Advent

       Advent for Us    12/7/23

We are rolling towards winter in a three wheeled cart. In Amarillo, we are warm, cold, blustery, dry, and somewhat wet in alternating moments.  There seems to be so much to be done every day.  In education, we have been in the chaotic time of re-testing students who were not successful on their previous tries on these tests.  These re-tests have joined my world as much as the season of Advent has. 

https://music.apple.com/us/album/light-of-the-world/1560658894?i=1560658895

Much like the realm of secondary education, this is a time of testing in a multiple of ways.  We are testing the students, and we are testing our faith.  We are testing our teachers, and we are testing our patience.  We are testing our curriculum, and we are testing our ability to prepare for new growth.  Advent for me is a call to grow my testimony of what comes next.  Advent is a chance to join the respite of waiting for the blessings to come.  Advent calls us to be busy in spirit and physically resting.  Advent is a chance to breathe deeply collectively as we extol the opportunity to embrace the newness gifted to us all.  This time of year is my chance to breathe new opportunities and growth. I know some tests are out of our hands, but this one is within our reach.  We need to believe that above all, we are each loved infinitely just as the tests in education seem to keep coming: infinitely. 

 And why not? Next month I will celebrate Liberty’s Earthly birthday on January 9th.  Then on January 30th, I will remember Liberty’s beautiful home-going and the imprint she left in our lives.    Because of our waiting and faith, we get the chance to believe that immense love will come to us.  We are born to be loved.  

Blessed  Advent to all.  

Great Podcast about Advent. https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/stuff-you-missed-in-history-class/id283605519?i=1000637435248

Grateful for our opportunity in Adult Formation and Susan WIllis at St. Andrew’s and their lovely information and history on Advent.  We learned about the Advent wreath, the candles, and the Jesse Tree. Thank you all for the opportunity to learn more about this season. 

Liberty’s Alter

Happy November,

Here’s to a  beautiful love and shared grief of the Day of the Dead/ Dia de Los Muertes.   In so many ways we can tend to hold our grief  in locked areas in our heart instead of wearing it as a badge of beloved testimony of our love.   The idea of creating a heart safe place in your home, church, workplace, and digitally is a gift. In 2023 we have many way to do this remembrance.  For me, the gathering and putting  together is a grace-filled mission for my own testimony. Thank you visiting her ofrenda and loving us.    We all need to carry on and on with our love. 

 https://music.apple.com/us/album/on-and-on/532314017?i=532314022

This one is in my classroom.  

The following are at St. Andrew’s.

Such a lovely opportunity.  Many people on our church family worked together to make this a momentous time to share our love, grief , and stories of our loved ones. There are grace filled with hope and love.   May we all reach out to our  beloveds and carry on the conversation and the love.  Love doesn't leave with their body, it stays with us.   May we all know we are loved on both sides of the veil.  

https://music.apple.com/us/album/that-wasnt-me/523220959?i=523220967

I have to admit that from October 3- November 3 have been  days with a pained heart.   I am trying to move on and let myself heal, but it’s not easy.   Also, it’s important to not move too fast.   I have also begun the work to approved for a mortgage so that I can have a home of my own.  

As I continue to grieve in a myriad of ways, I am truly loved and supported by church and school families.   I am so blessed.   

Beginning Again 10/25/23

The Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd  1996

This is a memoir of a spiritual treatise of learning, focussing on our inner need to be our own.  Monk encourages us to look into our spirit to reassure, question, and heal from the world as a whole, our systemic patriarchy, and our own lack of belief in our own strong, capable selves. This is a text that I need to read every year- in gratitude like a checkup with my heart.

https://youtu.be/_rvexfQLDsM?si=7-W_OlLydpfWHywa

Joy Oladokun

"someone that i used to be"

 Part of my love for this book comes from my own fledgling attempts to embrace who I am instead of what others expected me to be.  This book came out while I was pregnant and living in Capitan, New Mexico.  Mariah and I were living in the New Mexico mountains which became our duala.  Liberty was the baby that I wasn’t supposed to be able to have.  I was surrounded by several “Mountain Mothers” who welcomed Mariah and me into their loving acceptance before, during, and after the delivery.  That definitely tracks when thinking about the life Liberty lived.  Betty E Shrecengost was a stalwart part of Lincoln, New Mexico.  She invited me into her family and taught me many things about living alongside the mountains.  Including how to ride a horse while big and pregnant.  The women of the Salazar clam ran the museum for decades and they enveloped me with their wisdom and acceptance.  They also taught me how to cook like New Mexico. Grandmother Salazar talked about this book together after Liberty was born, including that as mothers we needed to accept ourselves, grow, and heal.    

