This Thing Called “Family”

So it’s 1:43 a.m. and Lord knows I should be sleeping. All of the windows are open (for the first time this year!) and an incredible, gentle yet slightly cool breeze is drifting in during these nighttime hours. My husband lies sound asleep in bed (sometimes I am truly jealous of his amazing ability to fall asleep in any and every situation). Sounds like the perfect recipe for a goodnight’s sleep. But unfortunately, I lie awake. I toss and turn. I drift in and out of sleep with dreams too strange to truly recollect.

Could it be the Visitation of my husband’s grandfather which we attended to night? Could it be the thought-provoking conversation Mike and I shared before heading to bed about death, our own mortality, losing the ones we love, and the way life can change in the blink of an eye? Or is just the fact that Mike convinced me to loosen the reigns on my “diet” tonight by stopping at Culver’s for one of their coveted “Cookie Custard Sandwiches” which is keeping me awake? Regardless of why I sit here at my computer, writing a blog post while an anxious dog (who now thinks it’s morning, by the way) sits at my feet, I guess I’m glad I am. Because it just so happens I’ve got some stuff to say:

Attending a funeral (or visitation) is always a somewhat interesting experience. Whether the person was one who I was particularly close to or not, I can’t help but feeling an extreme loss, whether it be for myself or for those who were close to the recently passed. In this particular situation, I didn’t get the opportunity to know Grandpa MacLeod very long, perhaps two and a half years at most. However, a one time visit to this man’s house would have been enough to recognize the deep love which was shared among his family. His wife had woken up next to him for 56 years. His eldest son (one of seven) had been born into the family over 50 years ago as well as one of his daughters, who I now have the privilege of calling “Mom”. Even one of his son-in-laws had met him when he was only in sixth grade! And oh, so many grandchildren whose  lives were touched and sweetened by his existence.

Grampa MacLeod enjoying himself at our wedding.

The people who came to pay their respects were too numerous to count. The kleenex boxes scattered throughout the funeral home were put to good use. Some found it harder than others, but we all felt the hurt. After all, Mr. MacLeod had been a husband, a father, a son, a brother, a grandfather, a friend, a veteran, a neighbor, an elder in a church, a writer…and the list continues.

Standing there next to my husband, I couldn’t help but think back to the funerals of both of my grandfathers, which had happened within six months of each other back in 2006. What a strange feeling to know that a man who had had such an impact on your life was no longer in this world. I would never again feel either of their strong arms around me in a hug only a grandpa could give. I would never again receive a Tootsie Roll from my Grampa Steinbach for the long ride home from his house in Random Lake. I would never again hear the phrase “Don’t bruise the fat” uttered from my Grampa Porinsky’s lips when I gave his stomach a good poke. Neither of my grandpas would be present at my wedding. Neither would hold a great grandchild which I would hopefully one day provide.

Yet what I remember most about those two funerals for me was something I wouldn’t have given up for the world: the extreme, committed, and undying true love that a family shares. I recall stopping over at my mom’s house the morning after her father (my Grampa Porinsky) passed away. When her bloodshot eyes first saw me, she began to cry and said, “Mel, I lost my daddy.” It broke my heart in two. I remember seeing my dad, a man of stone and utter composure weep at both burials, for he truly had lost two fathers in one year. I remember watching both of my grandmothers and only beginning to imagine the loss and loneliness that must begin to settle over someone in their position. My heart ached for all of them.

