Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Can you believe what the choir director said?

Yup, it's that time of year when my parish has the yearly meeting, and I am required to give a Choir Director Report. For the first number of years, I took this as an opportunity to educate the parish about the role of music in the church, about liturgics, about church history. In the last few years, however, I've veered away from music and/or liturgical things, and have given what can only be called a sermon, a sermon that I wish my priest would give, but he will not.  So, once again, I've written a sermon.  Here it is:

Choir Director Report
2017


Once again, it is time for me to give the yearly Choir Director Report. I'm not going to rehash things I've said in years past about the role of music in the Orthodox Church, and importance of giving our first fruits to God, and not just the crumbs left over from all the other things that seem to be more important.

First, everyone should let everyone know that Christopher George Flippo is my assistant. He volunteered, probably not truly understanding what being the choir director truly involves, and I am grateful that he did. He is learning all aspects and helping me, so be supportive of his efforts. It takes a while to become a competent director, and longer to become an excellent director. I have no doubt that he will be an excellent director, none at all. If I am absent, he is in charge. If he is also absent, then Subdeacon John and Reader Isaac are in charge of the choir and the readers. Thank you to all three for stepping up to the plate when I am unable to! Thank you also to Xenia, who I miss so very much, who has been my right hand and dearest friend all these many years.

The choir is in a transitional state. We've got some changes in our roster of singers, and you will note over time that there are some changes to the music that we sing. I say this every year, and every year, we have learned some new music. This year will be a little different, because much of what we have sung over the years requires four parts and doesn't work well with only two parts. You may have noticed that many Sundays, there are not four parts in the choir, so I would be remiss if I did not prepare for that. So, things are changing. Change is hard for many people, so please be patient as we adjust to the new choir reality.

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As I wrote the first few paragraphs of this yearly report, I was sitting safe and sound in Xenia's living room in Atlanta. I evacuated my home and was waiting for Hurricane Irma to hit. I had done everything I could to prepare for what looked to be a catastrophic landfall in Savannah, and I had no idea whether I would have a home to return to or not. I had to make some very hard decisions about what to take with me and what to leave to the elements and the mercy of God. I'm no different from everyone in this room today. We all had to make the same decisions without knowing the outcome.

Isn't this a metaphor for life? Don't we all make preparations as best we can for what comes next? Sometimes we choose to not make preparations, and that is preparation of a sort. No matter what we do, though, the final outcome depends on the mercy of God.

Can we think about this for a minute? I am the choir director. As such, I must plan ahead. I plan about three months out – so, in September, I am thinking about December. I need to plan the music that is best suited to the voices we have, what we will rehearse and when, what we will sing; I need to keep on top of filing music, repairing and recreating music books. I need to plan what will happen if I am out sick, and finally, I need to prepare for my replacement. I'm not going anywhere soon, but I would be foolish to not train an assistant who will eventually replace me when I move on to my next stage, whether that be through retirement or death!

We know already that within the next year or two, our priest will retire, and we hope and pray that we will not be without a priest for long. We don't know how that will all work out – who will be sent to us, how we will integrate him and his family, if he has one, into our loving church family, and what challenges we will face in doing so – but, we know that by the grace of God, St. Mary Magdalene Church has always, and will continue, to persevere.

However, just like preparing for Hurricane Irma, we all need to make some hard choices. Look around the room today, we are a family. I recently had this brought home to me when I needed some help with some repairs to my house, and my brother and sisters in Christ – my family – helped me. Thank you Brian, Kathy, Chloe and even little William. I was reminded by their selfless efforts, and the offers of assistance from others, like the Holleys and Tom Maty, that we are, indeed, a family here. Like any family, we get along and sometimes maybe we don't, but we love each other and help each other the best we can. We work together. But there are not a lot of us. The people in this room are who we can depend on to keep the doors of this church open. There is no one else.

