Reflections from the River

There is an Asian woman that I encounter often by the supermarket where I get my groceries. She is always very respectful and minds her own business. I can tell that it has been awhile since she’s showered, or been around people regularly that don’t live on the streets. But she weaves in and out of the folks that live in this neighborhood, and those that visit it, and somehow both blends in and survives. I can’t really understand what she says, but every time we see one another we nod at each other and continue on with our day. A mutual acknowledgment of the humanity that exists in the other person I suppose.

Today when I saw her, she was at the table next to me as I was getting my groceries situated in my little cart for the walk home on the grocery stores patio area, and I offered her a box of breakfast bars that were from a bogo this store was having. She nodded, said thanks, and asked if I could open a hot sauce packet for her. I realized in that moment that she considered us friends, or at the very least acquaintances. So of course I did what any friend would do, and tried to open it and failed miserably. I told my new friend I couldn’t get it open and that my hands don’t work right at times, and I think she said “that’s okay! Thanks! Bye!”

As I was turning to leave, I realized she may not like apple cinnamon breakfast bars, and offered strawberry to her. She readily accepted those instead, and waved goodbye to me again- her new friend.

The city that I live in now has given me many things; healthcare, an extra dose of tenacity brought on by trauma, new friends, my first church home since converting to Catholicism, peace, happiness, and an authentic way of looking at the world and those in it for exactly what and who they are. That can be both a good and a bad thing having no more blinders on. Today it was a good thing. Today I made a friend and fed someone. Not for accolades or likes, but because it was the right thing to do, and that Asian lady is made in the image and likeness of God just like everyone else is. Plus, why does one person need two boxes of breakfast bars anyhow? I digress. We are all quite literally the same and all matter equally because we are all Gods children. He doesn’t love any one of us over the other. I am thankful for this reminder today. I am thankful for one more friend. Most of all, I am thankful for a God that continues to love us all in-spite of ourselves.

I haven’t written a post in a long time. I’m making it a point from now on to write much more often. I haven’t lately mostly because most days I don’t feel well physically, and the act of doing anything at all takes all the umph I can muster. Not all days are miserable. As a matter of fact, none of them are. This is because the Grace (note the capital g) in suffering is seeing God in everything and everyone.

I don’t wear my suffering like a badge of honor, though my medical struggles are often how I’m identified. More specifically, that I survive things a lot of folks would not or have not. I don’t attribute all of the miraculous times I’ve survived to myself. I am stubborn, and have a survival instinct that runs so deep it’s almost in my bone marrow. No, I attribute these instances to God.

I heard on a Catholic podcast months ago, that Christians should live out their faiths so boldly, that other people wonder what they have that they don’t. While the Grace in my suffering is seeing God in everything and everyone, it is also others seeing God in me. For that, I am thankful. I am so ridiculously undeserving of the blessings poured out over my life, even through times of extreme hardship. All of us are. But as my Methodist Preacher Uncle, Uncle Ed, who i affectionately called Blessed Brother Woodall, said once, “You can ask me the same question a million different ways, Sister Lisa, but my answer will always be the same. He does these things because He loves us.” For that I am most thankful. Despite my lifestyle changes, my inability to do some of the things I once did so easily, looking down the road at surgery, being heartbroken or disappointed at times, etc. and so forth; He loves me inspite of myself, and none of these things that are so ugly and hard are His fault. He is my biggest cheerleader. He is all of our biggest cheerleader. For that I am thankful. For that is the reason I keep going, and see Him in everything and everyone. ❤️

Recently, and I’m not entirely sure what triggered this line of thinking, I have been thinking about what I would say to my younger self if I had the chance. Life has for the most part not been altogether easy for me, and it certainly wasn’t growing up, but it has been beautiful. Below you will find a letter to young Lisa. Maybe some of what is below will help whoever reads this. That will be my hope.

Dear Lisa,

Hey you. 36 year old you wanted to reach out and say hello. I know that life is challenging right now. You’re in high school! Congrats! Only 4 more years until college! People bully you a lot , and you feel so out of place. The lights are so bright in classes, and every noise distracts you. You don’t care about football games, or the band. As a matter of fact, I know just as well as you do, that most of the time you spent in band for those two years in middle school you didn’t actually play that trumpet. It’s okay though. Pretty soon you’ll witness the twin towers collapsing in computer applications. That will shake you to your core always. You’ll go back to St Paul’s where you belong. The library will always remain a sanctuary of sorts. You’ll graduate and Jim L. will come!