  

”We must wake up, journey, name, challenge, shed, reclaim, ground, and heal. “ 

”I recall that whenever I struggled, doubted, wondered if I could pull my thread into this fabric, someone or something would always appear--a friend, a stranger, a figure in a dream, a book, an experience, some shining thing in nature--and remind me that this thing I was undertaking was holy to the core. I would learn again that it is all right for women to follow the wisdom in their souls, to name their truth, to embrace the Sacred Feminine, and that there is undreamed voice, strength, and power in us. And that is what I have come to tell you. I have come over the wise distances to tell you: She is in us.”

I needed this book at this time again to find my way back to who I am and can be.  In some ways, I feel lost, and discarded, and in others: I am awakening.  It is okay to be both.  “You can create a path of your own by looking within yourself and listening to your soul, cultivating your own ways of experiencing the sacred and then practicing it. Practicing until you make it a song that sings you.”  Now as we move into the holidays, please share your love with those around you.  Have a conversation, share a meal, and maybe a genuine hug.  All of us are on a journey, our fuel is the love we have for ourselves, and the love we choose to share with others.   

https://youtu.be/qXuPyE7CKZQ?si=Wk5dyFD0o57rl2W4

Patty Griffin 

"When It Don't Come Easy"

More of my favorite quotes from Sue Monk Kidd: 

“If someone should ask me, 'What does the soul do?' I would say, It does two things. It loves. And it creates. Those are its primary acts.”

“The ultimate authority of my life is not the Bible; it is not confined between the covers of a book. It is not something written by men and frozen in time. It is not from a source outside myself. My ultimate authority is the divine voice in my own soul. Period.”

“The symbol of Goddess gives us permission. She teaches us to embrace the holiness of every natural, ordinary, sensual dying moment. Patriarchy may try to negate body and flee earth with its constant heartbeat of death, but the Goddess forces us back to embrace them, to take our human life in our arms and clasp it for the divine life it is - the nice, sanitary, harmonious moment as well as the painful, dark, splintered ones.If such a consciousness truly is set loose in the world, nothing will be the same. It will free us to be in a sacred body, on a sacred planet, in sacred communion with all of it. It will infect the universe with holiness. We will discover the Divine deep within the earth and the cells of our bodies, and we will lover her there with all our hearts and all our souls and all our minds.”

“The truth is, in order to heal we need to tell our stories and have them witnessed...The story itself becomes a vessel that holds us up, sustains us, and allows us to order our jumbled experiences into meaning. As I told my stories of fear, awakening, struggle, and transformation and had them received, heard, and validated by other women, I found healing.I also needed to hear other women's stories in order to see and embrace my own. Sometimes another woman's story becomes a mirror that shows me a self I haven't seen before. When I listen to her tell it, her experience quickens and clarifies my own. Her questions rouse mine. Her conflicts illuminate my conflicts. Her resolutions call forth my hope. Her strengths summon my strengths. All of this can happen even when our stories and our lives are very different.”

Lost Birds

 Haven't written since May.  In the blink of an eye since school got out, then it was Summer School, and now we are already into the 2nd Six Weeks.  Time is slippery: going oh so fast while simultaneously crawling by.  It has been 604 days since Liberty moved on.  

The oddest thing happened two weekends ago.  I came home from Saturday School and saw that the floors on the way up the third floor were gross.   The floor was covered in powdery white ickiness all the way up to my apartment.  There was a slight smell as well.  But the worst was the sounds: like something banding against the walls and something picking at the walls and ceilings.  Finally found the culprit: a juvenile Grackle. This little guy was lost in our stairwell and couldn't get out through the skylights.  I tried to help this confused little bird out of the building using tapping the broom on the rails.   This bird was flapping and flapping to try to get out.  Over and over I tried.  After thirty minutes I had to get back to Caprock, so I left for about an hour and a half.  

That bird was still struggling when I made it back home.  This time I put some water out and changed my clothes then back at it.  

That bird was yelling at me for sure.   How none of my eight neighbors didn't come out.  The bedraggled birdy was hurting and not moving very well.  He was more chaotic, and scared.  After more practice and over an hour longer, with my Swiffer and my dustpan I started saying out loud, "You are not going to die today." over and over.  At some point I was talking to Libby , because I needed her to help me get that bird out safely.  I never touched that bird with any of my cleaning instruments until he finally followed the little noises I was making, and I pushed him out of the door.  https://music.apple.com/us/album/ill-fly-away/269440847?i=269441201

The little guy flew away immediately.   I checked over and over throughout that afternoon and evening and I never saw him again.  I heard it squawking across the courtyard at my apartment.  

Years ago, when the girls were under ten Libby brought in a little bird that had fallen out of the nest. She had brought all sorts of critters which Libby would place somewhere on her sister's bed.  Whatever Libby was trying to rescue usually got left of something of Mariah's stuff.   Oh, the squeaking and squawking by all!

