Wise Words for Will

Dear Will,

     You just got married so I thought I should give some advice about what women are like, only to realize I don't really know what women are like. I'm not sure my thoughts represent those of most women. I have always related better to men.  Some women are as big a mystery to me as Bigfoot. I know women tend to cry more than men and some men think tears are a tool women use to make people do what they want. Sex is also a tool women use to manipulate men, yet you seldom hear them complain about that. The reason--the tears of the opposite sex make men uncomfortable, sex does the opposite. You can tell if a woman is using tears to manipulate because she will inevitably be manipulative in other ways. The truth is, some women are just leakier than others, they cry easily. Others like me, barring loss of home, limb or loved one, cry for maybe two minutes twice a year. As tempting as it is for you to "give her space" at these uncomfortable times, most women want support, not space.
     They also want to talk. Women process feelings by talking about them, just as men process feelings by ignoring them or punching each other. We seldom want our husbands to solve our problems, we want them to understand our problems. Usually, we can come up with our own solution. We just need to know you are on our side.
     Both husbands and wives need to be reminded that arguments are not about winning, they are about working together. Your father would rather have unanesthetized dental work than a verbal argument because I am better with words, therefore, more likely to win. But the real goal of an argument should be to harmonize, through compromise, two differing points of view. (Of course, compromise is not necessary if you are always right, like me.) Since arguments are inevitable, the only way to win is to talk until you are at peace with each other. Unresolved issues will resurface like dust bunnies with every new draft of discord. That said, it is important to stay on topic. Conflict is not the time to toss in the kitchen sink of everything you don't like about your spouse. Doing that obscures the real issue and makes the situation appear worse than it is. When it comes to complaints, the longest list loses.
     If at all possible, pick your times to discuss things as carefully as you pick your times to say "I'm sorry".  No one wants to be sandbagged by their sweetie as they walk in the door. Same goes for discussions when either or both are tired or hungry. Save the really big issues for after a time of mutual contentment. Trust me, I may not know much about women, but I have a black belt in arguing.

                                                                 Love,

                                                                     your arguably wise Mom

Will's Wedding Tribute

                                                 Worth the Wait

      I have often told people that if I’d know we were predicting his character when we named our oldest son, we would not have named him Will. A child named Les might have been easier to live with. We named him Will in honor of Reed’s middle name—William, and my dad’s name—Willard, and Will fit him well, although it might have been a better middle name with “Strong” for the first name. It’s not that Will was rebellious, but that he headed his own way and it was not necessarily where the rest of us were going. He proved the adage, “Where there’s a Will, there’s a way.” I was confident that I could out-stubborn him. I had, after all, decades of practice, but I was afraid that someday he would head his own way and just keep walking.

     Will did surprisingly well in school for someone who claimed to have no recollection of what happened there when I asked, “How was school today?” With his love of the hunting and hiking, I thought Will might become an outfitter, but his senior year Will earned a scholarship to DeVry College in Seattle and set out to become an engineer. When we looked in the rear view mirror as we left him there and saw our backwoods boy alone in the big city, we should have known it was a poor fit. After one semester of marking his time as if he was serving a prison sentence, Will came home to the people and place he loved. After a semester at the community college, Will moved in with Josh saying it was bad enough to be a 20 year old drop out, without adding the phrase “who still lives at home”. Will, Josh and Mitch had experiences in the outdoors so interesting that I was surprised anybody was willing to go camping with them. Some of these adventures provided Will with opportunities to practice medicine long before he thought about becoming a nurse.

     Will did not date in high school, none of our children did, but I knew it would take an exceptional woman to love Will. Will has a quick mind, an even quicker tongue and an extremely dry sense of humor. His requirements for a girlfriend were that she love hiking, fishing and hunting, but she also had to be “hot”. At 26, Will headed to Helena for nursing school and into his life came Emily. She proved herself to be the woman Will was looking for, the companion he didn’t even know he needed, and will, in the years to come, become so one with himself he will not remember how he got by without her.

      Even on your most willful days, I knew we were investing in someone of infinite value and potential. Today, with the addition of Emily to our family, we are doubling that investment. What began with parenting, ended as friendship. You were well worth the wait.

Aquiel's Tale

     When my kids were young, we went through an aquarium phase. Like procreation, it seemed like a harmless enough hobby at the time, but the responsibilities are enormous. Thankfully, the responsibilities, like the fish, are short lived. Goldfish funerals were a regular ritual at our house. Most of our fish were named for characters from their favorite tv shows "Star Trek, the Next Generation" or "Walker, Texas Ranger". I have no idea where the name Aquiel came from, but one of the common goldfish was given this uncommon name. We did not have Aquiel for long, but she turned out to be an excellent illustration of a spiritual truth.
     One morning as Reed was getting ready to leave for work, he noticed one of the goldfish zipping back and forth as though trying to build up speed. Odd behavior for a goldfish, it's not like they have anywhere to go.  Apparently, Aquiel did not understand that because I found her dry, lifeless form on the carpet in front of the aquarium when I got up. The short life and death of Aquiel became a memorable illustration for our family of the appeal and consequences of sin. Desiring, what she thought was freedom, she expended great effort to fling herself from what she thought confined her, only to discover her chosen path led to her death.
     Sin is like that. So appealing. Offering what looks like freedom but turns out to be destructive. Aquiel's tail led to her death, but Aquiel's tale lives on. 

