Oh how He loves me!

God made these for me. Every detail crafted with a genius flare for dramatica. Pistils and stamens; tiny details reflect an enormous God. A God that knew me before He spoke the world into existence. He knew me, chose me and loved me. It wasn't because I was something special, it was because He could see the worth in the broken vessel I would become. He knew how often I would fail and deny Him, yet He loved me anyway. He uses the flawed.  

   He sends the tiniest of His creatures to show me His heart. So I search for God in the gardens and He reveals Himself to m  e there. I search for God in the endless stars and in the ever-changing clouds and in the deepest parts of my heart. He never fails to show Himself to me or shower me with His continual forgiveness.

And when He forgives, He restores; whiter than the whitest daisy petals, cleaner the the purest drinking waters. I'm so thankful to be cherished by the Creator, aren't you?

Betsy

Don't be a quitter!

I said I didn’t care, maybe I didn’t. I slid my hands inside the pockets of my hand-woven poncho and walked away, mad. Occasionally kicking a pebble or ant hill, I weaved my way through the scrub brush and yucca; back to the old metal shed we called a clubhouse. I threw myself down on the old tire seat inside. My butt hit the hard earth underneath causing me to arch my back in pain as I lifted off of the dirt, rubbing my 8-year-old jean clad bottom. “Damn it!” I yelled. I quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard me swear. But I was alone.

Everyone else had stayed behind on the bank of the dried-up river bed shooting BB guns at the Mexican kids across on the other side. Why hadn’t I stayed? Was it because I knew what we were doing was wrong? I turned my pistol over in my dirty hands, inspecting it. Opening the chamber, I poured in dozens of silver BB’s and slid the dusty chamber closed. I knew why I hadn’t stayed; I thought, as I raised the barrel to the sky, elbows bent in an armed pose I’d seen on TV. It was this worthless weapon I held in my hands. It couldn’t shoot ten feet, let alone the 50 or so feet it would take to cross the Burrendo River. In anger, I aimed the gun at the opening in the wall and pulled the trigger, sending a speeding orb away with my wrath.

I learned a valuable lesson that day as I sat alone in that chicken coop turned clubhouse. It’s one that has served me well all these years. For you see, that lonesome BB I sent soaring, hit the tin metal wall and returned to my unsuspecting face with much more force than I realized it possessed.

I was grateful for the tender skin beneath my right eye which caught the BB, sparing me the spanking I knew I’d get when I got home had it lodged in the eyeball it was closest to.

The incident taught me a couple of things. 1. Never haphazardly shoot when angry, and 2. Never walk away from a gun fight, regardless of how much or how little faith you have in your firearm.

Maybe

I know it's been a while, but I haven't had anything to write about. Or so I thought.
After speaking to my older brother by phone yesterday, I realized something dreadful. I have allowed  living to get in the way of life.

Making excuses for why I can't go here or attend that, I sink into my own world of busy "to do's" that won't change history if they have to wait. I rush to this meeting or that group, only to think about what has to be done before tomorrow; never really enjoying where I am at the moment.

I catch myself, eyes glazing over, listening to my husband talk about his work. I hear what my son is saying, but before his point is made my mind is elsewhere. My friend is telling me her dad is ill, but I hold up a finger for her to wait as I interupt her to take an "important" phone call.

One of these days, no one will be here for me to ignore. I'll have no one.

Maybe I'll change. Maybe I'll stop putting everything and everyone that doesn't really matter in front of the only ones who truly do.

Remembering Loss

Wesley was serving with the US Army in Iraq when he lost both of his legs in an IED attack. I met him while he and another veteran named Jeremy, pedalled custom made bicycles across the country to honor and bring awareness to military veterans. Wesley pedalled his bike with his hands. Even with gloves, I noticed his hands were calloused scraped and scarred. After a couple of crashes along his cross-country tour, Wesley had cuts and bruises that would have side-lined anyone, but remembering his losses, he pushed forward.

Bob's loss may have been almost a year old, but his eyes said his wounds would never heal. He lost his son, Robby, last May. Robby was a Marine. He survived a combat tour in Iraq only to come home and lose his life in a motorcycle crash. Bob's hurt was so apparent, I didn't trust myself to even think about how I would feel if I lost my boy. So I simply hugged Bob's neck as I watched tears streak down his cheeks. Remembering Robby, Bob pushes on.

Rita's loss was a needed one. With stage 3 breast cancer, she couldn't afford to keep what she had. Her loss was still painful and filled with regret. Her beauty and inner strength didn't fade with her loss though, it quadrupled many times over. My favorite Aunt has been newly named my favorite heroine. Never, a tear did fall. Never did she ask why. Never. Gratefully remembering her loss, Rita lifts her chin and smiles while she pushes past her loss.

Donna lived life with chronic back and neck pain, so when she left this life last week, she gained physical peace at last. While the rest of us deeply felt her loss, her little brother, my husband, felt her loss acutely. As tears fill his eyes, I wonder if a childhood memory is dancing around in his mind or if he is just accepting her final gain as his "too soon" loss and pushing through. 