You’ll also lose our Daddy mid year of your senior year. Im so sorry and if I could hold you and tell you that, even though you won’t believe me, you’ll always miss him but know where he ends up and eventually find peace and acceptance, i so would. You’ll fake it that year and then you will end up in Indiana for two years! You’ll fall in love. You’ll make life long friends. You’ll learn not to mix different colors of liquor. You’ll find The Church.

That last sentence is what I want to really focus on. You see, Lisa, even though you will later be chewed up and spit out by the healthcare system, your heart will be broken a handful of times, and you’ll experience true pain and horror, that presence you discovered in college was Jesus and He will make all the difference. Those painful moments will turn you into a survivor. You will thrive, and He, Jesus, will be at the center of it all. You will learn that He is the only thing that matters. He never leaves you, and you will want for nothing if your eyes are fixed on Him. He doesn’t likely care for the language you use later, and it makes Him sad when you do stupid things. But you must never forget that He loves you. That is all that matters. Not money, super model looks, or a plethora of stuff. Just Him.

The world loses focus on Him eventually. People will claim to believe in Him, but their actions will say otherwise. There will be a pandemic (google Spanish Flu), and you will survive it.

Lisa, All the bad stuff ends up creating an iron clad resolve to keep going. You do. So don’t worry! Things get better eventually. You’ll always be an odd duck, but pretty soon you’ll have more friends than you know what to do with, later an incredible dog named Ellie, and FINALLY realize what truly matters; Jesus.

I love you, and you’ll learn to love you, too.

Love,

36 year old You

I am not so good with dates anymore. My sister use to tease that I could remember a person who looked at me sideways when I was two, or that wronged me in 2nd grade in the lunch line. She had a point back then. My memory was once a steel trap, and close to photographic. Not so much now, but it is improving daily at a pretty unbelievable pace. Needless to say, my brain has grown accustomed to trauma over the years.

But I digress. At some point fairly recently, since I cannot remember the date, my best frand told me an interesting end of life scenario that she believes happens when those of use that go to Heaven get to Heaven. She believes that we sit down next to God and watch a movie of our lives. Sometimes He hugs us, puts His arm around us, let’s us cry on His shoulder, pats us on the back for a job well done, and sometimes He stops the movie and turns to us and asks us why.

Needless to say, I have been thinking about that scenario often since my frand shared it with me. Will I be proud of the movie of Lisa in Heaven? I think I will get a well done good and faithful, and turn my first backflip when I walk in after I hug some relatives certainly, but will I be proud of this movie? Did I do all I could in this life to become a saint? What He yearns for us all to become. No.

I often ask God why He sees fit to continue to so brazenly extend my life over and over again. I don’t yet know the answer. But I know my life has changed in the last year and a half, and He should do more of the directing of the movie of Lisa. I want to be proud to sit next to Him and watch it some day. 🙂

Since the infancy of this blog a little over a year ago, I haven’t known what it would contain. Many, I think, expected my blog to be full of political reflections. I have had various obsessions through the years, and was a political science major, so I get that expectation. During the first couple of months there were some political reflections, albeit nonsensical ones, but I deleted them and pressed on as I recovered from another brain trauma. Perhaps I will reflect more on politics in the future on this blog.

What I have written about a tremendous amount on this blog is God, and why shouldn’t I? He and His Church and receiving Sacraments are all the life forces that have kept me alive. I belong to Him. He is also someone that I have a close friendship with, and speak and cry out to regularly; though not as often as I should.

Often I feel so unworthy of the blessings God has given me, and question why He continues to actively and brazenly keep me alive. Months and months ago, a dear childhood friend, after I told her the full breadth of what has happened to me as an adult, stated quite simply, “People don’t survive that, Lisa.” I’d never considered that before. Two brain bleeds after a childhood full of brain surgeries from a neurological condition that you either understand or you don’t, numerous blood clots, and a botched spinal procedure, and I am walking(not well at times, but I am able to) and talking and even thriving in some ways. That doesn’t happen? Oh. I have tossed that around in my mind, and had conversations with God and my priests, to a degree, about this very topic.

I get tired a lot now, and I’m in tremendous pain to a degree of which I’ve never known, but I’m alive. I am grateful for that. It has been , however, a lot to process, and a lot to come back from this time around. Fortunately, I know no other way to act other than to press on. I have wondered a time or two (okay more than that) what life would have been like for me if I lived in a country where healthcare was never a question. Would that have given me an opportunity to be known as more than someone who oftentimes quite miraculously survives things that I should not? Maybe so, but I’ll never know because you can’t go back and change the past. A person must always press on, and appreciate what they have and live life to the fullest.