That’s when I first realized the hardest part of saying goodbye to a loved one is not necessarily the hurt and sadness I feel, but rather seeing those I love around me grieve. After all, I know my own thoughts, my own pain, my own weakness and I know that I will heal. Yet the feelings of those I love are of my control. There is nothing I can say to fill the hole that the loved one leaves behind. There is no embrace I can offer which is strong enough to mend the brokenhearted. There are not enough flowers in the world to brighten the life of a person suffering due to the loss of one loved. Yet this is the very reason God created families. To offer the comfort which can never truly be given, to be the shoulder to cry on, the hand to hold, the embrace to fall into. And it is times such as these, that I am reminded that family can include any and all of those who offer this comfort, this strength, this love. My mother-in-law saw her best friend from high school tonight for the first time in over thirty years. She was reunited with her cousin whom she hasn’t seen on a regular basis since elementary school. And me! Three years ago, I did not even know this “Clan MacLeod” existed…I had never met my husband, nor his family. Yet there I stood, attempting to sooth the hurts of those I now call family. And in a strange way, I thank God for this opportunity, for this experience, for this hardship. What a wonderful blessing to be connected with such wonderful people in our lives who are family, without even being of the same blood.

What an incredible mixture of emotions one can feel at a Christian funeral. On the one hand, there is extreme sadness for the loss of a wonderful life, the end of new memories, the void left. While on the other, what a joyous moment, knowing that the person you were blessed to know is now no longer in pain and has been taken home. Death is not a natural thing: it was never part of the ultimate plan when the Creator brought us into this world. It is not normal for a heart to be so fully connected to another and then separated so abruptly. Yet we hold tight to the hope of our eternal home where there will be no more death, no more crying, no more pain. This promise of everlasting life is the true comfort at times like these, the faith that does not disappoint. It is in these times when God reminds that life is fragile, ever-changing, and at times unkind. We grieve, but not as the world grieves. We feel loss and sadness. But we feel this for ourselves, not for the one who has gone ahead and is waiting for us in the place God has prepared for us.

So while I await my call to my heavenly home, I will be forever grateful for the love of my family: both those who I share the same blood with and those I don’t. And I will continue to pray for the MacLeod’s–my heart aches for all of them– and look forward to getting to know Mr. MacLeod better in the life after this.

Gramma and Grampa MacLeod at our wedding before the ceremony in November 2008.

Spring Thaw

So yes, I know it’s been a long time. The reason for this? I surmise it’s been a combination of many factors. Lack of time, lack of inspiration, lack of motivation. However, all of these reasons boil down to one thing: winter. I feel as though my heart has been trapped under a giant layer of ice these last few months, desperately trying to pick its way out. Sounds strange for a newly married, healthy, successful young woman to say, doesn’t it?

Regardless of whether or not it makes sense, the facts are the facts. Life can be difficult. It can get mundane. It can lose its spark. It can disappoint. Now don’t misunderstand me: I realize that I am truly blessed, some might even say lucky! I get to share my life with a man capable of more love than I ever thought possible, I live in a cute little house in a safe neighborhood only a block from one of the best grandmas a kid could ask for, I’ve got two wonderful (sometimes crazy) dogs who keep me smiling even when I don’t feel like it, I get to talk about flowers all day long at my job which I LOVE, I’ve got a wonderful family, wonderful friends, and am fairly content.

So what do I have to complain about? The answer: absolutely NOTHING. But to be completely honest, sometimes realizing I have nothing to complain about , puts me even further into the doldrums of life. If my life is so good, so full, then why don’t I feel happier? Why aren’t I waking up with a smile on my face, jumping out of bed and shouting for joy that a new day has arrived? (And just for the record: this will NEVER happen. I am one of the most “non-morning” people you will ever meet. Just ask Mike.) Is it really possible for a person to feel bad for feeling bad? Yes.

Before you stop reading and close my blog because it’s depressing you, hear me out. As I said, along with the ground outside in this harsh Wisconsin terrain, my heart is slowing beginning to thaw. The part of myself which I love that strives to be better and live each day deeper and stronger is coming out of hibernation. I went for a four-mile run today with Chet and was delighted to discover that I can still run (yes, after running two marathons, I decided to put my running shoes on the shelf for, oh, only 16 months or so). I planted vegetable and herb seeds — indoors for now, just in case of another frost, of course — in an attempt to lower our grocery bill and be more “self-sustaining”.  I washed the inside of my car windows which had been driving me absolutely crazy. I’m writing a new blog post. And tonight, I intend to curl up with a book by my favorite author, Jodi Picoult, which I’ve been wanting to sit down and read for weeks. I have made a conscious decision to reclaim the reigns on my life and reattain my self control. I refuse to let this foul mood or depression of sorts determine the outcome of my days any longer.

