My dear Friends,

I’m here today to tell you, while I really want to write a shiny piece of encouragement, I’m gonna have to keep it short, simple, and sweet. I’m experiencing something familiar to many of you.

You see, my once strong, sassy mom is not well. Her dementia progressed so quickly a few weeks ago, we thought for sure she suffered a stroke. But, extensive testing shows nothing major occurred. She is in the late stages of dementia and it hurts to see her like that. Pain, confusion, anxiety.

As you know, grief is not new to me. So, I figured as I process it, I’ll just power on and through and write my blog and newspaper column and finish the second half of my book and manage my home and my ebbing hormones:) … and oh yes, build relationships, and babysit, and work hard at the candy store, and … and … and …

Sadness. Pain. Confusion. Anxiety.

My counsellor told me that yes, I know how to “do” grief. But, this is new. This is my mom. I’m grieving past, present, and future loss.  In some ways, it’s harder, with new depth and scary twists. I grieve what we didn’t have. What she’s enduring now. And pain, yet unknown, in the days to come without her.

So, this season ebbs and flows. As much as I want to Wonder Woman this, I’m slowing down. While I don’t want to feel this new pain, I don’t want to miss it either. I don’t want to miss what it will teach me and a new depth of God’s comfort and healing. I surrender to the process.

I’ll do as my counselor reminds me. I’ll breathe. And just Be.

And now a little love note wisps into my thoughts,

Robin, Be still.  And know I AM. ~God

Yes, my friends. That’s for all of us. Be still. May we give ourselves freedom and compassion and the courage to feel and heal and not lose sight of abundant, beautiful life around us. Joy and Grief really do co-exist.

Grace and Peace,

~Robin

 

 

Photo borrowed from Pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last time we met here, I was on a riverbank eyeing that red devil raft and swirling white water. I mentally freaked out, fighting real and imagined fears. I froze and folded. “Nope. No way. I can’t do this.”

Then there was Jeff, my husband, volunteering to sit up front. His mischievous grin, usually endearing, is quite annoying in times like these. Shaking my head, I looked to the back of the raft. There stood our 6-foot-plus mountain man river guide. Birdman seemed a tad over baked in the Tennessee sun. His eyes were wide and wild like his smile.

Everything in me resisted. But, Jeff’s a strong swimmer and already invested over half his life keeping me safe. So, I figured he’d jump in after me.I wish I could say it was courage. Probably more like pride. Either get in the raft or eat my words about living large and crushing comfort zones.

Overwhelming fear tempts us to give up before we even start.

A couple months before the rafting trip, I decided to write my book. Fear of failure was saying, “Nope. No way. You can’t do this.” For a while, that undertow held me. I froze, folded, and wanted to forget about it.

But, I realized that not trying was already failing. I accepted that maybe I didn’t have a book in me. And that was okay. Whatever the outcome ~ whatever I learned in the process ~ I knew it would be good. Even better than I could ask or imagine. That’s the way it goes with God. So, I took the next scary step. I breathed deep, closed my eyes, and trusted him with the rest.

Like when I stepped onto the front of the raft and launched into the unknown. It’s the most terrifying, stretching, exciting thing I’ve ever done. Mostly scary. Really scary.

When’s the last time you tried something new?  Maybe you want to write or sing or take a college course. Please, stop telling yourself you can’t. Just do it. Try new recipes. Read a different genre of books. Take an art class or buy some crayons and tap into that kid in you. And don’t say you’re too old. It’s never too late to live before you die. Until then, there’s always something new to learn.

Instead of imagining the worst and listening to lies, trust yourself, your passions, and your Good Guide. If needed, he’ll jump to your rescue. Every time. Do something fun, and maybe a tad scary. Feed your soul, my friend. It’s all about abundance, baby. Get in the raft and hold on. It’s gonna be a wild ride.

“God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us.” ~ Ephesians 3:20-21

 

 

Photo at top: Robin, front left, screaming. Jeff, front right, laughing 🙂 Daughter, Hannah, behind him.

 

 

For those of you who know my husband, I think you’ll agree he’s a positive guy.  But, when hit with a challenge, Jeff’s mind often jumps to worst-case scenario. It exaggerates reality. A few drops of coffee are “all over the floor,” a simmering pot is “boiling away.” That’s how his mind works. It jumps to action. Perhaps, it’s his military training, or niggling childhood fears, or simply a flair for the dramatic. Probably all three. Whatever catapults his hyper thinking, I’m thankful. It has saved my sanity on countless occasions. Like when I left my baby on a train … but that’s a drama for another day.

