Healing Words

I can't bring myself to write a funny, clever or silly post today. I just can't do it.

Just when you think you have it bad, life throws a curveball into the mix. I don't want to imply that God does it to remind us that things are good, and that we are blessed, but I will say that when times are good, and I have the inability to see it, I find that something reminds me of how lucky I am.

To those of you in my family that are struggling and are dealing with something grave, huge, insurmountable and painful, please know that I am praying for you and am asking for you to be granted strength, comfort, patience and love at this time. Surround yourself with those that love you—it is the only thing to do at this time.

For those that read my blog regularly, but with whom I'm not personally acquainted, I ask that you read this, and instead of focusing on the "whats" and the "whys" of what's going on in my life, and to which I refer, I hope that you'll focus on the people that surround you and the things that make you happy, rather.

Hug your children. Smile at your significant other. Love your parents. Acknowledge your blessings.

That's what I'm doing, and I am finding small comfort in knowing that this too shall pass.

Babies are born each day—new lives brought into this world with a clear conscience, an unblemished heart and a loving disposition. That alone should make us all feel good. (Unless you're Mandi, and the sweet little one just refuses to come out!)

Since I am not a poet, and often cannot find the right thing to say, I turn to Maya Angelou, the giver of great words of wisdom and comfort.

To one that hurts, by no doing of her own, I offer this:

an excerpt from Still I Rise
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.


To one that mourns, and knows not how to heal, I offer this:

an excerpt from Touched by an Angel
We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
...We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.


To one fears what's coming, and knows not how to recover, I offer this:

an excerpt from Alone
Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

I find comfort in the beautifully crafted words of Maya Angelou, and I hope that those in my life who hurt will too.

I love you all and will continue to pray for your healing.

Sense of Humor

On the way home on Tuesday, the bus kept stalling. Right there on Michigan Avenue.

I know, I know - you faithful blog readers think this stalling busines is old news by now since I've already experienced it many times.

However, this time was unique in the "audience response."

And, yes, we are an audience. I have begun to think and react differently to the trials commuting, knowing that I can use it as blog material (can't you see me on there just scripting in my head?) Totally different mindset now.

Anyway, so the accordian-style bus keeps slowing to the bus stop, shuddering, and then everything goes quiet. The air goes off, the hush falls over the crowd. With anticipation (and prayers) we mentally cheer for the huge-bus-that-could as the driver patiently restarts it.

It goes! Yay. Only to dissapoint us at the next block. And the next one. And the next one. You see the pattern. Still, this dogged driver never gave up (better man than most).

The second to last block before the end of Michigan Avenue comes, and the bus stop approaches. We ease up, and the shuddering begins. It was almost like our poor bus was just sobbing, and couldn't help it. Just the mere weight of all of the Chicagoans and tourists was too much for it to bear. (Ok, that may be taking it a little too far. More likely the tax dollars just aren't there to properly maintain the beasts, but bear with me while I romanticize it a touch.)

Shuddering to a stop, it got quiet. Everyone (cynics, elderly, clueless, totally annoyed) just looked around. Making eye contact was almost more than we could handle. Then, out of the radio silence comes a stale, recored, distant male voice: "Thank you for riding the CTA. If you ever have comments or complaints about our service, please call XXX or email us at XXX@transitchicago.com."

The irony overtook us. Timing is a bitch, huh? The entire bus cracked up. Even the cynics. Possibly even the clueless. Some guy shouted, "Did anyone catch that number?" More laughs. Everyone's a comedian.

Not being able to see our bus driver's face at this moment, I'm left to the devices of my own imagination.

I can practically hear him talking to God. "God, please just let me get past Delaware. I just want to pass the Drake Hotel and accelerate onto the Lake Shore Drive underpass and then I'm golden. Come on God, help me out here, buddy!"

So we do. (Guess he and God are close.) As we make our way north, and the traffic builds, I know he must have been chanting that prayer over and over.

Maybe we should get that prayer on a recording, to kick in when it is most needed, and in the silence of the stalled bus?

Just a thought. I could suggest it.

Did anyone catch that email address?