like :

Mol an latha math mu oidhche”….“Praise the good day at the close of it”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“I’m your Nurse, I Will Hold Your Hand” by Anne Stewart Helton

“I know you are in there, I know you hear me. I’m your Nurse and I will hold your hand through this.” I whispered to the pale, puffy, 50 something middle-aged man in obvious pain as he tried to breathe. Our eyes met briefly and the connection was verified.

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It had been a cold, busy early ’80’s January night when the traffic fought me as I attempted to get to my Intensive Care Unit (ICU) shift on time. Got my Stethoscope. Got my scissors and pens. Got my midnight lunch, and even kept my own blood pressure cuff tucked away in my car!

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We actually wore nursing caps back then so I pinned mine on and was ready to hit the hospital floor running. There were no iPhones, so I had my little black spiral calendar tablet in my lab coat pocket for phone numbers, notes and basic apothecary formulas for prescriptions. We calculated everything ourselves over 30 years ago and even mixed most Intravenous (IV) medications. It was a world of stand on your feet, run and go, lift and turn, senses assaulting, brain calculating, empathy draining, relentless shift of work. And. I. loved. it.

I could feel my heart beating faster and my adrenaline flowing as I rushed to the 3rd floor Intensive Care Unit (ICU)  for a 12 hour shift. I loved the science and the art of Nursing and loved wearing my mostly new University of Texas Nursing School pin with the little star attached to represent Houston and I couldn’t wait to meet the new patients admitted to the hospital in need of care.

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Most of our patients were admitted in pain and shock from the Emergency Room or directly from life saving surgery for Post Operative Intensive Care but some were also more long-term intensive care patients and thus their families and histories were well-known to staff. The ICU Staff functioned as a family of sorts, albeit at times dysfunctional!! But we all worked as a Team to make sick people healthy again.

I went into the nightly cave of ICU where the secrets of wires, beeps and instruments were stored, where the codes for medicinal mixes were housed and where private phone numbers to reach physicians in the middle of the night were guarded. At that time ICU’s were mostly off-limits for families and thus a primordial bond was created between patients and staff. We were their lifelines and we earnestly absorbed our duty deep into our persona. We often became the “keeper of the keys”. However, Registered Nurses were also known to frequently sneak husbands, wives, parents and children into ICU’s to hug patients far beyond any established hospital visiting time rules.

This would be one of those nights for me.

My recently admitted Mr. Man Patient lay on his back, exposed to me, arms flayed as if on a cross and he was connected to tubing leading to bottled fluids in order to bring his heart rate down, his blood pressure up, his pain level down and his consciousness up. We had him on a roller coaster to keep him alive after he had suffered a major myocardial infarction, MI, or heart attack that had effectively killed most of his heart muscle. His mid- sized, only 58-year-old body had been found by his teenage son on the floor of their garage when his son came home from school. Mr. Man Patient had been cleaning the garage all by himself, which was after he had mowed his yard and cleaned out the gutters around the house. And all of it was done while sneaking a cigarette in between chores. Yes, a classic Type A!

His son was horrified and tried to shake his dad awake, then remembered his minimal Cardio Pulmonary Resuscitation (CPR) skills and he went into gear… He knew his Dad had major heart problems already and did manage to get him breathing again. So, he held on to his father as the Ambulance crew arrived and brought him eventually to our waiting arms.

After receiving my report from the RN on the shift before me, I reviewed my guys’ chart and did my usual nursing assessment. I introduced myself but did not get a response so I stroked my patients’ shoulder, gently watching him stir just a bit. I could feel the beads of perspiration and recognized he was still reacting to his terrible MI.

Vital signs: check.

IV fluids: check.

Skin turgor and color: check.

Consciousness: ? Consciousness: ? No, he was not responding to my voice or touch except to moan a bit.

I looked out through the glass window by his bed and saw a fifty something, lovely woman with caring, terrified eyes looking straight at me. I knew it was his wife without being introduced. She pleaded with me and words were not necessary. Just as suddenly, a Staff member drew the curtain and she could no longer be seen. Now I had a family face in my head and could see more depth into my patient. It always made it harder. I knew from report that the Cardiologist did not expect him to survive and that this was a classic widow maker type heart attack. We didn’t always rush folks to the Cardiac Catheterization lab back then, in fact most places didn’t have one.

