God’s Will

Tags

bereavement, death, encouragement, family, God's will

My great aunt recently passed. This person has been close to me my entire life. She is one of those people who kept me from a whoopin’, gave me extra tight hugs, and indulged my amateur interview skills more times than I can count. She taught me how to make tea cakes. She straightened my hair in her kitchen. I walked with her when her doctor told her she needed to exercise. I massaged her shoulder when it grew stiff. Whenever I came back from out of town, I went to her house immediately after going to my house. This isn’t just another family member or peripheral person in my life; this is one of the pillars of my life.

It seems the past few years have been especially rough for me in this regard. I’ve lost many people who have supported me at pivotal moments in my life, who form the bridge that I crossed into this portion of my life. From my beloved stepdad, who raised me as if I was his own; to my kind hearted aunt who literally chased down opportunities for me; to my uncle who ferried me back and forth from Cranbrook to home so that I could see my family and go to church each week; to this present loss. It’s been a rough for years. Four years and four pillars gone. All gone at a relatively young age and mostly very suddenly.

As I got down on my knees last week to pray for my great aunt, there was a slight moment of trepidation, of not knowing what to say. That’s not exactly true. I knew what to say but I didn’t want to say it. You see, as a Christian, a big part of prayer is submission to God’s will. We can come boldly before God in prayer and ask for whatever we want, but we are only promised that those requests which are according to His will are going to be granted.

This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything According to his will, he hears us. And if we know that he hears us-whatever we ask-we know that we have what we asked of him. 1 John 5:14-15

In the Garden of Gethsemane, ask Christ prayed to God, we are given an example of a submissive prayer. Nevertheless, not my will, but thy will be done. He was able to tell God what He wanted, but accepting of whatever God’s will was for Him. It’s a beautiful example to quote and study, but a hard example to follow.

In case your wondering, I didn’t pray for my great aunt to get well. It wasn’t that I was convinced that she couldn’t by what the doctor’s were saying. I wanted to let God know that I recognized His will was going to be done. I prayed for all of the people involved who will go as far as they can go with her, whether she were to be healed or whether she had to leave us and journey into eternity on her own. The doctors and the nurses caring for her; the children, grand children, and great grandchild she supported and took care of in various ways; all of the family members who depended on her when knocked off their feet by the trials of this life; all of those who would feel guilty over all the things they left unsaid or undone should she not pull through; I prayed for those people. I prayed for those of us who sat at her feet and learned so much about being women and taking care of a household, and those she couldn’t seem to get through to before. I prayed that no matter the outcome, God would be with us and we could recognize that His will has been done.

None of that means I didn’t hope that she would recover, nor that I didn’t think that my prayers in that regard would have mattered. Reading online about the nature of her illness, I learned what a long and slow process recovery would be for someone of her age with her other health issues. Hearing about the damage that was already done to her system…there are some times when recovery doesn’t look like the best alternative, even if our hearts jealously long to keep someone with us.

When I was told my great aunt had passed, I had a David moment. David had been fasting and praying for his son to get well, even though God had pronounced that the child would die. His aides were fearful of what he would do when they told him his son was dead. David got up, washed himself, worshipped God, and ate. His servants were confused by his actions. Here is what David told them:

²² And he said, While the child was yet alive, I fasted and wept: for I said, Who can tell whether God will be gracious to me, that the child may live?

²³ But now he is dead, wherefore should I fast? can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.

When I say I had a David moment, I mean I felt…if not relieved, at peace. There was no more need to be in anguish about whether or not she would make it through another day fighting for her life. There was no more need to fear what could happen next. God is still to be praised and worshipped. Now is the time to draw closer to Him.

It is so hard to see so many pillars falling away in my life, so many people I can’t call to celebrate our victories and encourage one another in our defeats. What’s even more amazing to me is that despite their loss, the structure is still standing. We are still standing and continuing on. God be thanked that they were there when I needed them to hold me up. I have every confidence God will continue to place people around me who can do that. Most importantly, throughout the years, I’ve learned to rely on Him more and more to do that.

I’m asking that you all keep my family in prayer at this time.

