Gramma’s Home Again

Saturday was All Souls Day. Saturday was the day that Gramma’s body died and she was released from her earthly bonds to return home again, just as she’s been wanting to for awhile. She was born on October 3, 1915, so at 98 years old, she has an awful lot of family and friends who were already there ready to greet her with open arms, loving kisses and cheers of joy.

I imagine there were a few “hallelujahs!” and amens in the mix, too. Gramma loved to go to a nearby Baptist church where the sermons were passionate and the congregation filled with joyful hallelujahs. When she couldn’t drive any longer, she had to switch to another church that she could walk to. She told me that it was nice but, leaning in conspiratorially, that it “wan’t as nice as the other one. They’re much quieter.” She preferred her church to be loud and boisterous!

Elizabeth Sears was a tiny little thing, with a head of red hair and sparkling blue eyes. She had a flirty, fun way about her; a twinkly, happy, we’re-all-gonna-have-a-great-time kind of way. If you met her, you loved her. She was utterly and profoundly irresistible. For the last two months as she was in hospice care at home, her neighbors all visited and asked about her. Everyone loved “Mrs. Sears.”

She was a farm girl and darned proud of it, too. She grew up in Kansas and had that hardy Midwestern attitude, never complaining but just moving through life’s challenges as they came up. If problems came up, she didn’t waste time on complaints; she simply worked on a solution.

When I visited the last few years, we’d have coffee and talk. She had such wonderful stories to share about her life, about being married four times, about leaving her first husband and taking her two daughters to California to make a new life. Gramma worked during the war as a “Rosie the Riveter.” She was very proud to be able to buy her house and said that she was finally home and would never leave it. She never did.
 
Her storytelling is legendary in the family. She was always smiling as she shared her memories. Gramma’s entire being would light up and she’d chuckle delightedly about funny little things that happened. I loved that part, her lighting up with delight. Her delight was utterly infectious and you found yourself drawn into her smile and personality and that light that she radiated, glowing with happiness around her, an aura of colorful vibrancy.

The last few years, when we’d talk, she’d tell me that she’d lived a very good, long life and she would be happy to go home to God any time. She’d tilt her head and shrug her shoulders and say that she didn’t know why God kept her here, but she’d smile and say that it’s up to Him and she was fine with that. Another time when I visited, she pulled down the neck of her turtleneck and showed me her neck, saying how she just didn’t like the wrinkles that she had there now. Then she simply pulled up her turtleneck again and kept on telling her stories. Another time, she showed me how her fingers on her right hand had curled due to arthritis, making it hard to grasp her garden clippers. Gramma told me that she found that she could uncurl them just enough with her other hand to put the clippers in her right hand and once she had them in her hand, she could clip away! She just never wasted any time feeling disappointed in anything in life.

I could tell Gramma stories all day. I loved her beyond and beyond. She was actually my ex-husband’s Gramma, but I loved her the instant I met her and she loved me. When my husband and I had our daughter Amber and made her a great-grandmother, she gained a new nickname: Great G. After I divorced, nothing changed between her and I; we were still family to one another. We corresponded, I visited, she always always sent gifts to my daughter (her great-granddaughter) for holidays and birthdays, I sent her pics of Amber growing up through the years. When my daughter had her daughters, I told her we had to go visit Great G so they could all meet since Great G was now a great-great grandmother.

And now Great G is dancing in heaven, just as she’s been wanting. I’m so happy for her joy and for the reward of heaven for her. I’m happy to have had her in my life and look forward to being reunited once again when I’m called home, too. I expect she’ll greet me with a hearty “hallelujah!” I love you, Gramma!

Meant to be humble …

“No one is disadvantaged before God”

Still unemployed, still looking for work that will pay a reasonable salary. The other day I was doing some job-search-related work on LinkedIn and checked out the profiles of some former co-workers. Some now have titles like Director, Vice President, Sr. Vice President, Executive Vice President. While I’m happy for their accomplishments (and they are very well deserved, indeed; very good, smart people), I wondered what happened to me? Not in a feeling-sorry-for-myself way at all; more like a self-examination of my career path, what choices I may have made, what actions I might have taken, what I might have done differently to achieve similar status and been more successful.