So, when I say that I had to choose what I should save and what I could save from Hurricane Irma, and what I had to leave behind, I am struck by the fact that in our life together, in our desire to have a church to worship in, and a church family to worship with, sometimes we have to make hard choices about our lives, too, about the activities we participate in and those that may conflict with our desire to have a church here in Rincon.

More importantly, we have to make hard choices about our priorities, about how we spend our time, our talents, our money, our energy. I know that if I do not wash my dishes, there is no one else to do that for me, and eventually, unwashed dishes become a major problem on a lot of levels. Dishes do not magically wash themselves. However, here, at church, it is so easy to let someone else do the dishes. When we arrive at church, the grounds look so beautiful – we can proud of how beautiful our property always looks. When we arrive at church, late, the clergy and choir are already here to do liturgy, a word which means, literally, the common work of the people. There is oil in the lamps and candles available to light. Everyone has prepared and knows how to perform their role in the common worship. There is a clean bathroom and toilet paper. When we come to the residence, there is food to eat, and the place is clean. Dishes are done. Bills are paid. This is not magic. People make these things happen. The same people, week after week, get here early, stay late, come during the week, and ensure that you have a church to come to.

You may think that I'm gearing up to ask people to volunteer to do some of these things, and although that would be great, that is not my point. My point is this:

Orthodoxy is not what we do on Sunday mornings. Orthodoxy is the true faith, nothing more and certainly nothing less, and when we treat this gift of faith as someplace we go on occasional Sunday mornings, we are making a choice. Orthodoxy is so much more than that, it is a life, - not a lifestyle, but life itself. We choose how we organize our life and our priorities. Now, you may say, Denise, it's easier for you – you don't have small children to worry about, or a husband to take care of, so you have lots of time. You can devote your life to the church. It's true, I don't have those things – now – and therefore I, and I alone, choose my priorities, but I work many hours, just like you. I have had a husband, a young and very sick child, a home based business, a full-time and demanding job, homeschooling, and elderly and sickly parents – all at the same time, so I certainly understand that modern life is busy, over scheduled, exhausting, and setting an alarm to get up early on Sunday morning is the last thing you want to do.

However, Sunday morning liturgy is not the only way to participate in and support this church, this church family, and ultimately, to make preparations, the best we can, for that moment when we meet our Creator and take our place with the sheep on the right, or, with the goats on the left. We need to keep that goal in mind when we organize our lives and make room for participation in the church services – all the services – and to serve the church by offering our talents. As the choir director, I know that we have good singers who do not offer their gift by singing in the choir. I know that there is not a single person who is unable to be on a food team, or who is incapable of washing the coffee pot, or pushing a broom. There is not one person here who is incapable of making it to church early enough to hear these words, “Blessed is the Kingdom.” If you don't know exactly where these words occur, then that should tell you something.


So, as I finish this, I'm still sitting in Xenia's house in Atlanta, but Hurricane Irma has come and gone, and when I get home tomorrow, I will know if the preparations I made were enough to keep my home safe. My true home, though, is not at 318 Montclair Blvd in Savannah. My true home is with my Lord and my Savior, Jesus Christ, where I hope to sing with the heavenly choir forever. I've been thinking about the preparations I am making for that, and to my chagrin, I realize that my priorities, the way I've organized my life, the way I spend the minutes and hours of my days, are not pointing me toward that goal. My preparations thus far are insufficient, are inadequate. This hurricane has caused me to pray and to reflect on how I have spent my life thus far, and how I can more fully enter into an Orthodox life, right here, in this church, in this church family, with you, my brothers and sisters. This hurricane is a wake up call. May we all wake up.

Monday, July 31, 2017

My Epitaph

Years ago, when my Dad was in the throes of Alzheimer’s disease, I’d visit him in the nursing home. There was a courtyard in the middle, so we could walk around and around until he was tired. One day, he got tired, so we sat in the little living room type area and he fell asleep with his head on my shoulder. There was an elderly black lady in a wheelchair about 15 or so feet away. She was all dressed up, complete with a hat with a big brim and flowers, white gloves, a shiny white patent leather pocketbook, and two red spots of rouge on her cheeks. She kept smiling and winking at me, and I smiled back. 