XOXO

2blu2btru

Freestyle Friday: The Philosophical Edition

Tags

death, doing what you love, inspiration, legacy, philosophical, Random, work, writing

**I know it’s late…but I wrote it Friday & wanted to post it anyway.**

Random: Today is the one year anniversary of Michael Jackson’s death, so I got to jam all the way to work. It’s sad such a talent has been lost, but at least there’s a great volume of music left behind as his legacy. It’s more than most aspiring artists/emerging artists/every day people could ever hope to have. It has me wondering, what will my legacy be? What will people remember me for? What do I want to be remembered for?

My mother, in one of her first coversations with Mr. P, was asked what kind of child I was and said I talked too much, talked back (questioning), and was headstrong. Thanks, Mom! You expect people to highlight your good points at such a time; not Mom. My mom tells “the truth,” a.k.a. only the bad and annoying.

That’s not to say my mom doesn’t brag about me; she is proud of me. She may even be proud I was a questioner (after, of course, I was grown up). She knows my stubbornness got me through many a setback. She just likes to “keep it real.” But what would she say if I was no longer here?

The legacy I want to leae behind is that I was a Christian woman who tried to live her life in a way pleasing to God; a writer who desired to share her experiences and wisdoms with others through her writing; someone who wanted to help people; someone who knew when logic was needed and when faith was required; someone who forgave & who acknowledged her wrongs; someone who was deeply loved.

Enough of death and legacies.

Random: There’s this statement I thoroughly disagree with, soemthing like if you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life. Who is the lying individual that said that? Love is work: it requires work, investment. I work to be better for the people I love, to be a better steward of their love. I love writing, but it requires effor, it’s challenging–it’s work. And why doesn’t anyone want to work anymore? You many not be as stressed or drag your fet in the morning when you are going to do something you love. You may even stop doing it or the monetary reward. But if you don’t get your check, I’m sure you’re perspective will change.

I’m not going to lie & pretend I wouldn’t like to write for a living & be published; it’s about writing, but the only words you can live on are God’s, in which casse let me refer to the words of God himself–he who does not work does not eat (II Thes. 3:10). If I were to write for a living, I would be free to do what I wanted (i.e. writing) because I would be getting paid for it. I would love it; I would enjoy it. I would get lost for hours at a time in it. But I”d still be working.

Speaking of writing and working…

I lied. In one area of my life, someone else’s success, along with a little waltz down Memory Lane, has motivated me. In one area of life,  my sense of healthy competition has returned. A friend of mine from high school was published and has her second book with her editor. She even has a blog devoted to her writing adventures, and soon to be legions of fans.

While pondering this. I was scrolling through Netflix looking for something to watch instantly (as the rest of Season 4 of Bones is unavailable), and came across an old friend, Angel. I stopped watching Buffy regularly after Angel left, around the time someone was a werewolf thingie, Buffy was dating that army guy, and our favorite witch was a lesbian; it was too much for me. But Angel’s spinoff show has special meaning for me.

There’s a story I’ve been menaing to fully delve into, a true story, entitled Some College: Blah Blah Blah (I’m still working on the whole subtitle thing). Sitting at my desk, my brain decided to come up with material for a piece on how Angel fits into this story, along with an outline of possible chapters/topics ( because it had nothing better to do, like, oh, I don’t know…WORK)

I’ve started gathering my thoughts on about three of the topics/possible chapters. Maybe when I get something fleshed out I will share it with you. Until then, mes amis, adieu, bonne nuit, a bientot! All that jazz.

My Aunt Jacquie–A Retrospective

Tags

appreciation, death, gratitude, grieving, Jacquie, loss, memories

When I took Mr. Perfect to meet my aunt Jacquie, after only a few months of dating, it wasn’t just because he lived in Chicago where she was and since I was in town for a visit I should pop in. It made it more convenient, but he would have had to meet her eventually. Many of the most important, the most pivotal moments of my life wouldn’t have been possible without her. She drove me a lot of places, literally and figuratively, whether at my insistence or hers, usually way too fast, but I always got there unscathed.

After Mr. P. introduced himself (during which Jacquie and her husband made fun of him). she looked him dead in the eye and asked him if we were having sex (not in those words). That’s Aunt Jacquie for you. She doesn’t tiptoe around anything. Mr. Perfect was shocked, but he rolled with it…and that’s a big part of why he’s still here. He impressed her, and that’s not as easy as you would think.