I continued with the physician orders for the shift and as I went in and out of his room, mostly staying in, and I tried to pray every time I was next to him…out loud. “Our Father, who art in Heaven…” I patted his hand and rubbed his shoulders between the necessary technical tasks. My stomach told me I was hungry but for some reason I didn’t feel like leaving him for a night shift lunch break, so I sipped on coffee. When I was holding his hand for an IV check I noticed he still had on his scratched, thin gold wedding band. Usually we try to get those removed in the emergency room but his was still there. He stirred and moaned as I felt the ring. So, I tried to rub it and turn it more to arouse him. He moaned louder and seemed to try to talk. I moved his oxygen mask a little and I said “I know you’re in there.” He opened his eyes a little. “I know you hear me.”

I continued to turn his wedding ring and he mouthed to me “my wife”.  I said, “Yes, Your wife is here”.

He shook his head “No” and I said “Yes, she is right outside.” He seemed a bit agitated and then mouthed “My ring”. It hit me…“You want your wife to have your ring?” He squeezed my hand and our eyes met in the connected way that one can only have when one person is pleading for help while the other person finds a way to help. “Please” he said. I patted his hand and said “Okay”.

I quickly got up and walked out of his room and there she was, still standing behind the curtain, she hadn’t moved and she was holding his jacket and burying her face in it. She was crying and taking deep breaths, she seemed to be trying to smell him on his jacket. It was gut wrenching. I placed my arm around her and guided her into his room, to his bedside. She fell over him and he tried to hold her. I knew it was stressing him but he had so little time. He stroked her hair and said “I will love you forever. Take my ring.” Her eyes widened with fear as she saw all the tubes and wires and I said “I’ll help you.”

In a moment of time that seemed like a wedding, with chime-like music of a heart monitor and the percussion of oxygen and a suction machine, I took his ring off and she held out her 3rd finger, left hand and I placed it on. She cried and he smiled. They kissed and he closed his eyes. He was tired.

As I ushered her out and hugged her, soon afterwards his heart monitor went off again and his last Code started. The CPR team worked extra, extra hard to bring back this man and I saw briefly his wife holding her teenage son in her arms as the Staff drew the curtain one last time to his room.

When the Head Physician called the Code and pronounced him dead and the expert Team left the room, as his Nurse, it was my honored privilege to clean him up a bit and bring his wife and son in to see him and to say goodbye. I felt his Spirit still in the room, his desire not to leave and I could sense his love and persistent connection to his little family on earth. As I disconnected the IV lines and wiped the markings of the CPR Code from his body and combed his hair, I rubbed his cooling, ring less left hand and whispered to my patient on this cold January night: “I know you’re in here…I know you hear me. You were a good husband to her; Godspeed my patient…Godspeed. I will say prayers for your family and I may ask you to spiritually hold my hand some day too…”

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“MOTHER, May I?” by Anne Stewart Helton

It’s May…Mother’s Day month and I am remembering when even our childhood games asked for our Mother’s permission. Can you imagine….?

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In childhood days of the past, before texting, twitter or Facebook, sometimes we would place our Mom in a chair, outside in the front yard, and we would gather up neighborhood friends and line up in front of Mom. We played the game “Mother, May I?”, facing her, so she could actually watch us doing whatever she sometimes mischievously commanded us to do!

In the “Mother May I?” game, for instance, we would ask her “Mother May I ” take 5 steps forward…the winning objective was to get closest to her…first!  She could either “allow” us to do certain antics to get closer to her or tell us to take 10 steps backwards or jump like a frog, or take scissor-steps sideways, and so on.  If we forgot to ask for her permission or didn’t wait for her command of “You May” we had to start all over again. My Mom always tried to be over-fair so I can only imagine how she would play the game now, in today’s politically correct world of “no competition”.  We would probably all have to line up and walk in unison just to be at her side, like zombies! But also, I think it must have been so difficult for her to be involved with her ten children 24/7, and then be involved even when playing games, when she really just needed a break from kids. I imagine she probably wanted to say No you may not take 10 steps forward towards me, You may go run around the block 10 times and then take the bus downtown. Of course, a directive such as that today would get a poor Mom arrested! Sometimes Mom probably wanted to say “You may go take a walk at Brazos Bend State Park…” which, on second thought would have probably not been a good idea!

