Repost: Old Love

Today is a day worth lots of reflection. In remembering the magnitude of what happened on September 11, 2001 and how it's impacted my life, I can't help but be reminded of what happened on September 11, 1950 and how that date has also impacted my life. For that reason, I'm reposting an old blog I wrote the day my grandma passed away. I finished writing it about an hour before she went to be with Jesus, and as my grandpa is now nearing his time to join her in Heaven, it seems all the more timely to celebrate what would mark their 63rd wedding anniversary. Here's to honoring a date that has taught me much about life - both anniversaries serving a simple and profound reminder to treasure our time with those in our lives by loving deeply. 

Today I witnessed beauty in it's rawest form.

The sight was tough to take in, nothing pretty to calm the eyes. The smells might have been even worse, and the sounds of arduous breathing are now etched in my memory forever, but the beauty surpassed the circumstances.

Today I picked up my grandpa from his assisted living home and we went for a drive. We talked about my grandma, about her condition. She was checked into the hospital again last week, her 4th visit in the last month. This time, her doctors and nurses seem to think these are her final days, maybe hours. My grandpa is a wonderful and stubborn old man who felt he lost my grandma over a year ago when her alzheimer's dramatically progressed. Saying goodbye to her again was not on his agenda, but it seems it may have been on hers. And he courageously allowed me to take him to her.

When we arrived to her room, I noticed she looked different than she did when I was with her last night. Her head rested further down, her skin was cold, and her breathing sounded more difficult.

As my grandpa entered in the room, he didn't say much. He just went over to her bedside, sat down, and held her hand. Suddenly, her eyes went from glazed over and droopy to wide open. We thought it was my grandpa who might gain some closure today, assuming my grandma checked out a long time ago, or in his words, "she's been on a really long vacation." But it seems she was the one aching for a goodbye. As he held her hand, something happened that none of us were expecting. Her breathing completely changed, and the sounds of short soft sobs made their way out of her heart. It was the most expressive any of us have seen her in over a year, as if she had been waiting for him to say goodbye.

I think all of us have been gradually grieving her death for years now, as her life has progressively been slipping away. I'm sure there is more left to do, but today, despite how sad it was, I found myself insanely privileged to be standing in that room.

I cant even begin to imagine the mystery of what 60 years of life together must feel like, but today, I saw a teeny tiny glimpse.

I heard it said once, love is about holding hands through the easy days and hugging through the tough ones. That it's not always a magical feeling... in fact, rarely is it that way. But that love is a commitment, a friendship, it's self-sacrifice. It's a constant awareness your life does not just belong to you. And it's an enduring joy to have someone there with you to share the ups and downs of life with, someone who is on your team.

When I was a youth leader, we would always tell the students, "If you're not growing, you're dying." And I wonder if the same is true for love. In this case, such old love would be proof of deep growth. Love that has not just survived 60 years, but love that has grown stronger because of it.

That is what I witnessed today: years of ups and downs, good days, bad days, birthdays, holidays, moving days, devastating days, wonderful days, and all the in between days, adding up to years of memories. 60 years of persevering and sharing life together, growing their love into something old and beautiful, culminating in a small, stale hospital room where words didn't need to be exchanged - just a hand to hold while saying goodbye.

Today beauty was stripped of all it's glamor and charm, but what remained was pure and unpretentious and life-changing. I've never seen love look so beautiful.

my endlessly artistic mother

On Sunday we celebrated my mama's 52nd birthday, and I'm still amazed to be learning new things about her.

As we walked around LACMA, she picked up some paper and pencils and then asked Jack and me to sit with her and sketch our favorite Picasso from the several in front of us.  Though a bit reluctant, I figured Picasso was a safe bet, since if I messed up I could say it was on purpose. "He's supposed to be cross-eyed," I kept rehearsing. After about 15 minutes in, I started feeling pretty good about myself, until I glanced at my 11-year-old brother's creation and realized I should've just used crayons.

Then in a dumb hope I might still come in 2nd place, I snuck a peak at my mom's drawing pad. I was shocked.  In 15 short minutes, she was effortlessly recreating Pablo's acclaimed work. Did I mention I've never seen the woman draw? After quickly hiding my own paper, I sat in amazement and watched her sketch away. When did she learn to pick up on all those details? And how does she know to shade like that? Who taught her these things?  But away her pencil went like it knew exactly what to do. She must've felt me staring over her shoulder, cause she softly smiled back at me, then kept at it.