And I feel that this is really no coincidence that this “rebirth” of myself comes during Holy Week. We have been preparing for the most celebratory weekend in the Christian’s life! While today is a somber reminder of the sins we commit day after day which led to our Lord’s death on the cross, in two short days we will be acclaiming His rise from the dead which secured our place beyond the “pearly gates”! The Lord foretold that our lives here would sometimes be a struggle. But He also reminded us how fleeting our years here would be compared to an eternity with him. It is this promise which allows me to get through the “winters” in my life. It is His unfailing love and mercy which fill my heart with joy, even when it lacks happiness. It is times like these that I am reminded that I was created by God to do GREAT things in a world full of hate and evil. It was never God’s intention for us to live this way, oppressed by the things of this world. He originally created a perfect garden for us to live in…a place without deadlines, expectations, conflict, or hate. And day after day, we throw it back in His face. This is the reason for the lack of true happiness.

Thank GOD that there is more than this life has to offer. Thank GOD for the ultimate sacrifice He made, that we all might live in a world that does not disappoint. And thank GOD for my cousin, who encouraged me to keep writing. It feels really good.

Passion

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and then go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

~Howard Thurman

A good friend of mine has recently been searching. Searching the world to find what makes her feel alive, more like herself. I have often reflected on the quote above in regards to my own life. Although the concept sounds simple, figuring out what makes you “come alive” is not always easy to do.

I truly believe that everyone has the potential to do something they really love in their life; it is not necessarily a career or a world-changing position. It’s more of a purpose. Maybe it’s a relationship, either with a family member, a spouse, a close friend. Maybe it’s a hobby or an opportunity to serve the community or a church. Maybe it is a job or position in which you can directly see the impact you have on the world. What is the one thing (or maybe more) that you do with all of your heart? What is it that makes you feel most like yourself? Some people are lucky and know from little on what it is that makes them “come alive.” Some don’t find it until they are old and gray. Some may never find it. Diligently searching for it takes courage. Then once it is found, it takes courage to go out and do it.

I have a feeling that the world would be much better off if everyone did.

Irony

Yes, life can be ironic sometimes.

Take yesterday, for example: After spending nearly two hours the night before talking to my dad about mortgages and the sad possibility that this might not be the year for Mike & I to buy a house, I woke up freezing. Our furnace had gone out sometime during the night and the house was sitting at a balmy 50°F. Luckily, we got a hold of our landlord before he got to work and he was over within 15 minutes, calling a service technician. Fortunately, Thursday is one of Mike’s days off during the week so he was able to stay home and wait for the technician who’s ETA was 11am. I left for work, thankful to be headed someplace warm! Sometime that morning, I heard from Mike that the original technician who was scheduled to be out to our house had his work van broken into and all of his tools stolen. Mike got to revert to his “caveman” instincts and spent the day stoking our small wood-burning stove in the living room. When I got home at 5:30pm, the technician had finally just arrived and had the heat pumping within an hour.

I couldn’t help but think that if this had been our house, we would have been paying the unexpected $230 bill to have the “burners” replaced (who knew a furnace had burners?). Funny how God sends reminders like that…And of course now, we’re seriously re-considering our plans to look for a house this summer. It is hard for me to accept that renting again may be the route we take, especially when all you hear is what a great time to buy it is and how perfect our situation is since we don’t have a house we sell. Yet I guess it’s best to not get in over our heads and wait until the time is right. And maybe by some stroke of luck, we’ll find ourselves a good little foreclosure which we can make our “project.” Too bad I seem to love projects more than my husband does…

“Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.”

