Cosmic Vending Machine

For years, I believed in a cosmic vending machine. You put in your prayers, your good deeds, your unwavering faith, and out popped the desired outcome: a healed loved one, a landed dream job, a world free from strife. It felt logical, a system I could control. But then, the universe asserted its power until I gasped for air.

The loss of my 26-year-old son shattered the illusion of the cosmic vending machine, a wish dispenser. Grief, in its crushing honesty, revealed the illusion of my control. My desperate prayers richocheted off the heavens and went unanswered. My cosmic vending machine turned totally defective and inoperable.

My beautiful friend, Michelle, ever the optimist, saw things differently. A solid Christian woman, every morning, she told me after she became a sudden widow, she now prayed for one very important thing, actually a number of them, dozens, in fact: donuts. She prays for donuts! Not a grand plea. Small enough to grasp in your hand – and in your mind. The more I thought about it, the more I saw how the simple request symbolized something profound.

It took loss to understand the fundamental truth my friend embodied. I didn’t have to give up on my faith, only realize I wasn’t the one responsible for the weather that I had no control over from the get-go – but I could pack an umbrella – maybe one big enough that I could even sweetly share.

Just like the twelve steps of recovery teach, I learned to let go and let God (or the universe, a higher power, whatever resonates with you). In this way, the stress alleviated. I didn’t have to demand, only release myself to the mystery of life and surrender to the flow, whether it meant a gentle current of a river or a maelstrom in an ocean or sea.

Don’t get me wrong. My cosmic vending machine is still a very cool-looking device that is a fun fantasy. It’s a healthy escape, but not a blueprint of a reality. It’s different now. My words form donut prayers, always asking at the end for the strength to pick up the scattered crumbs on the counter.

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Faith Muscle

Seasonal Smells of Sombre

Photo by Rene Böhmer on Unsplash
Photo by Autumn Mott Rodeheaver on Unsplash

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Faith Muscle

Halloween: A time for fun and celebration, or a painful reminder of trauma?

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Faith Muscle

Big World, Small Part

Copyright © Stacy Maxwell (2023)

If I wake up each morning reminding myself that I am not the creator of the world, I will have the balance I need to meet any circumstance, no matter how far the forces beyond my control tip the scale of my life.

This Sunday, October 29, marks 39 years since I began learning this simple truth through a 12-step program, which I believe is the greatest healer of modern times. As a 20-something-year-old with a big ego, I embarked on a humbling journey. As I approach the final chapter of my life, things did not turn out as planned, but the upshot is I am grateful for the opportunity to be a small part of a much larger universe, over which I have little control. As others have shown me by example, we can learn to appreciate the miraculous gift of embracing our limited human powers.

Cornelia is an example of one of the mentors who taught me how humility and empowerment coexist. I met her when she was in her late 60s or early 70s, and she lived into her mid-80s. Let me put it this way: when she walked into my brother’s wake as the first guest, the trembling floor beneath me turned to steel.

If it wasn’t a solemn occasion, Cornelia wore bold colors that didn’t blind you, but kidded you into believing you had a jolt of caffeine. High heels, tights, plaid skirts and crisply ironed tops, she dressed up, without fail, as if she were a presiding member on a garden club committee.

Cornelia was an expert on turning a frown into a smile. She had a compassion and love for others that was truly inspiring. This woman embraced everyone and never allowed her tragic circumstances to turn her into a victim. After losing her husband, she became a young widow. Her first son died in a freak car crash, and her second and only son, a pilot, perished in a plane crash caused by mechanical failure. These were just two of the many trials she faced throughout her life. Despite it all, she spent her final years volunteering at a local bereavement and critical illness support community center.

Don’t mistake being humble, loving, and compassionate for being a pushover. Cornelia fought for justice in her life and rarely failed to obtain it when it was due.

Cornelia’s example taught me to stand tall. After one of her endless pep talks, I approached my nemesis head-on, armed with her grace, dignity, humility, and an unbreakable sense of empowerment.

