Every time I sat down to write about the madness we've all seen on TV the last few days, I'd get so angry that I could only walk away disgusted.

I've tried everything imaginable to ease this ache in my heart. I've decided its staying for awhile and with it an undeniable rage. How could anyone, crazy or not, kill a bunch of little kids and women?

If there ever comes a day...

Every law enforcement officer knows the feelings I'm about to describe. Few other professions experience the emotions I'm about to reveal. Nurses, doctors, morticians and maybe a hose-dragger or two, are able to relate to what I'm about to say.

We are constantly surrounded by death. The dead, the dying, the use-to-be. We gun-toters lean toward cynical, mechanical, calloused when it comes to death. We accept it for what it is...a part of life. We take no pleasure in the loss of life, but we also feel unattached to the "normal" emotions that humans typically feel when we witness it. That is of course, until the chilly fingers of death touch someone we care about.

When the inevitable happens...we feel way too much. Every nerve fiber in our bodies are on overdrive, every sensory skill tasked to the threshold, every muscle in our jaw clinches to near teeth-breaking strength. And then we collapse into nothingness. Drained of our tears, we lay fragile, broken, spent.

We will eventually recover, but we won't ever be the same. Death (of any kind) hurts. It may be the end of a long term relationship. Or the end of a marriage. It may be the end of a friendship or the end of a career. It may be the loss of a four-legged friend or the loss of mobility or youth.

Any loss, death or otherwise, changes who you are and who you thought you were. It makes you stop, if only for a moment and consider what's important. Death does something else...it sweetens the memories for the ones left behind; for that, I'm grateful.

I Know This To Be True

It's not polite to talk about yourself all the time...

Sometimes never, depending on the topic. But I have something to share that I think is important. I lay awake for the majority of the night last night and read, "Comet's Tale" by Steve Wolf. In his book, Wolf describes his physical pain from a congenital spine condition which altered his life and threatened his mental health. I found myself relating to him on many levels.

Many people know that I have rheumatoid arthritis, I often poke fun at my crooked fingers or curly toes. I joke about hiding my ugly knees from sight or the crater that has taken up residence on my bum hip. What I try not to do is complain all the time about the accompanying pain associated with RA.

My family endures the complaining, but even they are spared some of the details that keep me awake at night. If you've known me long, you've known that I have had a long list of injuries and accompanying surgeries. What you may not know is the painful fog that lingers from each. I've heard that with every sedation a person loses bits and pieces of memory and ultimately, themselves. I know this to be true.

As I read Wolf's book last night, I choked up as I related to his accounts of self-doubt, disgust with his own body, depression and suicidal thoughts. I hurt for him even as I lay in agonizing pain from something I could not control. I bring up this topic only to encourage you. Maybe you're the one who is suffering from a physical ailment or disease. Or maybe you live with or care about someone who does. You are not alone. You don't have to believe the same way I do, but I can tell you this...there is a God in Heaven and He knows what you're going through. He made you just the way that you are and He loves you in spite of yourself. I know this to be true.

My message is simple, "Don't Give Up!" It may get better, you may heal or get a reprieve from your infirmities. The only way that you lose is if you quit. So don't quit. Drag that crippled, sickly-old-body of yours through another day and night. Reach out to others in need, be Jesus to someone, you won't even remember your own hurts when you do. I know this to be true.

Betsy

Eye Can See YOU!

"That's crazy!" I said as I gawked at the beautiful book cover in a Santa Fe storefront window. Mom and I were strolling down a narrow, ancient street last week when I saw a turquoise-colored eyeball plastered on the front of a white paperback book cover. The eyeball was surrounded by gorgeous teal, gold and green face paint and shaped like the Americas. "That's crazy too!" I said as I laughed and pointed at the author's explanation of the book; "Vibrational Healing."

I was thinking how "artsy fartsy" Santa Feans are while I leaned in closer to get a better look. That's when something moved behind the book.

Another eye! No, two eyes!

A blonde-headed lady was on the other side of the glass sitting at a desk. Had she heard my outbursts?

I had hoped that she didn't, but she motioned for us to come inside the opened shop door not two feet away.

Yup, I was busted!

My eyes could hardly look away from her honest, clear ones as she sincerely explained her theories of vibrational and light healing. Our visit was brief, but I took the time to apologize for calling her book crazy. I told her I loved the jacket design and then we were off again. 

As we walked away I couldn't help but think of all the ways I manage to embarrass myself. Maybe I should have asked if her vibrational healing methods cure foot-in-the-mouth diseases.

I don't get it!

Consider this....

One of these days...that irritating kid of yours isn't going to be around to irritate you. That man that loves you, but occasionally ignores you...won't be here to half-listen to what you're complaining about.

A friend of mine lost her husband recently, less than a year since she lost her oldest son...when I say, "lost" I mean, they died.