When I was in eighth grade I heard about Horizons Upward Bound and knew i had to go. I couldn’t let an opportunity to position myself so well for the future pass by. I didn’t have a ride to the bus stop, though, until aunt Jacquie volunteered. We circled a while and finally figured out it was a school bus–as it was leaving! Aunt Jacquie made her boyfriend chase the bus with her hanging out of the window and waving her arms, screaming “Hey, you forgot a kid!” She managed to get the bus to stop, I got to take my admittance tests and interview, and I got in to the summer program, and eventually Cranbrook Kingswood Upper School.

My dream was to go to the University of Chicago. I got to go there for one day, lol. After I applied, I went to interview. I can’t remember if it was necessary or not, but I wanted to see the school anyway, and I figured it would help my chances. By this time my aunt had married and moved to Chicago. She agreed to take me to see the school. It was a rainy, dreary, frigid November day when we went to see the school. The students weren’t too friendly, everyone looked angry, the campus had the look of some dreary corner of Cambridge, and I got soaked through, but we went, wandering in the bookstore, buying a U of Chicago sweater, watching people play soccer, listening to tour guide, after admissions guide, after admissions counselor, until we were blue in the face.

I decided to go to Purdue University. I went on the Greyhound to visit with my mother in the winter. I had to go back in the summer for Day on Campus, to register for classes and such. My father was supposed to take me, but miscommunication and general bad disposition and feelings got in the way of that. Aunt Jacquie told me to take the Greyhound to Chicago and she would take me to day on campus. I was there for two weeks. After riding down a Chicago one-way the wrong way somewhere between Rainforest Cafe and Oprah’s studio at 4a.m., and getting stuck in rain storm after traffic jam after rainstorm, after having to take a detour from the main road and finding campus while trying to get back to the right road, we got to day on campus.  After day on campus, I was in Grown Woman bootcamp. My aunt Jacquie taught me how to shape my eyebrows, self pedicure, pick clothing, and talk trash back to rude Chicagoans, lol.

My second year of college, my mother, uncle, and I stopped at my aunt Jacquie’s on the way to campus. After entertaining us all night, she got up early and went with us to campus. She stayed with us all day, cleaning my apartment/dorm, going to the store to buy food, kitchenware, and supplies, meeting my roommate. We stopped over on the way back after that year of school, both ways the year after. She always went with us and helped us.

When I lost my financial aid and had to leave Purdue and go back to Michigan, attempting to finish up there, my aunt Jacquie gave me a great pep talk. I didn’t need Purdue; nothing was going to stop me. We didn’t get you this far for you to give up. No matter what you have to do, finish your degree. Don’t give up on it. You’re going to be somebody.

Then I took Mr. Perfect to meet her. He suits you, fits you, she said. As long as you respect each other and drive your own relationship. She mediated a very big discussion of ours, a very foundational piece of our relationship.

You see, my aunt Jacquie was a very funny, fun loving person, but what made her special is her heart. She was loving. She wants other people’s happiness. She was always in your corner. Whether she was calling to call you out on your nonsense or to congratulate you, she always told you she loved you. She was upset when someone upset and hurt you. She hurt when you hurt.

I started this a few days ago and since then I’ve had to change all of the last paragraph from present tense to past tense. That’s the hardest bit of editing I’ve had to do in quite a while. I hadn’t thought about what it’s like to lose people close to you, because, until the last year or so, I hadn’t lost many close to me. It’s not getting any easier. But what makes it easier than it would otherwise be is knowing that both my stepdad and Aunt Jacquie knew how much I loved and appreciated them, knew how grateful I was to have known them and had them in my life, while they were still here.

Time is filled with swift transition, indeed. Don’t leave it until later to tell anyone how much you love them and what they mean to you; you never know when they will be gone.

Aunt Jacquie knew what she did for me and what she meant to me, but I wrote this so that someone else would  know too. Maybe it won’t mean anything to you that she did all this for me. You have your own stories and memories to reminisce over. But sometimes hearing how great someone is from other people helps, lets you know you aren’t grieving alone, lets you be even more proud of the person Jacquie was. And maybe it helps you, when you want to give up, to know what she would have said and done had she been here to help you when the time came.

I love you, Jacquie. I appreciate you. I miss you.