“Hold your head up. Always. Carry the program with you,” she said. To this day, I align myself with her advice, for that is the legacy of love she left me.

I remember the last time we went out for dinner. The sun was setting, and the sky was ablaze with color. We reached out and held hands, and we reveled in the silence of the miraculous creation around us. I felt her steel side holding me up, as it still does when I need it the most.

Copyright © Stacy Maxwell (2023)

You can’t possibly spend nearly two decades with someone like Cornelia and not grow small in a miraculous way. Recently, my watching a sunset brought her back to me. The sky radiant with the colors she wore to celebrate life, even when she was maneuvering through a personal swamp of grief and loss.

I took a breath and closed my eyes. Recalling the warmth of Cornelia’s palm in mine, I felt peace envelop me. I opened my eyes and looked around. The trees were tall and majestic, and the sunny-side up marigolds were still in full bloom, past the halfway mark of October.

I reminded myself that I was a part of all this wonder. I was a part of nature. I was a part of the universe. I shrank in size. My problems and my concerns were not the most important things in the world. But I also felt connected. I felt loved, humbled by it all. Empowered to know that it is possible to find gratitude in the rubble, and all I had to do to gain this great insight was to step outside, stop and settle down long enough to take it all in.

Just before indigo bled into the the sky’s mighty pageantry, I heard Cornelia’s final earthly words to me that help me keep the faith:

Copyright © Stacy Maxwell (2023)

All rights reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the author is strictly prohibited.

Faith Muscle

Doing Nothing Leads to Everything

My mind is a restless thing.

I can do a million different things at once, most of them trivial, such as dusting. I’ve never been one to procrastinate, but doing nothing at all stumps me every time.

When I’m not actively engaged in a task, my mind is always working. I might be analyzing a character arc, figuring out a past perfect tense, or projecting things like financial ruin because of my paranoia from working in a non-essential and highly competitive field for my entire life.

Over the past two years, I’ve had the good fortune to collaborate with my dear friend on her heartfelt grief memoir that is finally ready to take flight. It’s complete, at least on my end, and I’m so proud of what we’ve accomplished.

My heart swells with gratitude as I recall my collaborative journey with Michelle, the beautiful and relatively young widow behind the story. In the early months, writing her memoir felt like an Impressionist painting: a blur of colors and emotions, akin to our own personal lives, with no clear definition. But over time, like a Realist painting, the memoir and our worlds became sharper and more focused.

Through my encountering her grief, my own perspective on life and tragedy has widened and deepened. I’ve learned that even in the darkest of times, there is always hope. And that love is the most powerful force in the universe.

Thank you, my dear neighbor, colleague and friend, for your faith in me and teaching me so much about what it means to be human. I am truly blessed to have shared your “voyage.

Almost every goodbye is a hello in disguise. Therefore, as I celebrate the completion of this project, I’m scheduling only ONE thing on the to-do list — spending downtime with the most important person in my life: me. It’s high time we reconnect and get acquainted again, even if it is only to say, “Hello! I’m here.”

In exchange for this kind of surrender, I will find peace, joy, and gratitude. It’s a paradox, but the more I let go of my need to control everything, the more I find that I am truly in control. (Michelle’s memoir really drives this point home.)

My soul is my compass, and when I don’t procrastinate, take the time to “do nothing” and listen to its gentle guidance, I am always led to the right path, because I have opened my heart to the divine.

Faith Muscle

The Power of Community: Thank You for Filling the Void

My therapist Louis has taught me that when you take something out of your life, you need to replace it. In my case, I had to give up my 12-step support group due to PTSD, but I found a new support system in my blog community.

I’ve been blogging for over 10 years, and it’s become a lifeline for me. When I’m feeling down, I can always count on my readers to offer words of encouragement and support. They’ve helped me to feel less alone and more connected, and they’ve given me the courage to share my story in a safe space.

My birthday last week was a tough one, but your messages (& Judy — thanks for your email!) really helped me get through it. I’m so grateful for your kindness and support. Thank you for filling in the colors of faith into the empty lines. You make it possible.