Eventually, she began to call out, “Come ovah heeyah!” “Yes, come ovah heeya!” 

I really didn’t want to disturb Dad, and I wasn’t sure she was talking to me since oftentimes Alzheimer’s patients are talking to a memory, so I ignored her for five or ten minutes. 

Soon, she got annoyed that I was ignoring her, and commanded me, saying, “Get Yo Fat Seff Ovah Heeya!”  

I thought that a little rude, and my fatness has always been a sore point for me, so I responded with a distinct lack of charity, “ExCUSE Me?”  

She was stopped cold and looked at me with her mouth making a perfect O in surprise.  Then she began cackling and laughing and slapping her hand on her knee. She wiped her eye with a gloved finger, and said the words that my daughter threatens to put on my tombstome:

“Ooooooh, and sassy, too!”

“FAT, FINE, and SASSY!”

And, so, I am.

Sunday, July 16, 2017

Some memories I posted on FaceBook today







There are three people who changed my life: 1) I was born into a large, loving, liberal, accepting, generous family, which also had very high expectations in terms of developing character, integrity, and doing my best in all things. Thank you to my parents, who were always readers, who expected me to work to my capacity in school, who encouraged and pushed me, and insisted that I go to college. To my aunties who did exactly the same thing, and to my cousins, who celebrated every achievement with an unexpected party, complete with cakes that said things like, Happy Award, Denise. Having a family that celebrates your achievements and pushes you to do more, is the greatest blessing. 2) Librarians, you have the capacity to shape a child's outlook on the world - did you know that? Thank you to the librarians at Shute Memorial library, who were girlfriends of my mother, and told her that they had given me all the kid's books to read and now I needed to start reading from the adult section, or I would lose the love and habit of reading. They promised her that they would guide my reading choices, and what choices they were! They fed me a diet of classic literature, biographies, how to books, memoirs, and well written mass market books. Thank you to the twin librarians at the Shute. 3) A music teacher changed my life. He was John Sullivan, and he taught me the baritone during the winter of 1967, immediately put me in the high school band at 12, then bought me a beautiful double F french horn and guided me through learning that most beautiful of instruments. I had so much fun playing in the school band, woodwind quintet, and jazz band! But then he took me to play with the adults where I was exposed to classical music like I had never been exposed before, directed by the famous Ed Denon (yes, THAT Ed Denon of Boston Crusaders fame). It is one to thing love, appreciate and listen to great music, but it is another thing entirely to play it, in the center of an orchestra, with music swelling all around you and through you. Sully, you made me into a musician, and thank you.
So, my beautiful family, two librarians and a brass teacher changed my life. If you are a librarian or a music teacher (or a teacher of any discipline) you have the power to change the course of a child's life. You never know which child will look at you and say, Thank you!

