The Three Most Important Words

I was just reading an article by Jackie Hance about the loss of her 3 daughters in a horrific traffic accident. For those who don't remember, the Hance girls, ages 8, 7, and 5, were passengers in a vehicle driven by their aunt who, after going the wrong way up an exit ramp, continued onto the highway and hit an SUV head-on in 2009.

The article was about going on, surviving. Mrs. Hance, who is a talker, asked several priests "why?" in the days and months that followed the deaths of her children. She says that one of them, at least, told her that the girls "needed to be together". She could not and does not understand why, if that is the reason, God could not have just allowed them to be together here.

I have never, thank God, had a child die. I have had a husband die in an accident and I have asked "why"? I did not ask priests. I just asked God and when I did not get the answer I wanted, or any discernible answer at all, I quit talking to Him.

For a time, I went to a Lutheran church and the pastor there told this story. He was unprepared with a sermon one Sunday as he had spent the day before with a family who had lost a child, an infant, to illness. The pastor, a father of 3 little girls himself, had prayed all the way over to the house for the right words, for ANY words, that would comfort this family. He said that he was amazed when the mother told him that she understood, that it was God's will. He did not disagree with her then but he was up all night thinking about that. He came to the conclusion that he did not believe that it was God's will - that he did not think that God decided to give a child an incurable illness. He believed that God allows the world to unfurl and unfold and then what God does - the miracle of God - is that He gives us the grace to not only get through the worst things but the chance to make something good come of them.

This sermon touched my heart. It took me years, still, to find my way back to my Church but I did remember that God loved me. I remembered that I believed in Him and to look for the good in all things.

I was thinking of the pastor's parable when I was reading Mrs. Hance's story. I wish that the priests that she had talked to, indeed, all of us, would remember that sometimes the three most important words are "I don't know".

Tell Laura I Love Her- Ray Peterson

I had the television on in the background this evening while I worked and this song came on. This song used to make me cry when I was a teenager, sob when I was in my early 20s, and now that I am older, it belongs to one of my funny/sad memories.

As most of you know, my first husband died in a car accident when he was 26 and I was 20. We were in a Ford Mustang and the car that hit us was an Olds Toronado. To this day, I will not own a Mustang, nor will I willingly get into one. I just can't breathe.

Anyway, months after my husband died, one of my best friends, Helen, called me up to ask me to a movie. I am pretty sure that my mom put her up to it, but I can't vouch for that. I said yes and Helen came to pick me up.

She pulled up out front in her snazzy little Mustang. I just couldn't get into it. Helen went home and got her parents' big old Park Avenue, for which I thanked her immensely. I got in the car and this song was playing. I started crying and Helen changed the radio station.

There must have been an oldies revival that summer because "Deadman's Curve" by Jan and Dean was on the next station. I kept crying and Helen changed the radio station.

"Honey" by Bobby Goldsboro was on the next station. I kept crying and Helen changed the radio station.

"Leader of the Pack" by the Shangri-La's was next. I kept crying and Helen gave up. We decided that the universe had it in for me that night and that we would try again another day. God bless her, we did try another day and went to a movie (in her parents' car).

Now, when I hear one of those songs, I do not just remember my husband's untimely death. I remember my girlfriend's love, empathy, and patience - and I smile.

Summer Vacation 2011, Day Two, Part One

When Juls and I woke up in beautiful, downtown Fredericksburg, we had a leisurely breakfast provided by our motel. Actually, it was leisurely until Juls noticed the dead cricket suspended in the spider web beneath a table in the breakfast room. We toured around town and picked out the houses we would buy if we won the lottery.

Then we went to the National Museum of the Pacific War, which is attached to the historic Nimitz Hotel in Fredericksburg. I am not by nature a war aficionado but I think the sign below sums it up.

Once outside, and all of the outer grounds are yours free of charge by the way, we started with the Plaza of the Presidents, honoring the ten consecutive presidents, spanning the years from 1941 to 1992, who served in our county's armed forces during WWII.

The Plaque at the Plaza of the Presidents

The individual memorials, outlining each President's branch of the military and years of service, along with an engraved facial representation.

Part of the Japanese Garden of Peace, which was a gift from a Japanese admiral to Admiral Nimitz, in thanks and recognition of his honor and courage.