Thanks Be to God.

I have been unsure about what I wanted to write about since my last post a little over a month ago. As my Grandmommy Anne once said, “I’ve just been sitting and doing some thinking.” She was onto something, and I wish I had done it sooner. What I mean is, to sit in silence by yourself for me, and I feel certain it was for her as well, is to sit in silence with God. There is a peace and a beauty found in silence, and of course it is because He is there.

I suffered another major neurological set back, really a TBI and then some, in January of 2020 right before the world began to implode on itself for a time, as you may have surmised if you have read much of this blog. Since that trauma, there have been a lot of silent moments for me. A lot of wondering about the what if’s of it all. Why me? But that doesn’t get me anywhere, so I have tried hard to not think that way. I realized since moving to a better living situation about 7 months ago, and subsequently decompressing majorly and being able to hear myself think, that I don’t need to know why. There is a purpose in everything that happens in life. Horrible things happen and God has His hand in everything. The why does He allow it to happen question that pops up after reading that statement that most folks ask themselves, doesn’t for me most days.

Clinging to God in silent moments and in moments of suffering are how saints are made. Here’s to my attempt to never stop trying to become one, and walking hand in hand with God while I do.

Even though life over the last now 36 years has been so hard at times, there has been a certain freeness in the uncertainty of all that has come my way. What I’m specifically referring to is my health. I have never known what would happen on a daily basis in regards to the condition I was born with, hydrocephalus, and all of the complications that have followed since.

People make me out to be some exceptional human in the way that I survive things and look at things seemingly unbroken. Or simply the fact that I continue to keep trying. But really, what choice does anyone have other than to keep going? I cannot curl up in a ball and wish the hours away only to repeat the cycle the next day. I suppose you could, but where would that leave you? When you have chronic medical conditions you know no other life, and know no other way to behave other than to keep pushing. I have nearly died more times than I can count, and that is where the freeness comes into play. I have lived the life I have thus far fully, and there is a peace that comes from knowing that most every day has been lived to its most full.

I don’t know how to wrap up this blog post other than to say that I hope whomever reads this is inspired to live their life fully too. People will always misunderstand you to some degree, and sometimes they will even not be very nice. But most of the time, like today for me for instance, you’ll walk down your street and speak to four different neighbors, grab a taco or two because you want them, and enjoy the sun beating down on you and be so thankful to be alive. ❤️

It would probably seem strange to some, but the physical suffering I have felt over the past year and some months has drawn me closer to God. When I began to pray for people, and offer up my pain for the salvation of others, it gave it a purpose. Really, what greater one could there be? We prioritize things that don’t matter as humans. We like our stuff in excessive amounts. We like our labels, cars, etc and so forth. But salvation-THAT is the ultimate prize.

Life has been hard and long and it seems to be a mystery to some how I’ve managed to keep going. The simple answer is that God has held and continues to hold my hand every step of the way. To whomever may be reading this, He holds your hand too. Most importantly, He suffered a prolonged agony with the weight of the entire world world on his shoulders. Simply because He loves us that much. That’s the other reason why I keep going too.

Many months ago, my priest said God is wonderful. I responded with a He is also a weirdo, or something of that nature when we were chatting before Confession outside because COVID. But the fact is, I think He is both. A wonderful weirdo who loves all of His children beyond our wildest comprehension. I have a hard time comprehending why sometimes. I think He laughs, cries, and many times wonders what exactly He has to do to get our attention. We second guess Him, offend Him, deny Him, turn to things not of Him, act like people are the second coming of Him, and yet He loves us with a fiery passion of a Father who doesn’t care what we do and will be there anyway. Really, the love of a Daddy.

I lost another relative this last week. A relative that I took care of for a year and a half, and said goodbye to over a year ago thinking I would not live. This relative was often misunderstood and for most of her life severely mentally ill. This was not her fault of course, but she filled her pain with things not of God. She let these things not of God into her life and that made her into a bitter person. How could this not make things worse for her? Things not that of God do not fill you with happiness and joy.

As my family has been coming to grips with her death I have thought of the face to face with God that she must have had. In my mind and heart I picture her waking up in the Fathers house and Him asking her to choose Him. Him telling her how much He has missed her all this time. That the joy she sought is with Him and to please choose Him. I firmly believe that she did, and that perhaps they are still embracing and getting to know one other. Oh, and that He is gently telling her that His mother is not a goddess, but is the mother of His son. And then she meets the Blessed Mother. 🙂

God loves you, Aunt Beth. I’m glad you finally know. ❤️