Faith Muscle

Bow-Tie Breakthrough

About six years ago, when my friend, Richard, a retired art director, celebrated his two-year sobriety milestone, he donned an eye-catching crimson bow tie that juxtaposed his somber expression. The poignant declaration he uttered at that moment has remained ingrained in my memory ever since: “This is not my world anymore.”

Richard was faced with the realization that his marriage of 50 years was not only coming to a close, but also that his children had grown distant from him. In addition, he also needed to reconcile with the reality that he had wasted a considerable amount of his earlier years as an alcoholic who functioned nevertheless.

His faith in what once was, had come crashing down.

Richard’s realization that “This is not my world anymore” is a sentiment that we all may encounter at some point in our lives. It represents the stark (sober) realization of what truly holds significance in life, and conversely, what does not; such as an unfulfilling marriage that has become a matter of convenience and habit rather than one that is rooted in love and admiration.

Over the past two decades, and particularly during the last three years, I have encountered numerous epiphanies that have left me feeling disconnected from my surroundings. These experiences forced me to recognize who my true friends are while accepting that most of them, for various reasons, have vanished from my life. Furthermore, it is clear that the path I had once envisioned for myself will never come to fruition. Each time I catch sight of my age-spotted hands that no longer resemble my own, I can’t escape the fact that before I know it, a significant birthday is just around the corner. In truth, “This is not my world anymore” often morphs into “This is not the world I imagined at 19,” which serves as a poignant reminder of life’s perpetual evolution.

Richard’s and my journey serves as an example to illustrate how life is constantly changing. We may not always be in control of these changes, but we can choose how we respond to them. While conceding that there are numerous occasions when my faith falters and my perseverance wanes, it is evident that I am able to persist through such moments due in large part to inspirational figures, such as Richard.

Richard is not, as far as I know, a religious man. However, he does believe that there is something that is ultimately good and benevolent and, despite all his challenges, Richard never lost faith that things would turn out okay. He faced each obstacle head-on and emerged stronger from it all. Sure, it’s still not “his world” anymore, but he never falters as he adds a colorful array of bow ties to his wardrobe reminiscent of a blooming garden filled with vibrant peonies.

Faith Muscle

Bear-y Big Faith

If my daughter’s best friend, Alabaster, had two homemade granola bars (his mother was a health food nut) packed in his lunch tote, and another student was struggling emotionally, he’d show his support by giving him or her both granola bars – as well as a smile on his face burning bright like a sliver of a crescent moon. He had a knack for connecting with people and making them feel seen, heard and valued. I can personally attest to the fact that his character never failed to change the day for the better.

Alabaster and my daughter were besties from grammar school through high school and then after the lanky, spirited young man left for college, he completely vanished without a trace. He never responded to any text messages my daughter or any of his other friends sent. Years later, he finally revealed to a mutual friend of my daughter’s that growing up in our primarily well-heeled town, especially if someone didn’t fit the heterosexual norm, was difficult. His family’s wealth was not enough to ease the pressures of being different from everyone else. He had faced discrimination and ridicule from his peers, which left him feeling isolated and alone.

For Alabaster, it was too much to bear, and he eventually disassociated himself from our hometown due to the painful memories that he associated with it. He escaped the expectations of his peers, self-righteous, religious zealots and those others that condemned him and God’s handiwork and found a kinder, less egotistic place where he could start anew without judgment or criticism.

A few weeks ago, my daughter sent me a beautiful write-up about Alabaster in honor of Pride Month. It was published in a business journal. Today, as it turns out, he lives in a progressive state a few thousand miles away where he is a star in the techy world. In the article, he expounds upon how important it is to live authentically and without shame. He not only lives this way, but encourages others to do the same. Explaining what Pride means to him, he adds, “It means being proud of who you are at your core and not letting any single person or group of people stop you from being yourself.”

I’d recognize Alabaster’s handsome face with deep-colored eyes anywhere, and I just cried with emotions, knowing he had found the freedom at last to be who he was born to be.