We know  fear is automatic. A wired-in, needed response to danger. Research shows  when faced with a threat, real or perceived, our brains and nervous systems kick in with at least one of these responses: Fight, Flight, Freeze, or Fold. Jeff tells me there’s a fifth: Freak-out. It’s that worst-case panic button.

While Jeff goes into fight/freak-out mode when feeling threatened, my initial response is to freeze, fold, and retreat to safety. And, yes, I freak-out. Internally.

This reminds me of the day I stood on a riverbank with my tennis shoes squished into Tennessee mud. Rain drizzled onto my ponytail as I glanced from Jeff, to the raft, to the rapids. Then to the river guide, back to the raft. There were no seats on that red devil and it looked really bouncy. Like bouncy-house bouncy. The river’s white caps reached and grabbed and swirled and my mind swam.

Growing up near the Mississippi, I learned about a river’s undertow. It hides, even under peaceful waters. Stay shallow, stay safe. So, I understood when our guide, Birdman ~ yes, that’s his real name ~ warned me, “If you fall out, don’t let your feet touch bottom, it will grab you and it will hold you under.”

Thanks a lot, scary mountain man.

Why did I ask for adventure? I was tired of small living—of needing control and fearing what I couldn’t see. But my bring-it-on attitude was drowning in irrational thought.

Oh. Heck. No. I will die. Stay with sneakers stuck in mud. I like mud. Wait right here. Make mud pies. Who likes sitting in wet denim shorts with river water soaked through their panties? Ew. Gross. Chafing. Not I. Yep, safe, comfy, dry-ish. I’ll stay on the riverbank, thank you very much.

Safe sounded good. Chilling in the rain was cool with me. Stay shallow. Stay safe.

Fear’s undercurrent grabs us and drags us in the opposite direction of the life Jesus promises. “The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life.”

That day I was stuck in the Tennessee mud, I had a choice. Live in a box or live in abundance. Fear or freedom. Let me tell you, I was shaking like a Chihuahua surrounded by toddlers punching Mylar balloons.

And then there was Jeff.  My fighter, with his mischievous grin, volunteering to sit up front. Oh God, no.

Would I stay frozen and fold? Would I punch fear in the face and not only get in the raft, but sit up front?

We’ll see next time. Until then, my friend, choose abundance. Pay attention to how you react to fear. Hold on to God and to rational thought. Perhaps it’s time to try something new.

Joy and courage for your journey.

 

Thank you,  Pixabay.com, for  the photo:)

 

I’m sorry. I gotta keep it real. Again. There’s a season in a woman’s life that may breeze in and out on a daisy-laden path. But today, it’s slamming my mind and body with the chaos of a hurricane and the slow inside-out burn of a volcano.

My dear male readers, if you’re still here: Run away or proceed on tiptoes. I know. Just when you think you understand women, we change again. It’s like trying to stabilize tectonic plates in a tug-of-war with the sun, moon, gravity, and lava from the earth’s core.

“The Change.” That’s what my mom’s generation called it. What a weak word for this bizarre paradigm shift of body, mind, and spirit. “The Chaos” is more like it.

Here I am, in this holistic onslaught, hoping to tap out rational thought onto my computer screen as my mind bounces on a toddler-filled trampoline. Stretched tight, pummeled and pinging, clashing and screaming.

And I really need my brain right now. After signing my pending book contract, I’ll get stretched even further. Already am, just thinking about the writing and marketing which includes all sorts of scary stuff. Like speaking in public. With my voice. In front of people. About my book, which is halfway done but has turned sideways in the birth canal. Yes. Ouch.

Drastic change, even a happy one – a move, a new job, or publishing a book– is scary and disorienting. And the unwanted ones are even more difficult.

They happen and we have little or no control. We can only control our response to the fear and chaos. At first, we might recoil and resist then we rock and roll.

There’s something to learn in this gut-wrenching process. From loss to new normal. Though the pain and struggle are very real, we give ourselves permission to feel and heal. To let go of how our life used to be and accept where it is now.

Here’s where we ask God for courage to see and to change what we can: Us. We ask for strength to accept what we can’t change: Everything and everyone else. We breathe deep and ask for new vision and new purpose. We use change to make us better, not bitter.

It’s not easy. I know. But, remember God’s promise:

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;  and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” Isaiah 43:2

God knows your name, he knows your voice, and he knows your struggle. Talk to him and then to a friend or a counselor. We aren’t meant to do this alone. That’s why I see my counselor every Tuesday. She’s helping me unravel this hot mess and giving me courage to face my fears.

We really can be whole and free in the middle of chaos, my friend.

Strength, peace, and love to you.

 

 

Photo by Robin Melvin