After seeing all these losses the past two weeks, I've decided that losses, whether good or bad, have the ability to hurt or heal us. Sometimes, they can do both. What's important is that we never forget them.

"I'm on the street where you live
I see you all the time,
but you've not ever noticed me,
I'm no where near your kind.

You don't ever smile at me
and never will you wave,
I guess that you are busy,
but you'll have to slow some day.

I hope I'm still around then
and if I am, please stop.
Sit out on the porch with me,
I'll show you what I've got.

A silver time piece given me
when I was near your age.
They said I'd done a good job,
shoved aside, my only pay.

Once the fair-haired child,
now the aging crow
committed to a concept
that very few will know.

So give it all and then some
I'm sure that matters most
but one day you'll "get" it
you won't hear it in a toast,

You won't hear the praise or accolades
you won't feel the handshake firm
but you'll see it in a young man
who pays you no concern,

I'm on the street where you live..."

Got a minute?

Bullitt and Bellus

Let me tell you about a personal journey I've been on the last few months. It began when a friend of mine cancelled our lunch date because her dog had died. I remember thinking, "Seriously? It's just a dog!" You see, in my line of work, death is ever present. I see or hear of it daily. It's easy to get calloused jaded or detached. Besides, I'm an adult, pet's die. It's nothing to get tore up over.

I busied myself that day never thinking much of my friend's hurt. Oh, I had said, I was sorry for her loss. It was the appropriate thing to say, but I continued with my day unmoved and unaffected by her sorrow. Sure, I loved my dog too and I told myself I would miss her if she wasn't around, but I didn't know the pain of losing a pet. How bad could it be?

October 25th, 2011, changed that. Scooter "Bug" Randolph died that day and I swore I would never love another dog. I never wanted to feel that deep hurt again. It was hard to remember the joy Scooter had brought into my life for all the guilt I felt for taking her for granted, not to mention for being so cold and callused toward my girlfriend. I was so shocked at my tearful reaction and heartbroken over Scooters death that I vowed never to love another animal again. It was one of the more ignorant vows I've ever hissed in a moment of ridiculous hurt.

If you've never loved and lost an animal, you are probably rolling your eyes right about now. I don't blame you, I've been there too. I won't try to explain how it feels, I can't. I hope you never have to know.

A few months later, a friend sent me a photo of a little girl puppy and I didn't even hesitate. I wanted that baby dog the minute I saw her. Tossing my vow never to love again aside, I brought her and her little brother home with me to spoil. They are laying in my lap right now, half asleep, making their adorable little puppy noises and I'm so grateful for the chance to love again.

God knows I've always been the kind of person that has to learn things the hard way. I'm really wanting to change that though because this lesson in compassion has been a difficult one for me. Learning not to take things or people I care about for granted, hasn't been any easier. I hope never to repeat it.

Maybe my journey will help you in some way. If it does, I'd love to hear about it. Mainly because you are my friend and I care about you, even if I haven't told you lately.

To Vent or not to Vent....?

I try not to vent about erratic inconsiderate irresponsible drivers. It won't help any. They won't drive better. Seldom does it make me feel good to scream when they can't hear me or rant while I'm ignored. But this past week has been filled with so many ignorant operators that my irritability has exceeded my capacity to remain calm and quiet.

For example, while driving on Interstate 40 the other day, I followed a female driver who pitched a tent in the left lane; weaving and bobbing between the lane lines, as if serpentine-ing invisible cones. As my anger grew, her speed decreased until she was driving about ten miles under the speed limit in the passing lane.

Frustrated with the inexcusable irritation and the traffic that was backing up behind and beside us, I turned on my light bar, activating the red and blue lights and the wig-wag white ones. At first I thought she would yield to the right, her illuminated brake lights indicated she knew an emergency vehicle was behind her. The next few moments however, were filled with insurmountable terror as this non-driving individual completely stopped her vehicle in the left lane of traffic.

I'm not going to sugar coat for you what happened next, it wasn't pretty. I'd tell you what I yelled at her if I could remember, but graciously my post traumatic stress disorder has blackened out the worst of it. I do recall running to her driver's side, yanking the door open and screaming for her to clear the roadway. Then the sound of several thousand pounds of machinery pushing violently against innocent break rotters had me sprinting back to my patrol car.

The stench of burning break pads filled my flared nostrils as I yanked the gear shifter down into drive and stomped on the accelerator, dangerously dodging vehicles as I slid to a stop on the right hand shoulder. Safely behind the offender's car and off of the roadway, I acknowledged the crashing sound that was my pulse against my ear drums. Then I took several large exaggerated breaths and screwed my campaign hat on my head. As I walked to the passenger side of the perpetrators vehicle, I scanned for threats while I adjusted the leather hat strap on the back of my hair, noticing it was still on fire.

Near death experiences will give you clarity like you've never known, I'm told. I can't really say if that's true or not, I feel and think about the same. But I wondered what she was thinking as the wrecker hooked up and left the scene with her car in tow. I'm sure it crossed her mind the need to obtain a valid driver license before driving or better yet, to get a driver's manual and make herself familiar with the rules of the road. Yah, probably that.

Maybe venting does help a little...I feel better.