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Spending time flat on my back has put me in a reflective mood, so I guess I'll be vomiting out more posts about my life today.  When I was 16, the librarian sent me to the Boston Public Library, and I got a card there. I read a lot of stuff, especially in the religion section, and a book called The Orthodox Church by Sergius Bulgakov caught me like nothing ever had before, I knew that was where I needed to be. Fast forward a few years: I met and married an Orthodox man, weeventually moved to Sunnyvale, CA in 1980, and I met a priest at Church of the Redeemer, who challenged me, Fr. John Ocana. Fr. John had many gifts; he had the gift of sharing his love and excitement about the faith, and explaining things in a way that you could understand and would remember. After a year or two, I became the parish secretary during troubled times in that parish, and I saw close up that he walked the walk. He lived what he preached. After him, came another priest to that parish, Fr. Kirrill Gvosdev, who, though a little gruff, was/is actually a marshmallow inside. He didn't give great sermons like Fr. John, but what he did was, he lived with his people. He laughed with you, he feasted with you, he cried with you, he held your hand in the hospital, he brought you the gifts and a casserole. He showed up whenever he was needed. You never needed to ask him to come, he'd show up just as you were picking up the phone. He kept in close contact with his people - all his people - either by phone or knocking on the door for a cup of coffee. He knew your joys and your struggles and he did whatever he could to help, even if all he could do was to bring you a cup of coffee in the hospital. He was there. He was present. I cannot tell you how profound an impression these two priests made on me - they were like two sides of the same coin. They are everything that a parish priest should be. Fr. John is very elderly and frail, and Fr. Kirrill is still going strong. Many years! Well done, thou good and faithful servants!
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So, I'm an only child, you know. My parents had one pregnancy and that was me. I'm not the stereotypical only child because I lived nearly half the year at the mothership on B. Street, which was overflowing with aunts, cousins, and whoever my grandmother brought home. Anyway, talking about how important having family support is, I want to tell a little story to illustrate what I mean. There was a big kindergarten graduation ceremony for us kindergarten kids, and the parents came. We filed out on the stage to sing our little song, and a little girl named Lisa on my right said, "Look, there's my Mommy and Daddy and my little sister over there!" She knew I was an only child and asked, not so innocently, "Did your family come?" I said, enthusiastically, "Oh yes! My family is those four rows over there!" She could not believe it! My parents, my grandmother, Aunts Nettie, Christine, Jenny, and Anna; cousin Harold Catalano, Marion, Fina, Ethel, Roseanne and Joe, Terry, Uncle Nicky and Auntie Emily with LIttle Em (who was an itty bitty baby) and Maryann, and also Marie Cadigan, my grandmother's best girlfriend. I don't remember who else was there to see me graduate from kindergarten, but there was basically, four generations in the audience for the little only child. Only child? I think not. Loved? I think so!
Then there was the time that I won a debate and got a medal for it. I came home from school with the medal in a little box, and my mother said we were going to my grandmother's for dinner, which was not particularly unusual. The usual cast of characters were there: Gram, two aunties, three cousins with their husbands and their kids, and us. For dessert, they brought out an italian rum cake with the words, Happy Award, Denise, and sang to me. Proud of me? Ya think? Was I supported? Yup. Did I carry that degree of love and pride and support in my heart forever? You bet your ass, I did and I do.
Then there was the time that one of my mother's cousin's kids got married. My aunties were talking about what a wonderful shower it was, and how wonderful the bride was because she went to every table and talked to every one, and how proud her mother must be of her. I listened to them, and when it was time for my own wedding shower, I went to every table and talked with every person and thanked them for coming, and after opening the gifts, I went around the room a second time and thanked them for their gift. The day after, I couldn't wait to get down to the mothership and talk with me aunties because I knew they would be so proud of me. We talked about how nice the shower had been and I waited. Not one word about what good manners I had. Not one word. Finally, I asked them what they thought about me going around TWICE, when whatever her name had gone around only ONCE. They were totally nonplussed. Finally, Auntie Nettie said, "Honey, we brought you up. We expect nothing less from you. You have been taught how to behave and have always shown good manners, so it's nothing special when you do what you have always done." I was crushed for a minute, but then I understood - the bar was high and I met it. The bar may be lower for others, but for me it was high, and I met it. Expectations matter. Kids will strive to meet your expectations. Make sure that your expectations are for good.
People, small things change lives, for the good or for the bad. Be kind, be thoughtful, be encouraging, be loving.

Sunday, April 09, 2017

Palm Sunday Then and Now

When I was around 16, I read a book called, The Orthodox Church by Sergius Bulgakov, and I clearly remember thinking as I read it, "This is it! I have found it! If this is not the true expression of Christianity, then nothing is, and we are all doomed." I looked at the listings for the Orthodox Church in the Metropolitan Boston Yellow pages, and started calling churches because I wanted to learn more and to attend. The first three or four people who answered the phone did not speak English, and I gave up. There is a lesson in there, but that is another post.