Over the weekend, I thought a lot about Alabaster as I recalled another interesting occurrence at our home that happened two Wednesdays ago when my dear friend Pat and I were loading the car with a box of donations for Goodwill. We noticed a large roly-poly blob in the neighbor’s yard in our suburban neighborhood. A black bear was on the loose, ambling around, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was in a human-populated area and he “didn’t belong.”

At first, I was shocked and scared enough to call the police, only for them to tell me that I was the third caller of the day and the bear was perfectly harmless. So, I also felt a sense of awe. Here was this wild creature, out of its natural habitat, but still unafraid.

I thought about why this bear had found its way into our neighborhood. He had probably been driven out of his natural habitat by development or by humans encroaching on his territory. And yet, even in the face of these challenges, the bear had not given up. He had found a way to survive and thrive.

I realized this bear, beary-much like Alabaster, who, despite the odds, survived in his own way. Others, as I am all too well aware, are not as fortunate.

We all live in a world filled with imperfections and hardships. Yet, despite the struggles and pain we face, some of us are lucky enough to find solace in faith. It is through faith that we can see hope, beauty and wonder in our flawed world. Unfortunately, not everyone has the capacity of being able to access this power of faith.

I think it’s also important to remember that faith can come in many different forms. It doesn’t have to be religious faith. It can be faith in ourselves, in our loved ones, or in something greater than ourselves. Whatever form it takes, faith can give us the strength to face whatever challenges come our way. It is like a sliver of the crescent moon – small but powerful enough to bring light into the darkness.

Faith Muscle

Summer Soulstice

June kicks off the official start of summertime. The end of school. Vacations. Weddings. Graduations. Father’s Day. Surf and sun. But for those of us who have experienced loss or who live with a serious illness, it can be a season of reminders. A season of triggers that ignite a range of feelings from sadness to anger to guilt.

It’s natural to feel these emotions as a response to loss or illness, which are painful experiences. But it’s important to remember that we’re not alone going through devastating experiences. Others have also walked these paths before us. There, too, are people who will soon be forced to meet a life-threatening illness head on, as well as others who will soon cross the “Welcome to Grieve-ville” line.

When we experience crossing over these life-changing lines, it can be difficult to maintain our sense of hope and faith.

It’s as if our vibrant June-summertime-celebration canvas of life is suddenly stained with black ink, leaving us feeling helpless and lost. Weightless, dripping, dissolving in tears; questions pelting down on us.

“Why did this happen to me?” or “What’s the point of going on?” or “How will I ever get through this?”

It’s okay to ask these questions. In fact, it’s important to do so because it addresses how we honestly feel. But it’s also important to remember that we don’t have all the answers. Sometimes, we just have to trust that there is a greater purpose, even when we don’t understand the logic behind it.

While it may seem like the end of the world (and, maybe, in some ways it is), one way to gain strength to carry on is to realize that we are not alone in this journey. For instance, currently about 12 million people in the United States live with PTSD (Posttraumatic Stress Disorder).

Twelve million people. That’s no small potatoes when you consider the numbers!

There is power in numbers. Interestingly, when I looked up the significance of the month of June, I not only discovered that it is Alzheimer’s & Brain Awareness Month, but it also serves as a reminder for the following themes:

 LGBTQ+ Pride Month
 PTSD Awareness Month
 Gun Violence Awareness Month
 Immigrant Heritage Month

Obviously, these important themes can inspire some heavy-duty conversations and help create positive change in our society. It makes me call to mind how we are connected through our vulnerability — and make no mistake about it — we are all vulnerable because we are human. We are all capable of experiencing pain, both physical and emotional. We are all susceptible to illness and injury. We are all subject to the whims of fate.