Being an American

Being an American

It was an American time—

Finishing a satisfying dinner

to get in my nice car

to drive to a well-stocked grocery store

and spend, what amounts to, 

a small part of our income

to buy special food

to celebrate, for a time,

Being an American.

I know this is not true

for some in our country,

but it is the reality of many people,

the hope of many nations, 

and it is possible

for those who work hard,

 dream big, and appreciate

Being an American.

Depends on the Mirror

     I was shopping at Ross yesterday, which caused me to face one of my pet peeves--mirrors. It's bad enough walking by the store and catching, what I hoped would be my own reflection, instead I saw what appeared to be an upright blimp wearing my clothes. Inside the store there are many mirrors and, in most of those, for better or for worse, I looked like the person I recognize in the mirrors at home. However, in the changing room where I tried on a dress, that mirror made me look like a lumpy Beluga whale in drag. The problem is, the varying shapes and lighting of mirrors and windows can distort the reflection, kind of like in a fun house, minus the fun.
     Another, probably more significant, source of distortion is the viewer. Sometimes our reflections look heavier in the shop window because we know what we just ate inside the shop. This is guilt distortion, the fun house mirror that makes us look short and fat. Our cultural distortion is the mirror that shows a tall, thin reflection, setting that as the standard for all beauty.
     I am waiting for the GM recall of defective dressing room mirrors, the kind that may cause you to crash. .diet. Meanwhile I remember that believers are called to reflect the image of Christ to the world. Sometimes Christians distort that image by our own defects, sometimes it is distorted by the biases of the viewer. Wisely, God left his image in creation and the Bible, so reflecting Christ is not dependent on his flawed followers alone. Still, in many ways the impact of Christ's image within our culture depends on us--the mirror.

10 Signs You Might Be a Pessimist

1. If you look at a beautiful rainbow and think about homosexual activism, the questionable activities of the Rainbow Family, or an ugly tattoo, you might be a pessimist.
2. If you are always the first person to notice, and mention, dirt or odors, you are probably a pessimist.
3.  If you hear gossip about a good friend and, instead of speaking up for them, assume it must be true, you are a pessimist.
4. If your dire predictions about the economy, politics, gmos, climate change etc. don't come true and you just move on to a new dire prediction, you are an official pessimist.
5. If a woman announces her pregnancy and you begin telling her horror stories about sickness and labor (this happened to me), you are a pessimist.
6. As a matter of fact, anyone who feels the need to share horror stories when someone describes a health concern, is not only a pessimist, but a clueless pessimist. If you respond to a joke about some human foible, like memory loss, with a tragic tale of Alzheimer's, you are proselytizing for the pessimist movement.
7. Same goes for people who, when friends mention a name they recognize, feel compelled to share some sordid tidbit from that person's past, they are pessimists--and gossips.
8. If you chronically listen to news talk radio or television and chronically find new things to be upset about, you enjoy being a pessimist.
9. If you often complain about service in restaurants and stores that others enjoy patronizing, the problem is not them, it's you--the pessimist.
10. If you think of pets (or children) mostly in terms of mess and expense instead of affection, even though you claim to be a realist, you are actually a pessimist.

GriefShare

     In what may be good news for my readers, I have not been writing for a while. I have been working on another project, it is called GriefShare. GriefShare is a Christian based grief recovery support group. I had heard good things about it through BSF friends who had lost loved ones, but decided not to attend because I was coping well with my mother's death without any outside help. However, since I have never coped well with my emotions regarding my mother, I was willing to admit that there may be aspects of this complicated loss that I had missed. So I started attending GriefShare.
     At first, I felt out of place because most had significant, life-altering losses like death of a spouse or child. My loss did not change my life even one percent. I did not lose a companion, mentor or even just someone to talk to. My mother was, at the same time, a stranger to me. I began to lose her fifty years ago and I had already mourned that loss many times. But, even as I felt out of place, I realized that I needed a place where I could say that my mother was a stranger and be accepted. I needed to talk about her death without having to explain the complicated back story. I had prayed that God would help me mourn my mother and He had been faithful. GriefShare was another tool He had provided to help me.
     We met once a week. 20 people. 4 boxes of Kleenex. A workbook. A video. Small group time. Tears. Cookies. Chocolate. I discovered there is no simple grief. All relationships have complications, estrangements, even betrayals. At least, my mother left us involuntarily. She did not choose to be mentally ill. I also learned that grief is not optional. We cannot think our way out of it any more than we can decide not to bleed when we cut ourselves. It is as natural and inevitable as death itself. This was disappointing to me because my plan had been to think instead of mourn, to choose logic over tears. I learned there is no healing without mourning and that no one can do the work of grief for us. And despite our culture's instant gratification, microwave mentality, there is no time limit on mourning. Grief's expiration date is as individualized as the expiration date on life. Time does not heal all wounds. Time doesn't heal anything. It only lessens the intensity. Our lives will never go back to what they were before the loss, but life will be good again. There will be joy along with the sorrow.
     Now that the 13 lessons of GriefShare are completed, perhaps I will have the mental energy (although my writing shows little evidence of mental energy) to write again. And if I cannot be a better writer, perhaps I can be a better comforter for having opened my spirit to the healing sorrow of GriefShare.