Trying to think through this earlier memory and the great bird experience, I found this article. "Many cultures believe birds bring important messages, so a bird flying into your home may be trying to tell you something. Unfortunately, it won’t necessarily be obvious whether the news is good or bad – we’ll leave that up to your interpretation.

If a bird flies into your house and appears restless, but doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get out, it could mean the presence of a spirit. Again, this isn’t always a bad thing, as the spirit might not be of the evil kind, but may simply be trying to guide you through a difficult time in your life."  

Broken Horses

Libby's little birdie did not make it very long.  They rarely do.  I hope that my little bird lived on telling the story of the crazy apartment lady promising and arguing that it WILL live.  

But my little birdie, my little liberty did not make it through her illness, but she damn sure fought against every single step as her illness fought back.  I believe we have had ongoing interactions since Liberty's body quit.  I do.  I am grateful for every feather I see.  She is in every sunrise and sunset.  She dances to her own weird music coming clearly through the wind.  Libby made us warriors in everyday life.  Her stubbornness shines through Marigh and her perseverance.  All of this and the date is 605 since she left this life.   Here's to many more.  

Time is slippery and I am blessed by every memory that comes through me. 

Counting On

In 2015, Liberty was a graduating senior at Caprock.  That was eight years ago. On Senior Day, we enjoyed the Pirate ship, the Hymilayan, and a few more rides that were Liberty accessible.   We tried to ensure that Libby got a genuine experience in her Senior year.  It was harrowing getting her into and out of the rides, but her smiles were worth it.  

Her senior year was wonderful for her. And like many other parents, it was harder on all of Libby's family. There was a fear of the unknown, excitement, and trepidation. She wanted to graduate with her friends- so she did. I didn't have a plan for where Libby would go while I was at school. We didn't have a plan at all. Stubbornness won, as it usually did.

Against my requests, Libby wanted to walk across the stage. It took a gait belt, leg braces, a principal, and several Special Education Aides flanking her through her journey across the stage. I handed her a diploma with tears running down my cheeks. I will never forget that day. It took her 14 hard and slow steps to get across to get that diploma. I am grateful she wanted to walk with her friends. Grateful it counted.

I count.  I count everything. And many things. I used to count every step on my walk after school.  No reason except I wanted to know exactly how many steps it took me to get home to Grandma.   For years I would count the time between breaths.  Count the breaths.  The time between medications.  Counting my grief with every breath.

It is a blessing and a challenge to continue to count the days since her last day: 471 days as of 5/17/23.   Counting the last time she ate. Counting the last time she laughed.  Counting back to the last times she sang.  I don’t need to keep counting, but it is a balm at times for my heart to count these moments and days. Instead, I can count the inches on her tree has grown, how long I’ve been living in my apartment, or how happy Mariah is.  I can count on the end of my 19th year of teaching.

 This is a monumental passage in my life.  Until now, I have never before lived alone.  I have never had my own bathroom. Never had my own closet. I have found that I am better with less.

Until now, I have always shared my space in some way.  I have very few items in my tiny home, and that is good. 

 I don’t need things.  I need time and healing peace. I need Libby’s tree to continue to grow.  Today, I have Monkey, my Siamese cat, and he is enough.   

( I do miss my dogs, but there’s no way for me to have them now.)  

There is no internet and no tv in my apartment, and I love the solace and quiet. I lose time in peacefulness as I count my days. I am humbled to have each and every day to carry on. It is a gift to have the time to carry on, as I grow into my own independence.

Mariah continues to flourish and become more and more of a force in her own world. She is kind, thoughtful, honest, and fierce. Mariah is everything I could have wanted her to be and SO MUCH MORE. Derrick and Mariah's understanding and support are a true gift. Cannot say thank you enough.

More and more I cleave to my faith for all of the opportunities and

challenges ahead.  

You are loved.  You are important. You count. Every bit and breath counts. This time is not guaranteed, so we are all graduating in our own ways. And it all counts. For that, we are blessed. "Didn't Know My Own Strength"

Run Fast Little One

 I have always cherished the beauty of the Easter season.  As a child Easter meant going to the garage sales with my Godmother to get a frilly dress, girdle, and “clicky” shoes.  Not to mention getting my hair pressed to set the curls in the right places.  I can still smell the rolls rising, deviled eggs, as the Ham baked for our after-church Easter Meal. 

In church, Easter meant bright colors came out of their hiding to usher us into a new season.  The hope of resurrection filled the world with a cacophony of risen life in both flora and fauna.  Easter is the time of resilience and re-beginnings. 