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Mothers of little humans aren’t given quick pregnancies or short childhood development periods nor are they given the instinctive ability to flip the little creatures from the nest. Human Moms have never ending years of caring…long months of gestational periods of the nines, sleepless nights with hours that never amount to nine and long years, where each year may seem like nine. And then the nines start over when the darlings move out or go to college. The nines change to maybe nine minutes free of not worrying about them, no matter what age!

When communicating with children, Mom’s are usually the Parent of the mundane…the laundry, the breakfast, the homework, the computer, the squabbles with friends, the sports schedules, the taxi service and the orthodontist appointments….And, granted in the early developmental years, the young humans usually do ask, albeit in different ways, “Mother May I?”, but it’s more like:

MOM, PLEEEEEEZE? Everyone else does it!!” And if the mom says No, you may not”,  it is often followed by long strings of arguing to exhaustion, debating the pros and cons of the requests and nowadays, as the offspring grow, it’s often, “Well, I’ll do it anyway!” or they just choose to never ask, they just do!! Whatever!

It makes one wonder if any rock singer asked her Mom, “Mother, may I twerk on stage?” or, “Hey Mom, can I go half naked and sing in this cool video where I wear a dog-collar? orMother, may I get a forehead tattoo of my new fav-boy band and pierce my tongue?”.

Of course, It’s doubtful children would ever ask “Mother May I?” to any of these requests but sadly, some Mothers desire desperately to be cool friends rather than guiding Moms to their kiddos and they may actually allow their children to compromise themselves just to try to keep up with peers.  And fame can be so intoxicating at times, that some Mothers may actually encourage their children to act-out to gain attention. When I see this played out in real life I think about what my old friend Lori used to say, “Where’s that kids’ Momma? ’cause they are acting a fool!”  But, in reality perhaps the Momma is doing some of the same stuff herself and the real question is Are there any grown-ups anymore!!”

When it seems overwhelming how some children lack honor, respect or obedience to their Mothers I remember that even Mother Mary had problems with her youngster Jesus over two thousand years ago. When Jesus was age twelve, Mary and Joseph were leaving a Passover Festival in Jerusalem to return home. Unbeknownst to them, Jesus stayed behind. Now that is something every busy and stressed out Mother can identify with!  When Jesus had been missing for three days they finally found him back in Jerusalem, in the Temple. In Luke 2:48-50, when Mary found Jesus, she asked him, “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.”

Jesus replied “Why were you searching for me?”…. “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?”

Of course, they realized later He was starting his mission on Earth and subsequently He did become totally obedient to them. But, the point for me is even Mother Mary didn’t have total control and even Jesus didn’t ask “Mother May I?” when he stayed back in the Temple. Of course our children are far from being Jesus but He does dwell in them as the Holy Spirit!  So, Jesus’ own pre-teen rebellion can give a current day, frazzled Mother a little comfort that sometimes our offspring do have good plans and intentions in the behaviors they portray.

So, maybe No, we don’t really ask our Mom for permission anymore. Even in silly games.

But I still go to my Mother for wisdom and playful games.

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I took her to lunch recently and asked my over 90 yr old Mom what she thought about the “Mother May I?” game of long ago years that we used to play. She remembered playing it with her own Mother. And I asked her what she thought about children asking Mothers for permission and if she could write her thoughts in a journal we keep. As usual, she gave me some very wise words.

On asking Mothers for permission??…in a modern day version it was just like what Mother Mary found out, she wrote: “I think it’s very important! Listen to (my) mother, not the movies or T.V. and mainly listen to God.” Love Mom

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“BLOOM. REACH. PLANT.” by Anne Stewart Helton

It sounds so simple.
Just blossom or do something wonderful in life, then get it out there, reach far, plant it and let it grow! I watch my wonderful Walking Iris plants do this every year. People can do this too, right?

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These Irises are beautiful wearing their purple vests against their white skirts, they bloom, sway, reach out and then plant themselves elsewhere and grow. It’s kinda spooky when you think about them moving around in my garden and it sounds pretty simple in it’s design…right?

Uh, well, I don’t think so!