That's my mom for ya. Unaware of her own strengths.

But believe it or not, her talents exceed her creativity. And if you've ever stepped foot in her backyard, you know that's a bold statement. But I think if you know my mom, you'll agree - her best work has always been in her character.

She gives generously: of her time, her money, her talents, her love - and not just to her family and friends, but to everyone around her. Often to perfect strangers. She's the lady who winds up praying with the telemarketers, or quietly dropping off groceries for struggling families she barely knows, or giving of herself daily to take good care of my sweet grandpa, with no regard to the sacrifice.

Growing up, she took me on daring adventures with her as she followed God's tug on her heart, she would wake me up in the middle of the night (ok, 10:30pm) to have root beer floats and watch the Cosby's, and to think of all the pets she let me bring home...

To this day, she keeps enough food in the fridge to feed an army so guests always feel at home. And it should come as no surprise that she happens to collect instruments. Or that she'll likely be found handing you some obscure stringed noise maker, all while soliciting for a 13 piece band you never you knew you always wanted to be in. Ask anyone who's ever been over, they'll testify to great food, good conversation, a possible jam sess, and certainly lots of love from my mom. They'll probably mention the pretty fireplace too.

Her wisdom, compassion and kindness have always guided me through life and taught me what loving God honestly and people well looks like. Although I'm still a little bitter she kept the tall gene (and apparently the drawing gene!) to herself, I'm deeply thankful for the example she continues to paint for me.

Happy Birthday, Mom! May your strengths shine bright in your 52nd year. I love you!

Melly

7 Days Later

A lot can happen in a week.

The more I think about Boston, the more grateful and more broken hearted I feel. 

I'm deeply thankful my little sister and friends living in Boston were all kept safe and sound. But my heart aches as I read about the stories of those who were not. I'm humbled and grateful to live in a country where sudden bombings are so rare, it only takes minutes to receive news of what's happening 3000 miles from my front door. But I can't help but think of those around the world who have grown accustomed to sudden explosions and loved ones being in danger, and my heart aches for them too. I'm moved as I look through photographs of the brave who ran towards to the explosions, towards the chaos, towards the panic, towards the pain. My heart sinks when I learn the remaining surviving suspect is only 19 years old.19. While his age makes his acts no less evil, we all know something is terribly wrong when someone so young has such darkness inside. I'm inspired by the unity among the Boston community and the overflow we've felt nationwide. And like everyone else, I'm still really sad.

Events like this rattle us to the core, as they should. This week has been a fresh reminder good and bad coexist around us every day. We live in a world waiting to be redeemed by its Creator, and in the meantime, we have a part to play. When the bad is so devastating, so prominent, so dark, the good must rise above to be even stronger, even louder, even brighter. God actually designed us capable of overcoming evil with good, although if you're like me, it's often easier to avoid it than confront it. Or at best dwell on one reaction and not the other: either being thankful, licking our wounds, and moving on, or growing more cynical, living in fear, and perpetuating a cycle. But perhaps the most compelling reason to engage the conflict in our world, for that matter, even the conflict in our own lives, happens when we allow ourselves to hold onto to both. To simultaneously rejoice with the good and grieve for the bad. Maybe the tension will push us all forward.

the stories we could tell

I met Melissa when I was 12. We both played on the same little league softball team, which suffice it to say, I took a little more seriously than she did. She was 2 years older, had a cute boyfriend to flirt with between innings, and put lipstick on every time she made it off the bench to Center Field. She was instantly cool. Certainly cooler than me. I never would've imagined then how she'd become a sister to me over the years. Not only did she let me drive her car before I had my license, she was mostly responsible for my first kiss, became the world's best accomplice in TP wars, drove almost an hour once to warn me before my parents tried to ground me & by the time I hit freshman year of college, our dreams came true and we were finally roommates. This pic was during fall of 2002, just after moving into the dorms together. And 10 years later, she's still cool as ever. Today, she's married to a red headed man, owns a beautiful photography business, drives a minivan, and is mama to 4 of the cutest kids you've seen. And she still finds time to open her front door late at night, toss me a blanket as I curl up on her couch, and let me pour out the details of my own life for which she's always sincerely cared about. Melissa is the kind of friend you are crazy lucky to grow up with. The kind who, 16 years later, you still look up to... and still find yourself asking where she bought her lipstick. She's the kind of friend I hope for my little sister to have. 

Happy 31st my sweet friend!  Love you dearly.