Fast forward a few years. I was in college, and met a guy named Jerry Norman. He was a nice guy, and I liked him. We had some dates and I had met his parents for dinner once, but nothing really serious. We were chatting with friends in the cafeteria and something he said made me say to him, "Hey, I thought you were Jewish!" He replied no, he was Lebanese and a Christian. So, I asked, as you do, "Are you Melkite, Maronite or Orthodox?" He replied he was Orthodox and I asked him to take me to church. After more dates and more requests to take me to church, we finally went with his oldest brother, sister in law and two little nephews.

St. George Antiochian Church of Boston had sold their Boston property and had just begun building a new church in West Roxbury, so Holy Cross Greek Seminary was kind enough to let them worship in their gymnasium, which at the time, was also where the Celtics practiced, but that's another story entirely. I was nervous because I hadn't been to an Orthodox church, and I hadn't met the brother and his family. We all piled into the car - Jerry, me, Joey, Maddie, Ricky and Jimmy - drove to Brookline and walked into the gymnasium on Palm Sunday, 1976, 41 years ago today.

There were tons of people chatting, greeting each other with two kisses, lots of English and a little Arabic being spoken. There were two chairs on the stage with two big icons propped on them. It was not a pretty church at all, and my Roman sensibilities valued order, so I found the noise level and the milling about and greeting people somewhat jarring. There was a guy on the right side, just below the stage, who was singing something mysterious and moody and very Middle Eastern sounding in a mixture of English, Arabic and Greek. I looked out the doors, and saw a rowdy crowd of people making their way toward the gymnasium, maybe 40 or 50. They came in, chatting and greeting people, and milling around in the back. There were children EVERYWHERE, getting underfoot, running around. It was chaotic.

Then the priest came out. I learned later that his name was Fr. George George. He was as wide as he was tall, had a cap of silver ringlets and when he opened his mouth, the most beautiful, silky baritone came out. Then there was a single toot on a pitch pipe behind me, and that rowdy bunch of 50 people began singing in 4 and 6 part harmony. Such beautiful music, music like I had never heard before. Beautiful words set to beautiful music that perfectly fit what was going on at the altar. I didn't understand everything, but it was clearly a dialog back and forth between the priest, the deacon (Fr. Philip) and the choir. There were altar boys, fans, golden vestments... Eventually, it was time for communion, and mothers and fathers brought their little children to communion. I found it very moving.

It was all so beautiful, and strange, yet so familiar. It moved me so deeply. I really was transported that day, in a gymnasium, without all the trappings that Orthodox Churches usually have. The timelessness, the emphasis on awe and mystery fed me in a way that I had never experienced. I didn't know if I was in heaven or on earth, just like St. Vladimir's emissaries. At the end, there was a procession with the little children leading us. Everyone had candles with flowers (mostly forsythia) and palms. We were led by the cross, a gaggle of altar boys, and all the many, many children who were singing something and waving their palms. And then it was over, way too soon. I fell in love that day with the Orthodox faith and I have never fallen out of love with it.

That was 41 years ago today. Since then, there have been 41 Palm Sundays in my life, at St. George's, St. John of Damascus while it was still on Museum Road in Boston, Church of the Redeemer in Los Altos Hills, CA, St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church in San Jose, South Bay Mission in Santa Clara, St. Innocent when it was still in Fremont, St. Mary Magdalene in Georgia, and last year at St. Christina's in Fremont. 41 years, 41 processions, joyfully following Christ and proclaiming him to be The One, only to kiss him on the cheek and betray him four days later, 41 Holy Weeks. Am I any different than I was 41 years ago? Certainly, I'm older, and life has not been kind. I weathered every storm and tragedy, holding on for dear life to the Orthodox faith. Older, for sure, maybe a little wiser, but fundamentally, am I different? Am I more like Christ today than I was 41 years ago? Or, am I like a mill horse, endlessly walking around in a circle and never getting anywhere? I fear that is the case. Life keeps happening and requires a response which takes up my energy. A few years ago, Jerry dropped dead suddenly without warning and brought home to me the fact that time is short. I don't have 41 more years in me, maybe 25 or 30, to work on a good defense before the dread judgement seat of Christ.