~D.H. Lawrence

It’s 3am I must be…making a lunch???

The weekend proved to be quite productive.

As some of you know, Mike works every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and a couple of Saturdays a month. Now before you wonder, “Why doesn’t he work full-time?”, let me tell you: he does and then some. These days consist of him arriving at the shop by 7am and usually not returning home until after 9:30pm. Sometimes these days entail plumbing calls nearly halfway across the state to Madison and back and then down to the Illinois border and maybe a quick one up in Sheboygen. For those of you unfamiliar with Wisconsin geography, this means a LOT of driving. Anyway, it’s not so bad: afterall, he’s off on Tuesdays and Thursdays so the dogs aren’t alone so much and last week he did the dishes, ran some errands, and cleaned the bathroom while I was at work. I can handle that! But I confess, I do miss him on those lonely weeknights. Especially Fridays. See, Fridays are a little different because of a crotchety old dispatch woman who has threatened to sue the company if she slips on the ice while walking to her car at midnight. So guess who gets to wait with her every Friday night, just so that she has someone to hold on to while she makes the oh-so-dangerous trek to her car at the end of her shift? Yes, that would be my husband.

Therefore, my Friday night this week consisted of a night with the girls at Buffalo Wild Wings and then what was going to be a quick drink at O’ Sullivan’s, a recently opened Irish Public House not far from Mike and my place. Of course, one drink turned into two and you know how it goes. After trying a Blind Russian for the first time (it’s good!) and almost getting into a fight with the bartender’s son (ask if you want to know the story and maybe I’ll tell in a future post), I headed home a little after midnight, just in time to say hi to my husband before we both fell asleep.

Saturday consisted of a father/son-in-law building project. In the house we’re renting, there is a small cinder-block walled room in the basement. Not very large, maybe good for some storage or a tiny guest bedroom. Since Mike and I both seem to have hobbies which take up quite a bit of table space, we decided that this would be our workshop. Once my dad caught wind of the words “building” and “work benches”, he started diagramming the benches he’d help us make and squirreling away pieces of scrap wood. It kind of warmed the heart seeing the two of them down there, figuring out how to use some of Mike’s new “toys” he had gotten for our wedding and solving the problems of the world. While the boys worked hard, I headed to the grocery store and then vowed NEVER to go again on a Super Bowl weekend. Other than the confused men standing in the middle of what seemed like every aisle, the deli clerk wiping his nose with his gloved hand, and the bagger busting my bag of bird seed, I would say the trip went quite smoothly. And when I returned, the work benches were finished and looked perfect. I am nowvery much looking forward to “setting up shop” with all of my stained-glass supplies!

Then came Sunday. Sunday was Mike’s day to be on-call at work, which usually means he WILL get called in. So Mike and I both sat in church that morning, praying that his pager would not start vibrating and hoping for a quiet day at home. Shortly after the service, the page came in and we rushed home. Mike left and I was disappointed. I spent the day paying bills, doing four loads of laundry, cleaning out the fridge, taking Chetany for a walk, and filing our important paperwork from the past two months. The weather was gorgeous and it felt good to get so many of the projects I had put off done. Mike made it home in time for most of the game and we were finally settled in. Shortly after the Cardinals gave up the game, we set up the DVR for The Office and gave into our fatigue from the day’s work.

At 3:30am, we awoke with a start to the much hated beep of an all-too-familiar pager. Honestly, who wakes up at three in the morning and notices water in their basement? It actually turned out to be a somewhat elderly couple who told Mike that they just couldn’t fall asleep knowing that it was there…gotta feel a little sympathetic, I suppose yet it’s very hard for me to be sympathetic when I’m awakened at 3:30 in the morning. Stumbling to the kitchen, I reached for all of the sandwich fixings I use for Mike’s lunches and proceeded to stumble through the lunch-making process. Chances were, he would be out on this call for the next several hours and then slide right into the regular schedule of the day. And everyone knows: A hungry man is a very unhappy man.