"There is Jesus"

Yet, before we get to that time of celebration there are the deep, dry, and cold parts of winter.  I am not comfortable in the dark, and this year Dark invited strange high winds that seem to stay on the Panhandle stage for encore after encore.  The trifecta of cold, dark, and windy means there aren’t many chances of running or biking outside, but I still didn’t welcome the winter blues this year as I have in the past yearning to be outside.  I am better when I can be outside. "When It Don't Come Easy" I don't think I am the only one struggling to not pick up the pent-up yuck of winter.

This year, I am coveting the starkness of Lent, and the simplicity of giving away what weighs us down.  As much as I relish the chance to love an unadorned church, I revel in the beauty rolling into the fully dressed church on a tide of colors. As simple as the church is when She is in Lent, She is just as surprisingly complex during Easter Tide. That contrast is part of my own emotional, physical, and spiritual rotation.  

 The more I am coming out of my Grief fog, the more I am realizing what is better for my whole self. That means I am finding time to be outside or get into the pool for laps- even if it is in short adventures. 

Easter and all of the beauty that comes along with Spring feels like I’ve been charged with glorious enlivened growth.  We’ve even had several little teasing spots of rain and even the dirt is wearing a “Spring come here to me” smell. Last week, 3/22, I had a doctor's checkup and afterward, I gleefully took myself to Palo Duro Canyon.  I had three hours before I had to return to school; I took a half day.  What beauty did I find?  No longer is the Canyon wearing the almost simple pallet of winter yellows and grays.   She is wearing lots of copper red and infantile greens as she gears up for the seasonal change.    

I saw all these beautiful friends and sang my way down the trail.  Then I saw the most amazing gift: I stopped to look at the stream and saw an adolescent Coyote across the stream.  I didn’t get a picture because she was looking right at me and I began to cry…  She stood completely still and then nodded her head as she sniffed in my direction. She was shedding her winter fur, as am I. Then I realized that her muzzle had red specks in her fur. 

 Libby was always the Wolf, the Coyote, the Fox: all the Canid.  I just kept singing “Hi Libby- Hi Libby- Hi Libby.”  I uh may have tried to follow that coyote for quite a while, and I could not keep up.  I couldn’t keep up with her.  

I choose to believe that Liberty needed to see me as much as I needed to feel her presence. I choose to believe that Liberty was letting me know that she is eating after so long struggling to eat.  I choose to believe that she is growing in her new realm by running fast as did so long ago.  I cannot say that I don’t miss her physical presence every day, but I am grateful that she is free of physical problems.  She has shed her body, just as the coyote is shedding blood-stained fur.  Every Easter we can clean out the negative and water the positive; we too can shed what doesn’t serve us.  

"Hold My Hand"

As everything is dynamically changing, and growing in this Eastertide I pray that we can be refreshed in this season.  I know that I am surrounded by love and support and for that I am grateful.  Please continue to say her name and keep her in our hearts.  Pray for her other family members and of course, for her amazing sister and Derrick.  We are all running in our own ways.  We are all learning and growing in our own ways.  As stark as parts of winter have been, Spring can be a fantastic race of growing and shifting into a better and stronger version of ourselves.  Run fast little one- I will always be cheering you on.

 

The Remember Day

 Today is Liberty's first Heavenly Birthday and I am much more of a mess than normal.  She would have been 26 today.  I miss her from the marrow of my bones.  Miss taking care of her.  Just miss her. 

 Yesterday, in church, it hit me that I have nothing to get for her.  Then I realized she doesn't need anything anymore.  Nothing.  Her list of potential gifts is ZERO.   So, I cried there in church.  A cry that is like wearing someone else's worn-out shoes. Quietly and unabashedly.  It poured.  Crying is not a sport I am good at.  At all.  I am happy sitting on the bench in this game.   It's just not natural for me- and that's ok.

There is nothing left for me to give her.  I can continue to do volunteer work in her name.  I can tell stories of her to share her life with others.   I can offer pictures of her and sign her favorite songs loudly, but there is nothing that she really needs.  

 I cried more when I realized that I do have a  gift to give her after all. 

Then, it hit me.  It was right before communion when I realized that I DO have one more real present to offer: it's the sunrise.  The only thing I can do is to keep getting up every day and doing what I can to continue.  I have to keep getting up.  Damn it.  I have to go "on and on" for her, for Mariah, for me, for all of us.  So there it is.   This is the gift.  "Sing Loud, Fly High, and Be Brave."

This weekend I went to the Happy Cemetary and was grateful for the opportunity to be there with her beautiful headstone.  It is a lovely place to visit as my mom and dad are both there as well.  I haven't been in Happy since my exodus in April, and I have missed it.  Prayers for the blessing of health and happiness for the people in Happy.  

Now is the time to decide that it isn't a mistake that I am surviving the departure of our Liberty.   This road is terribly hard to navigate, but it is also vital.  I have a gift left to give, and I will continue to try.   

"On and On"

On this day, may we all remember our love and live fully. 

You are loved.  You are important.  You are a gift.