At one point, I was on the fast track toward a vice president position … then the company was bought out and new management brought in who had their own people. I’ve been in two other companies that were bought out, staffs were downsized, departments absorbed; another company closed in the dot-com bust; another had a major Reduction in Force in 2008’s economic downturn. I left another great job for a more attractive opportunity, then the director who hired me was promoted and his successor had a different vision for the group that didn’t include the role I had accepted.

Two friends gifted me with a couple of thoughts recently that helped me to get my head and heart straight and gain some wisdom and understanding:

One friend is having to close her business after pouring her savings, sweat and lifeblood into it. In talking about our situations last week, she said that her husband had told her “Maybe we’re just meant to be humble.”

“Meant to be humble.” That really struck a chord with me. I would love to have the nicer things in life, not too extravagant, but nicer. I love beautiful things that are simple and well crafted. That pic above just makes me gasp; the beautiful lines of the tub, the elegant floors and oh, yeah, how about that view? I’m not into fussy, ornate, busy; show me sleek, simple, perhaps with a bit of rustic, mixed with some happy color. In some ways, my tastes are already humble. But still, I would like to be able to purchase some nice towels, perhaps new dishware, re-upholster my Mom’s rocking chair, have some curtains that aren’t from Ikea, update the bathroom. I’ve never really had that “extra” that would allow me to have a nicer car/wardrobe/shoes/décor. I’ve always had to watch my budget. (My brothers and I joke “Why wasn’t Dad a rich shipping magnate?”)

As I pondered these thoughts about humbleness, another friend posted this illuminating thought on Facebook:

“No one is disadvantaged before God.”

It was as though the Divine meant those words specifically for me. Those who are vice presidents and those who are unemployed: before the Divine, we’re all the same. Wealth, titles, beautiful bathtubs—none of these matter ultimately. Those are things of the physical world, not of the place where our souls are. I was letting my ego lead my thoughts instead of the heart of my Divine self. There is ultimately a great equalizer as we move forward in our journeys. My friend’s husband spoke it so truly: We are meant to be humble people, all of us. None of us is disadvantaged where it counts. A little wisdom gained.

Sticky labels

 

It’s difficult to truly know anyone (others don’t see us the way we see ourselves), so we’re constantly showing each other who we are, trying to gain some understanding of one another. It can be difficult to change others’ perceptions, though, especially because we tend to show different aspects of our selves to different people. We’re one person at work, but we’re different people with our parents, our friends, our loved ones, even our pets.

It’s human nature to want acceptance, so we play the roles needed to be accepted within each group. It’s a lifelong journey (at least for me) trying to reconcile all our “selves” and to learn to be authentic and genuine, to drop away the false ego, live our own Truth and connect with our Divine center within.

“People will try to tell you who you are your whole life. When they do, you’ve got to push back and say “No! THIS is who I am.” 
~ Emma, Once Upon a Time

It’s human nature to categorize; we tend to like things to fit in nice little, easily identifiable slots. We slap a label on the box—smart, funny, odd, slow, old, young, fat, thin—because we believe it helps us to know how to interact with the person. Labels are easier than getting to know a person. But labels are so limiting. I rarely tell people my age, for example, because I’ve found that they tend to then treat me differently. I want them to know me, not the number of years I’ve been on this side of my journey.

Labels aren’t just limiting, they also tend to be sticky, not easily changed. But people are always growing, learning, changing. I think most people spend much of their lives trying to be better people and learning what that means for them. Personally, I pick various undesirable traits of mine (impatience, judgment) and try to work on them to change and improve myself, with varying success.

Everything is impermanent; people and circumstances are always changing. No one stays exactly the same all their lives. We have to keep our hearts open to see the changes and not retain our old perceptions when they no longer hold true. With open hearts—and no labels—we can see the genuine consciousness within a person, not just the outer shell projected to the world. We need to stop slapping labels on others and work harder at trying to see the essence within.

Namaste

Being with what is …

I have a wonderful, grace-filled friend who has a debilitating chronic illness; each day, her symptoms can change, and they’re usually not very pleasant changes. And yet, she remains a whole, wonderful, amazing gift to those who know her and are inspired by her and her wisdom and grace.