I tried to watch the blooms for awhile this year, to check the process and I observed the flowers daily to see what was happening. The weight of the blooms became heavier and heavier with pollen, attracting me and the bees, as well as moisture. Then, when the March winds came to town, the blooms ebbed and flowed within the windy waves around my garden. Each gust allowed them to reach out more and then the rain storms actually weighted down the blooms with water and little sticks or debris blown down upon them. I was tempted once to remove the sticks until I realized they pushed the blooms closer to the ground to receive new life. While I wanted to keep the blooms unscathed, in their flawless purple glory, I left the sticks and water in the blooms, and watched and waited…

IrisPlanting

But I missed the real transition one rainy, stormy night. I had thought about protecting them from the predicted storm but I didn’t. So, when I went outside the next morning I saw that the Irises had already planted themselves firmly in the dirt. The storm had blown them all around, pushed them down and allowed the blooms to put down hardy tendrils to find new nourishment in the dirt in order to continue growing and to multiply. One Iris looked pretty beaten up but its’ bloom stood tall. Not only had it survived the loud thunderstorm but it had been tried and tested now and would live on to survive more storms.

My Honeysuckle Ivy is doing the same thing now too. It is blooming but it’s using a distraction of an intoxicating fragrance while it performs it’s slight of hands and wraps its reaching tentacles around my sweet little Orange Tree. I can let it go like this for awhile, as it is blooming and growing but eventually….chop, chop! You see, it’s a tricky little vine, not rooting itself but trying to survive off the life of something else!

HoneySuckleflowers IvyReaching

Whenever I bloom with…an idea, a song, a creation, a book…I tend to think like the Iris. Okay, I made it, I wrote it, it’s pretty good, now come on wind, just get it out there. Plant it. I’m done.  But life isn’t like that. If something or someone is to be well planted, sometimes it has to reach out and go through some storms or even get filled up with sticks and debris to grow. Sometimes we may create something but we need to bury it for something better to come out of it. Learning to let go is an art in gardening and life…knowing when to prune, weed or fertilize is all part of the planting.  Sometimes, perhaps, we have to do the same with people…to observe and wait, even with our blooming children or grandchildren, to see where they will land and grow. But they have to survive their own storms in order to be strong! Often, we just overthink life believing that we can catch that perfect moment of someone’s transition when reaching out and planting, just to make it go our own way.  As if… we are in control!

Or sometimes we may live like my Honeysuckle Ivy and latch on to someone or something else for support but we must be careful not to overwhelm or suffocate the support with our own growth. If the thing we latch onto is a toxic diversion we will grow off course, perhaps even for a long time until someone helps us cut free or we are blown free from it, usually deep within our own storms. Sometimes we won’t actually go anywhere with our beautiful blooms but that’s okay too because our roots will become really strong and deep and they will last as we keep blooming. And sometimes we will get blown away by the wind and land far, far away from where we wanted to be or should be and then, we may have to actually start over. That is really hard, especially if the soil we land in is rocky and dry and there is no one who cares to nurture us or helps us grow. That’s when it helps to know the ultimate Master Gardener and to know that it is all designed, purposefully and perfectly in the production. After all, even a vicious forest firestorm prepares the ground deep in the forest which then produces the strongest of seedlings. In nature and in life, the sooner the better for us that we realize that whatever happens is  “all God’s timing. And sometimes we are left in a stormy period for awhile to refine our character.” (From “Happy Jesus Nurse: Heart Lessons”)  http://bit.ly/HappyJesusNurse

And I will bring the third part through the fire, and will refine them as silver is refined, and I will try them as gold is tried: they shall call on my name, and I will hear them: I will say, It is my people; and they shall say, The Lord is my God.”– Zechariah 13:9 (KJV)

I still continue to Bloom. Reach. and Plant in my life, even as the sun is lower on the horizon for me and my garden. I continue to wait with wonder at what survives, grows and multiplies around my life. I continue to work at being thankful for the Grace and Mercy that allows me to say ‘The Lord is my God’. And I remind myself daily to see His glory in the majesty of nature because it all belongs to God. I also know that prayer keeps me on that rich and fruitful garden path of life.

And…every now and then I light a candle for myself and for those I love, who may need a little extra light in their lives in order to Bloom, Reach, and Plant wherever it is that they are going and growing.

CandleLighting

 

 

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