So it is now Monday. And I am tired. But happy. In this struggling economy, both my husband and I have a job. And we now both have work benches. And groceries in the house. And for all of these things, I am very thankful.

Good Advice

“Don’t let the fear of the time it will take to accomplish something stand in the way of your doing it. The time will pass anyway; we might just as well put that passing time to the best possible use.”

~Earl Nightingale

Three Weeks

So this weekend I got my husband back.

Shortly before Christmas, Mike and I learned that he would be leaving in early January for a three week EMT course in Millington, Tennessee as part of his Army Reserve training. Having served in Iraq as a Medic with an infantry unit, Mike had received his EMT certification once before, but had since allowed it to expire not knowing he would be signing up for the Reserves one day. (Funny how meeting the person you’re going to marry can change things like that…)

When Mike told me the news, I had a mixture of emotions: On one hand, I was ECSTATIC that the Army had finally pulled his orders together so that he could actually go and get this done. He had been attempting to receive this re-certification for some time now, knowing that having it would allow him to teach and train other Army medics. Yet the other part of me (which I have to admit was the much larger part) was distrubed by the idea of my husband of less than two months leaving me for three weeks. Either way, I knew that how I felt would not change the outcome and that this three weeks apart was just something we would have to endure.

So only two days into the New Year, we said goodbye at 5:30am at the Milwaukee airport and I went home to go back to bed. The next weeks proved to be quite lonely and I didn’t get nearly as much done as I had planned in the absence of my husband. The dogs drove me nuts, wanting to go outside, then back in, then back out…so on and so on. If you have a dog, you can probably relate. Luckily, we only got one big snow while he was gone which allowed me to play “man of the house” with the snowblower.

Overtime, I realized that God had a purpose for us during this time apart…as He always does. Halfway into the first week, I was driving home from work, pouting because I knew there was no one to cook dinner for at home. Then it hit me: spouses of deployed military personnel do this for twelve, sometimes eighteen, months at a time. And not only do they deal with the simple fact that their loved one is not there, they also have the knowledge that he or she may be in great danger while away from home. How do they do it? And maybe my situation wasn’t as bad as I had thought. That’s when I realized that God was trying to teach me something.

So now I have my Mike home and it is wonderful. But God is not done teaching. I am completely and utterly blown away at the amount of love you can have for a person. Before we were married, I would often be told by those older and wiser than me, “Marriage just gets better. You’ll learn more about yourself and the other person everyday.” And let me tell you: they were right. I love Mike more now than the day I married him. I love him more than the day I dropped him off at the airport. I love him more today than I did when I picked him up from the airport. I never really believed that loving someone (who didn’t have four legs and a tail, that is) could come so naturally, so easy. I never believed that a person THIS PERFECT for me existed. I am so glad I was wrong.

Why a Blog?

My first personal blog entry. Exciting, isn’t it? Well, at least it is for me.

So why write a blog? After all, I’ve never been an “internet junkie” or all about posting myself on the internet for the world to see. Yet over the last few months, it has become apparent to me that I am in need of an outlet. Now don’t get me wrong: I have my husband, my dogs, my family, my friends…all who would be more than willing to listen at a moment’s notice if need be. However, sometimes I get tired of talking. I get tired of attempting to explain myself while wondering if the listener is tiring of the ramblings of my mind. Not to mention, I enjoy writing and finally have a place to do it! So…

Do I expect the world to stop to read my blog? Definitely not.

Do I want people to read it? Sure, if they’re interested.

Do I hope to accomplish anything through these writings? Maybe.

All I know at this point is that my noggin is becoming quite small to hold all of the thoughts and ideas that form up there everyday. So consider this blog a place for me to empty my head. I intend the posts to be random, inconsistent, sometimes thought-provoking, sometimes funny. Should you chose to read them, I thank you. If not, at least they’ll be written.