Likewise, June is a month of change. In June, as in life, nothing remains the same. The days are long and warm, and the sun sets later in the evening. Given this, we have a longer time period to schedule a few minutes of awe, watching the golden summer sun dip below the frothy, creamy horizon. It is a good time, too, to take stock of our collective strength and resilience and stay focused on how precious our time really is — encompassing joy, pain and sorrow all at once. In this way, our lives become a poignant concerto of experiences and memories that fall nothing short of a symphony. We all have the power to create our own grand finale one day. Whether it’s through our words, actions, or simply our presence, we can strive for a legacy that deserves nothing less than a standing ovation and, perhaps, a sweet rainbow-colored sprinkle of “BRAVO!”

Faith Muscle

A Teacup Filled With 🤍 Love 🤍

I was planning to write about something completely different this week, but as usual life had other plans. On Friday, June 2, my dear friend Pat had to make the difficult decision to euthanize her beloved Teacup Chihuahua, Teacup.

Pat has a heart of gold. Over 13 years ago, she rescued Teacup and her inseparable companion, Riley, a larger chihuahua, from a dire family situation. Riley died from heart failure more than four years ago on May 4, 2019. Interestingly enough, all week prior to Teacup’s passing, I kept having visions of Riley, who was always full of vigor, barking, jumping, and catching tennis balls in his mouth that we threw toward him. He was a tender-hearted dog who didn’t ask for anything much — except maybe treats!

Riley was very protective of Teacup, who was blind for most of her life. Teacup was also a content creature, but she loved being showered with love and attention from her mama, Pat, especially after Riley passed away at ten years old. Teacup brought Pat so much joy, and Pat was the kind of mama any four- or two-legged creature could only dream of. After Riley’s death, Pat and Teacup were inseparable.

Teacup, who was fourteen, seemed in good spirits on that fateful day. Overall, she possessed a feisty character and was in good health, although she did have a history of seizures.

It was one of those “ordinary” afternoons when I heard Pat’s voice calling me, “Come quick!”

Her chipper voice grated on my nerves. (I soon learned that she was only trying to protect me from any unnecessary shock.) It had been a physically toiling day, and I was exhausted. The last thing I wanted to do was stand up, having just sat down. I assumed Pat wanted me to look at a colorful wild bird outside the window.

Get up I did and walked into the hallway. Pat’s face was contorted in anguish. Teacup was having a seizure. We both knew from Teacup’s past history that her seizures usually lasted a few minutes, but this one was different. It had a fierceness to it that clung to her tiny body like the talons of a hawk clutching its prey. We layered her with cool, wet towels, and her seizure seemed to subside, but then, her body convulsed again, like an electrical circuit that had been hit by unrelenting lightning. Foam dripped from Teacup’s tiny mouth that was shaped like a half moon.

I had an urge to perform the same departure ritual, our final earthly walk through the house and grounds that I performed with our other pets, but refrained due to her excessive shaking.

Above all, I was riddled with anxiety, fearful that she would slip out of my hands. As I sat on the top of the back deck stairs, Teacup let out two yelping screams. I intuitively knew that she had released her final breaths. I looked up at the two towering trees in the distance, which mesmerize me every night at sunset and remind me of my humility in the great universe. As I watched the landscape fade, I thought of my own slow fade in the natural cyclical world that revolves and changes so perfectly without my influence.

That was when I mentally let Teacup go back to the good earth, back to the natural cycle of sunrise to sunset, where silence and acceptance are the only true answers.

Because her seizure showed no signs of stopping, we called the closest emergency pet clinic, knowing that this was a serious situation.

After an overnight stay at the animal hospital, the next morning Pat learned that despite the medication that the doctors administered, Teacup continued to endure several seizures that led to brain damage. Pat agreed with the doctor to euthanize Teacup, because she didn’t want her to suffer any longer. She wanted Teacup to go peacefully, and she did. Pat and I envisioned her playing and seeing Riley once again — a boisterous, bouncy, furry beach ball. As I mentioned, Teacup was blind and as she aged, her pitch-black eyes bulged and turned light blue with a fog-like appearance. Uncannily, when we spent those last few moments of her earthly life with her in an isolated room at the animal hospital, her eyes were wide, clear black and beautiful like a young pup once again. It were as if she regained her vision and was able to see the world anew with a pair of faith-filled eyes.

Faith Muscle