This is not an official memorial tribute, but one left by a family member of a troop lost on board the USS Intrepid. There are individual tributes on the common memorial for the ship, as well as memorials for all of the ships lost in the Pacific during WWII. Seeing all of those faces, most of them so young, just breaks my heart as did this memorial offering.

The Admiral Nimitz Foundation, located across the street from the museum.

Juls and I spent about 3 hours at the museum and did not get to see it all. Admission to the museum is good for 2 days and you can come and go. The only thing missing was tissue stations.

Summer Vacation 2011

I have a LOT of pictures from my summer vacation. Julie and I went to Frederickburg, San Antonio, and Corpus Christi. We had planned on Assateague Island but Julie thought it more important to see her first grandchild. Go figure.

Anyway, I am going to post 4 or 5 pictures from each day. This was day one in Fredericksburg. We got there fairly late in the afternoon and just sort of explored around.

Tiles in the tub featuring local landmarks.

Main Street and one of my favorite stores.

Where we had dinner. The bourbon orange pecan pie was tremendous.

Inside one of my favorite stores. When they say "Variety Store", they're not kidding.

Remember when it was still fun?

This morning, Bubba got outside almost early enough to get the yard done before it got too hot. He will finish tomorrow. He promises. I believe.

When did he get SO grown up?

Making sure to clear the frog habitat!

Supervising

Sure that he could do it better and glad that he doesn't have to.

Beginnings - and endings

I recently learned that my sister's husband died. I read his obituary in the newspaper from where they live.

I remember, in a drug-fogged memory and from family stories, the first time I met him.

My first husband died in a car accident when I was 20. My mom and brother came to the hospital and, after settling my injured child in a different hospital, took me home to Mom's to deal with the minutae entailed in a funeral.

I was on pain meds for some minor injuries, mainly road rash, and on valium for superglue.

My sister, Mary, the oldest in the family, flew home from wherever it was she had been vacationing. She brought her boyfriend with her. It seems a funny word to use, boyfriend. Mary is 13 years older than I am and Tom was 16 or 17 years older than she. I had never met him before and, if recollection serves, neither had the rest of the family.

Mary had brought with her some suitable funeral dresses for me to try on. I was a 20 year old new mom and lived mostly in levis and t-shirts. The few dresses I did have were not only not black, but were much too short to be suitable for a young widow. These things did matter then.

I remember trying on dress after dress. I would put one on with Mary's help, trying to be careful not to a) hurt me and b) get salve on her clothes! I would walk into the living room and Tom, sitting on the sofa, would look at me, look at Mary and shake his head. We did this little pas-de-trois 3 or 4 times.

Finally, I put on a grey and cream dress with matching coat and Tom finally nodded. I heard later that he told Mary that if I had come out looking as horrible as I had in the first few dresses one more time, he was personally going to take me shopping.

4 years later, Mary and Tom were married.

32 years later, may he rest in peace and may God have mercy on his soul. I am glad that Mary, on whom we all leaned for so many things, had Tom on whom to lean.

Marriage as Sacrifice

Saturday, I went to catechitical training in Amarillo. The subject was morality. During the course of the 3 hour seminar, Father Neusch referred to the sacrament of marriage as a sacrifice. He pointed out that, when you marry, you MUST sacrifice a whole lot of other things - and people.

I had not considered that. I grew up in the Disney era of "happily ever after" and truly believed it. I also grew up knowing that marriage, like the other sacraments, is a gift from God, instituted by His son, our Lord, Jesus Christ. I looked at marriage as a gift, a blessing, and the answer to all my girlhood prayers.

I was often, and sorely, disappointed.

I do not now, nor have I ever, physically cheated on my spouse. I have flirted and I have failed, often, to put my spouse's legitimate needs ahead of my own. I am not suggesting, nor was Father, to put our spouse's immoral, unholy, or illegal needs ahead of our own. I guess that I am talking more, at least in my case, about the small, everyday things. I know that I could have been more generous of spirit, more courteous, more mindful of my spouse's emotional, spiritual, and physical needs.

I know this will not come as a shock to those of you who truly know me, but I can be very selfish, sarcastic (and yes, Julie, I hear you laughing -sarcastically, I might add) and not very nice. I am, though, less selfish, sarcastic and mean than I used to be. It is a struggle.

When I was young and something bad happened, the nuns told us, always and often, to "offer it up to God". By doing so, we would be sharing, in the suffering that Jesus endured when He was here on earth. I just never thought about offering up my marriage to God.

I will now.

Thank you, Father.