Funeralizing Folks

Tags

coping, death, father, funeral, loss, Pink Susie, stepdad

I know I should be getting ready, but I’m not sure if I will be able to write after the funeral, so I wanted to get some things down before. I am almost certain that today will be a trial to the nerves in some way or another. Mr. Perfect and I are driving 2 1/2 hours up to where the funeral is being held today, which can be trying at any time, but especially in the cold and sleet/flurries. I haven’t anything but slacks in black, so no dress for me. My dad may be back down, with his somewhat pessimistic view of all things funeral. I don’t know what specific event triggers that, but there has to be one. He goes on and on about Black funeral cliches and stereotypes. “Who’s going to sing the song and break down halfway through? Who’s going to fall out on the casket and ask to go with them?” Etc. It is my thought that whether or not you feel that these are all contrivances is irrelevant; not only could these be real people’s real feelings about the deceased overwhelming them, my father is “an elder” in his church. I feel that any man of God I want ministering to me should have a bit more compassion. I know my day, but others may not, and take what I see as a coping mechanism of his own with a loss to be something like rudeness, of mocking a dead person’s loved ones. Even other family members may in the least feel offended that he would scruntinize and find their mourning ungenuine. Death is one area I feel you cannot know another person’s feelings from outward appearance, especially at a funeral.

When my stepfather died, I only cried on solitary tear at the funeral towards the end. It never looked like him to me, I never associated the body in the casket with him, and so I was able to be a support to my mother and brother. I stayed busy the whole time I was in Michigan, filling glasses, fixing plates, making meals, finding ways to keep my mother occupied, and keeping folks from getting too drunk and acting too much of a fool. Since returning, I’ve cried quite a bit. It’s hard for me to be emotional in front of people. My instinct is to offer support to others who may be hurting more than myself, to keep procrastinating on dealing with the fact someone is gone. Someone observing me might think I was cold hearted and cared nothing for the person because I’m not weeping copiously, but that’s not my way. So in that way, I understand that maybe the way my dad comes across isn’t how he really feels, especially in this situation.

I don’t know what shape Pink Susie will be in. Part of the reason I call her Pink Susie here is tied to the deceased; it was a nickname given to her because the deceased always bought her a little pink dress for Easter, all these pink things. Pink was the deceased favorite color. Thus far, she’s been planning the funeral, making arrangements for the business as she is leaving, and finding hotel rooms for people. Organizing and supporting, like me. I feel bad for her more than anyone, because I know what’s coming in the solitary moments. We are so much alike in some ways it’s scary. I hope I’m wrong in this one.

That’s enough for now; it’s making me weepy. I have to bear up and support her, and who knows who else. I’ll deal with my own piddling grief and fond memories later. Pray for our drive up and down, and for everyone traveling to and fro in this dreadful weather.

2blu2btru

A Work in Progress

Tags

death, family, lessons, life, relationships, relatives

I finally finished the collage Pink Susie wanted me to make for the funeral. Pink Susie wanted to add her birth year, name, and year of passing at the top, so it’s still a work in progress, but thus far, this is what it looks like:

I am going to find something for Pink Susie to put into the obituary…a little poem or something appropriate for the occasion. Putting together the collage went fine. As I figured, most people didn’t show up to help, so the pictures were culled mostly from Pink Susie’s personal collection. Since she’d lost a large portion of her photo albums and keepsakes in a fire that burned down her storage shed, there was a lot less to choose from, but I think we did pretty well with what was on hand.

My great aunt lived nearly ninety-five years, from April 5, 1915 (amidst WWI) until the second day of 2010. Just imagine all the things that she had seen and done, all the history she witnessed. Luckily, I had the opportunity to sit with her and ask her about some of it. Actually, I got to sit and talk to a lot of the older family members. In 2005, when I helped put on a mini-family reunion here, Pink Susie and I traveled to visit many of the older family members that were left, a la Zora Neale Hurston and Franz Boaz, collecting stories and pictures in our endeavors to create a memorable family reunion. My great aunt, of course, I had opportunity to talk to more than once. I’m glad I did. Mr. Perfect remarked that of all the younger family members that she saw, she always seemed to remember me when she didn’t remember anyone else. I like to think it’s because I listened to her stories, because I showed her respect , not just from manners and courtesy, but because of all the things she must have seen and experienced, all of the experience and wisdom that was in her. I knew when I was outdone, and I respected that.