Recently she posted:

“Time, patience, sitting, being with what is, watching it unfold, turn, expand, shrink, stay, move forward and onto another awareness altogether …”

I told her that I should write “being with what is” on my blackboard as a reminder. Her response:

“We so often think we can avoid "what is" particularly when "what is" is unpleasant...NOPE...it still "is". ..well until it becomes "was"...or we run towards "will be"...but come on, lets face it ..."IS," is where we are actually living and breathing.”

How often do we resist “what is?” A chronic illness, loss of a job, divorce, death … some things cannot be changed, others can be changed over time, but in the meantime, we have to be with what is at that moment. I’ve shared many times that one of my favorite mantras is “Receive what you have been given.” When I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia in 1995, I did not receive or accept the diagnosis; I resisted. I continued to search for other answers, something that could be fixed. I finally had to receive what I’d been given and once I did that, I could learn and grow and find what modalities would work for me in managing the pain and avoiding situations that triggered it. It took several years, but I do OK now. I spent too much time, though, not receiving, not being with what is. Resistance was futile. As my friend reminds me: All is welcome. ALL is welcome. all IS welcome. all is WELCOME.

The Buddhists believe that resistance causes needless suffering. When we resist what is, we can’t move forward. We uselessly fight what is un-fightable. Through the usual gamut of life challenges, I feel I’ve learned the lesson pretty well now, not perfectly, but pretty well. When I was laid off last year, I didn’t spent time fretting over it.  I worked at finding a new job, but I didn’t worry. I accepted my situation and worked to change it over time. I now trust that I will land where I’m supposed to land and that things will work out the way they’re supposed to (even if it’s not what I would choose).

Bruce Lee expressed this lack of resistance as being fluid, like water:

Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way round or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves.

Empty your mind, be formless. Shapeless, like water. If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle and it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot it becomes the teapot. Now, water can flow or it can crash. Be water my friend.

May we learn to Be with what is. Be like water.

Namaste

Thank you, Laura!

Owning the journey …

“I need to talk to you.”

“Can I come over?”

“I need to be in your space.”

I imagine we all get those calls from time to time. A friend who needs an ear, a troubled soul who needs a hand in sorting it all out, a hurting friend who needs a hug.

A good friend called me and said I was the only person he could talk to. He said that I was the most grounded person he knew; “wise” he said.

In my younger years, that would have inflated my ego and I would’ve puffed up thinking that, with my help, my friend’s problems would be solved. Thankfully, getting older also includes getting wiser (I hope!) and releasing that puffy old ego more and more with each passing year. I was touched that he reached out to me, but I know that I can’t solve anyone’s problems.

I can listen, though. I believe I’m a good listener. I’ve even taught workshops on “Active Listening” as part of a previous job. I’ve probably mentioned that I had speech problems as a kid, often so embarrassed that I just tried not to talk much. So I listened. I looked a person in the eye, moved my body to face him or her, and listened attentively with my whole body and mind.  I’d note the inflection of speech, the body language, the facial expressions; all deeper clues to what the person was trying to convey than the actual words they were saying.  (Speech therapy classes taught me some of these skills.) Even before I knew the expression, I knew how to be fully present to another.

I don’t usually give advice, though, even when the inevitable “but what shall I do?” is asked. (It would probably be my own ego talking.) I’ll share my own thoughts and experiences, but I really make an effort not to tell the other person what I think they should do. Instead, I’ll ask questions (speaking to their higher self) to help the person consider their options in a healthy, constructive way and determine their own next move.

Each person owns their own journey. I constantly remind myself of that. I can listen, I can hold a hand, I can hug or cry or laugh; I can share and encourage further thinking. But I can’t own another person’s journey or solve their problems. Each of us owns our own journey. No one else is responsible for solving our personal problems. No one else is responsible for making us happy. Each time I get that “I need to talk to you” call, I remind myself: Each of us owns our own journey – and I try to get my self out of the way so I can be fully present for the person calling.

I am praying for my friend, praying that his talking/my listening helped him in thinking through some things. I pray that his journey improves and that his heart and spirit move into a healthier and happier place. It’s up to him. I wish him happiness and lightness of spirit.

Namaste