41 years is a long time. Orthodoxy is in my bones now. It takes a long time for converts to develop an Orthodox phronema. I tell converts that the process of becoming Orthodox does not end with their baptism and chrismation - that is when the real work begins which will last a lifetime. At the least, I can say that I have persevered, and will continue to persevere till the end.

Saturday, April 01, 2017

Knitting advice from Metropolitan Anthony Bloom

Metropolitan Anthony Bloom in his book “School for Prayer” tells a story about a lady who visited him shortly after he became a priest in the Orthodox Church. She wanted his advice about prayer. For fourteen years she had been saying the Jesus prayer almost continually, she said, and had never experienced God’s presence at all. “If you speak all the time”, said Anthony, “You don’t give God a chance to get a word in”.
“What shall I do?”, she asked. Anthony advised her to go into her sitting room after breakfast, “Make sure everything is tidy and sit in a chair, light the little lamp before the icon that you have, and first of all take stock of your room. Just sit, look around, and try to see where you are. Be aware of what’s around you. Admire the objects. Be totally present. Take out your knitting and knit for about 15 minutes before the face of God, but I forbid you to say one word of prayer. You just knit, or sit still, and enjoy the peace of your room.”
Well of course she didn’t think this was very spiritual advice at the time, but some weeks later the lady returned. She was a different person. “It works!”, she told him. “I got up, washed, tidied my room, had breakfast, came back, made sure there was nothing that would worry me and settled into my armchair and thought ’ Oh how nice, I have 15 minutes in which I can do nothing without feeling guilty’ And I looked around, and for the first time in years, I thought ‘Goodness! What a lovely room I live in’. Then, she said, “I felt so quiet because the room was so peaceful. There was a clock ticking, but it didn’t disturb the silence. Its ticking just underlined the fact that everything was so still, and after a while I remembered that I must knit before the face of God. I began to knit and became more and more aware of the silence. Then I perceived that this silence was not simply the absence of noise, but that the silence had substance. It was not an absence of something, but a presence of something. The silence had a density, a richness and it began to pervade me. The silence around began to come and meet the silence within me. All of a sudden, I perceived that the silence was a presence. At the heart of the silence there was Him, who is all stillness, all peace, all poise.
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Knitting is powerful stuff. Knitting is so profound.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Reconnecting

I really like Facebook.  I mean, I REALLY like Facebook. I have a zillion friends (I actually have 652, but who's counting?).

Facebook has allowed me to keep up with family and close friends that live far away, to see their kids grow up through pictures, to keep abreast of big and little news, to rejoice and sorrow and pray with them, even though I am nowhere near, and may never even see them in the flesh again.

I like Facebook because it has allowed me to reconnect with people from my past, both distant and near. This includes people I met on the first day of kindergarten, as well as my former tenant.  I have learned so much about these folks that I may have known only superficially before, and have become close with a few. Facebook has fostered the growth of these relationships.

I like Facebook because I have met new people through it. Yes, I know that I haven't REALLY met them, at least not in the flesh, but I have met their ideas, thoughts, jokes, ideals, needs and photos of their life. People friend me and I friend them, mostly because we have something in common, be it our faith, our musical or artistic interests, or, a common friend.  I have met choir directors and singers, clergy, iconographers, knitters and spinners, chefs and down home cooks, gardeners, readers, Orthodox and non Orthodox, crafters of all sorts.  I have learned so much from these people, enough that my life has been enhanced.

I like Facebook because it has allowed me to meet and follow people that I admire for one reason or another; people with skills and gifts that I admire or aspire to.