As we went through the pictures, I also found a few baby pictures of me, one’s with my mom and Pink Susie’s son and husband, pictures of me in cute little easter dresses and/or Big Bird bibs. A very alert baby, with bright eyes and always smiling. And always with Pink Susie and her family. On the family tree my aunt made, next to my name and date of birth, 6 1/2 pounds, the only one with a weight next to my name. Well, I was practically her baby she says. I am the one everyone calls her daughter. Yes, she exasperates me sometimes, and yes, going to Avon Park is a long trip that eats the entire day, but it’s worth it to remember that there are people who have always loved you, no matter what type of person you were then or are now. Even if they drive you up the wall and down the street. We are all works in progress, not fully finished. There are things we could all work on, things that we do that drive each other crazy. Some we do on purpose, lol. I love my crazy, maladjusted family, the one Pink Susie has diagnosed as half depressed and the other half bipolar. Maybe we are all one or the other. But man, what an attractive bunch of crazy people!

2blu2btru

Silent Supplication

Tags

accountability, death, faith, family, goals, loss, love, Mr. Perfect, Pearl, Pink

Day 3: Bills paid: 6 Bills to be paid: 3 Gym memberships: 1  Healthy meals: I plead the 5th Publications: 0 Minutes spent writing: 0 Movies watched: 1 (yesterday) Reviews to write: millions. Friendships attended to in some way: 1 Funerals to help plan: 1.

There’s never any time for me to attend to the things I want to accomplish in life for one reason or another. My main focus this weekend, aside from attending to my relationship with my boyfriend, was to prepare for the exciting goals I set forth yesterday. I got a little done to that end. I got some bills paid and signed up for a gym membership. My aunt has been bugging me to come down to A.P. since New Year’s Eve, but the point was for me to have time to get my apartment clean, my clothes all washed, and begin some writing while spending time with Mr. Perfect so that I could feel slightly accomplished and ready to attack my goals with a renewed vigor.

Yesterday morning, my great aunt died. Pink Susie has been up in arms since before then. She spent all of Friday night with her until she died Saturday morning around 7:00 a.m. Of course, despite all of the people who are in A.P., I am the only one who could possibly help with the obituary and getting things together (which has to be done TODAY, even though the funeral is next Saturday). I feel bad for her, because I know that she isn’t getting much help from anyone there, but they’re all fifty plus year old adults who are all right there, who should care enough about their aunt to attend to such things. I have my own life to get together. It’s not as if I am all together and right down the street. It’s four hours roundtrip for me if I just say “Hey” and take off, never leaving my car. And forget whatever else I had planned for today (art shows, gym, church). None of that matters at all; in fact, it doesn’t exist. What exists is their need for me to do all the things that other people should be doing. This, of course, is nothing new or exciting. I did all of the managerial things my aunt Faith was supposed to be doing when she became group home manager. I did monthly paperwork, policy and procedures, activities calendars, menus, work schedules, etc. It always falls to me to pick up other people’s slack; a new year hasn’t changed that.

I spent time with a friend yesterday. I finally remembered that she is a jelly fisher, one of those people who specializes in making stinging comments on everything from your appearance (I don’t have a problem with facial hair, so I don’t have to get waxing) to weight (ooh, you have a little belly! Where did that come from?) to your boyfriend’s appearance (your head is big. I just thought I’d let you know.). She gets in barbs whenever she can. May be on the drop list.

Anyway, we watched Paranormal Activity with her. The only thing that would have made this movie remotely scary is if it were truly footage of some otherwordly forces; if the demonic forces didn’t possess the woman, but rather attacked both of them (ON CAMERA); if the people had logical reactions, and; if there were more occurrences of the supernatural and less talking. More than four characters (not counting the demon) would have helped as well. I don’t have much positive to say about it. It wasn’t scary, it wasn’t suspenseful, and it wasn’t true to any normal human reactions that I’ve ever witnessed.

Now, for the title of this entry. I am going to church this morning, and supplication is a prayer. It is a humble prayer, a petition. In the secular sense (and, in my opinion, in the spiritual)  “the key meaning (of supplication) is of a request by the lesser person in an acknowledged unequal relationship.” My silent supplication, then, is for a bit of forebearance, patience, and understanding. For some discernment. To not be angry that when so many others should, I am the one to whom it falls to get it done. To see why it is for me to be sidetracked so early in my journey. To make a sort of sense that I can deal with out of this. Hopefully church will put me in the right spirit to approach the rest of my day as a tribute to someone I loved and lost and not as an unfair summons and distraction, necessitated by others not willing to do what they should. Because my own brainpower has not wrought the desired result.

2blu2btru