This past week, I stood staring, unbelieving at the headstone of the youngest of my friend's sons. I closed my eyes as tears stung my eyes. My friend has lost two sons and now a husband in the last few years. I tried to imagine the pain she must feel, but I can't. When I asked her if she was angry at God, she said, "How can I be? He took what was already His."

I'm not going to lie, I'd probably be shaking a fist toward the sky and cursing...a lot! But my friend, she isn't and I guess I'm not a good enough Christian to understand her "Job-like" attitude. But then again, when I stop to consider it...I've never really suffered at all. I've had it pretty easy. My life has been picture perfect if there ever was such a thing.

I've stopped to consider why........

There isn't an answer. Why do some people have it so hard and other so easy? I don't know. I guess I never will.

In all things I will praise my God, in sparing me the immense pain that my sweet friend is going through even tonight and in the blessings that He has showered on me...a wretched, undeserving sinner that fails Him on a daily basis...

Yup, it blows!

With my trusty Corona pruners in hand, I headed out doors this evening to do a little work in the gardens. Turns out the pruners weren't needed. There was less to prune and more to just, "pull" and pull I did. I pulled weeds, dead flower heads and I'm pretty sure, a hamstring. Why is it that our bodies have to get old and fall apart?

Makes me so mad and sad and frustrated.

I look around and realize that everything gets old. I've decided that everything that gets old also gets wider. Take the dogs for example, they are about three times wider than when I brought them home in January. Then there is my favorite blue Atlas cedar, it's quadrupled in height and girth.

This brings me to another interesting point, I'm tired of struggling with getting wider. So I've decided to embrace my wideness...

Maybe "embrace" isn't accurate. I think it's more like I'm just tired of fighting...that's another irritating thing that blows about getting old...you get tired easier and quicker...and stay tired longer.

I'm not discouraged or disgruntled about getting older and wider, I'm just......................................
what were we talking about?

Mean Old Trooper Lady...

Call me a, "weenie" but I despise the cold weather. My old arthritic fingers move slower, my body tends to shrivel in on itself and I resemble the hunchback of Notre Dame as I shuffle my frozen-toed feet from one warm spot to another, trying to escape the hideousness of winter. It kinda makes me sad as I reminisce frigid episodes of the cold, callused person I use to be...

When working as a road trooper during the wintertime, I remember not being as merciful or gracious as I had been in the fall or even the spring. Often, when the weather was unconducive to being outside for long, I would (and sometimes still do), find myself having less patience for ignorance or non-compliance to the law.

Take for example a frosty wintertime interaction which took place on the snow-covered shoulder of Interstate 35 a few years back. A petite little lady in black high heels, dressed in beautiful designer clothes and reeking of high-dollar perfume had the audacity to ask me if she could roll the window up because she was "cold" as the freezing rain and sleet slapped at my face and slid down my neck. This, while I stood and waited outside her car door as she searched everywhere for her insurance card. She was the one who had violated the state law by choosing to drive twenty (20) miles over the posted speed limit sign.

"No," I growled, "You can't, as a matter of fact, why don't you join me here on the shoulder for a moment and let's talk about your driving," I hissed. She handed me her expired insurance verification form with delicately manicured fingers that shook as she stared open-mouthed and wide-eyed at my request.

"But it's cold out there," she stammered. I glared at her beneath the rim of my "Smokey Bear" brown hat, my lips in a straight, nearly-blue, tight line. "Yes, ma'am, it most certainly is," I replied.

I waited, growing even more impatient and aggravated as I watched her dig around in her back seat for her long, fully-lined coat and slip her tiny arms inside. She made a production of putting on her black leather gloves on her chilly little fingers.

"Let's go, ma'am," I said as she twisted in her seat to look over her left shoulder waiting for traffic to clear before she dared open her car door. As if I hadn't been in danger when I exited my car or stood in the freezing rain, "visiting" with her for several long, miserable minutes.

"If you are too afraid to get out on that side, crawl over and exit the passenger door," I said, growing angrier by the second while she obviously stalled inside her warm car. The wind whipped at my face as a semi passed us and the force of it tried to take my hat off. The gust ripped at my hat wrenching a clump of my hair where the leather and buckle rested against the back of my head. It caused my anger to flash red hot as I reset my hat on my head and watched this woman, who was about my age, slowly get out of her car to meet me on the shoulder.

Without saying a word, I held a single finger up and left her standing on the shoulder for a moment and retrieved my citation book. When I returned, I did something that I usually don't do. I stood, right there on the shoulder of the interstate, with her beside me and wrote her a big fat ticket while both of us got splattered with sleeting rain that stung like tiny wasp stingers. The original citation that I turned into the court clerk was tattered and wrinkly from wetness, but it was legible.

I bring up the story in hopes of making a point...and here it is...IF, you choose to drive like a maniac when the weather is bad, you MAY have to endure said weather WHILE you receive a citation. So, consider not breaking the law ANYTIME, but most importantly when it's cold, wet and absolutely miserable out. Food for thought.