Tuesday, February 07, 2017

35

Facebook has a function where you see all your posts over the years for that day. Today, I was brought up short by the one I've quoted below. I'm saving it here, because as I read it, I understood how far I've come, and I think to be reminded of that from time to time. Putting it here will keep it safe for rereading when I think the sky is falling. I don't really want to repost this on Facebook, so here it will go. This post is from 2013:

Age I was given: Bev. Cooke gave me 35
I lived in: a fog, but otherwise, in San Jose, CA, around the corner from the Winchester Mystery House. I lived with my daughter and husband and our little lhasa apso named Harry, as well as my parents, Ed and Bea who came when the baby was born (of course), and stayed after the baptism (the happiest day of my entire life) for my mom to have very delicate open heart surgery which she nearly did not make it through. Once she was nearly recovered, the year of hell commenced. Thank God, and I really mean it, that my parents stayed and were there to help and support during that year.
I drove: a red Nissan Sentra, and Jerry drove a white Ford Escort
I worked at: maintaining equilibrium during this most difficult year in which I went from supreme joy at finally becoming a mother after 11 years of trying, to dazed fear of losing my daughter to cancer. In between, I attempted to maintain my medical transcription business which did survive - barely. I worked at becoming knowledgable about childhood cancers, nutritional support and being a strong advocate for my daughter's medical care. I worked extremely hard at forcing my insurance company to pay for my daughter's treatment which they tried to skip out of. And to think that some people say we have the best medical care in the world. Not.
I wanted to be: Living a different life. Anywhere other than where I was. I wanted to take my daughter and my dog and run away which I did do six years later, and learned that running away changes nothing but the scenery. But really, when I was 35, it was what I didn't want that stands out. I didn't want to be the one that everyone relied on - I wanted someone to rely on. I was exhausted from carrying the weight of our life. I didn't want to be the mother of a miraculous child who had cancer. I didn't want to watch my daughter change from a chubby, happy baby to a hairless, emaciated, solemn gnome. I wanted to be at rest and peaceful, but there was little of that to be found, except during liturgy, but I couldn't attend every week due to my daughter's health.
I feared: Breaking, and I came so close... My daughter's death - I used to have nightmares of her in her little wooden casket. Once in a while, I still do. I feared that everything I had built my life around - God - wasn't real. I feared that my husband and I would never recover our relationship after this, and we never did. I feared my own weakness and sinfulness, since I felt that every aspect of our family rested on me. I feared making a wrong decision. I feared that I would never be able to forgive the weakness of some people that I depended on during this time. I feared that life would never again be the same, and it wasn't. I feared that my faith and my love would not be enough, but I was wrong. Lord, I believe; help my unbelief was my prayer. Also, Isaiah 40:30. Mostly, I feared not surviving intact, no matter the outcome of that awful year of 35, when every aspect of my life blew up. But I did. I really did. And it was only through the grace of God.
And that is more than you EVER wanted to know about me, Bev!
"Like" this status and I will give you an age!

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Comments
Elizabeth Winkelmeyer Much, much love. ((((((((hugs))))))))
Don Fausett I am not asking for your age. I just liked reading this. I hope it was cathartic for you to write it.
Carol Wetmore It's a gift to have your insight. You survived!
John Plummer Thanks for sharing some of your story. Isn't it amazing to look back at life and everything which has brought us to this moment? Wishing you every blessing --
Rebecca Magaziner Matovic Thank you for sharing this, Denise. Words fail, but thank you.
J. Max Sullivan I love you, Denise. God bless you.
Karen Rubino Wow God bless you<3 span="">
Anna Bennett Thank you for sharing this!
Kathy Pieracci It is amazing when you think you are alone, He is always by your side....thank you for sharing
Shanna King Thank you for writing this... Hugs...
Denise M. Babineau Thank you everyone. I just want to say that my life is good, and even though I've hit bottom a couple of times in my life, and 35 was one of them, I think that it was necessary for me to understand what is important in life, to get my priorities strai...See More
Peter McGurrin I've come to realize I don't even know 'how' to put aside my own strength. When I do, it feels like someone other than me doing this...thanks Denise
Maha Adranly Love you Denise. I remember all of that!!