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

It will be

Photo by Jill Wellington on Pexels.com

Sometimes it seems as if certain people are granted an easier road to travel in life. My mother, though, always reminded me not to judge because, “You never know someone’s ending.”

What she meant by this lesson is that everyone has to face his or her final hour on earth, and we never know when, how or what the extent of that suffering will entail. The point of what my mother meant was not let it be but it will be.

After my personal tragedy, I fully appreciated my mom’s lesson in mortality. Take for example my former college roommate Susan, just a few years older than I. A recent retiree, she had led an extremely successful career in education. Susan brisked through a fairy tale life, with endless chapters of characters derived from a large, loving family and also a small, tight-knit community where she grew up.  I can tell you firsthand that she loved her roots. No matter where her life’s travels brought her, she toted her treasured family and small town pride everywhere.

One month before my tragedy, the doctors diagnosed 64-year-old Susan with cancer. I do not recall the exact kind of cancer that it was,  but it was the type that you have no doubt you will beat. After 18 months of surgeries and treatments, while she and others prayed dozens of prayers and never lost faith, it beat her down to a skeleton, and she died in the middle of savoring her ripe American Dream lifestyle. Bam! Just like that she disappeared right before the eyes of her loving, doting husband of 40 years, not to mention her healthy, successful children and their adorable offspring.

Sometimes even before our family tragedy, my eyes, bulging green with envy, inspected her Facebook pages full of the knitted scarfs, hats and mittens that she crafted for each of her grandchildren. I observed, too, how she toiled away on her month’s long project of converting her childhood Barbie and Ken playhouse into a revamped vintage toy dream house for her grandchildren.

When you have “it all,” or close to it, it’s so easy to believe life here on earth is eternal. In this way, the end is always a nasty surprise or, perhaps, a complete shock. There is no way around it.  Years ago, I watched a freaky movie. In it, a young boy could foresee the death of people that were alive in front of him. So often, this is the foresight I now have, carrying my mom’s interpretation of life. No one, not even people like Queen Elizabeth and Kim Kardashian, can escape our human fragility.  We can fool ourselves to think differently, but it will be.

I remind myself of it will be and, in the interim, let it be. Accept it. Embrace it. Just be. There’s a dark alternative and some choose that path of finality, but I’m not here to analyze, preach or judge. I’m here to hear my pain, your pain, the world’s pain and face the raw reality and, maybe, just maybe if we have a little faith in the universal language of human vulnerability, we can surrender our search for happiness, because we have made peace with ourselves.

And, when I am not in my own sorrow and mourning my own son and the consequences of his final act and what it means to us left behind, I can lift my thoughts to Susan and her family and the others she has left behind. I can remember my friend Mary. And I can think about how some of the pain people suffer behind the walls of their million dollar mansions is to the same degree as those of our homeless brothers and sisters in New York City. In this muck of feelings, failings and fallings, I can pull through a divine thread that is naked to the human eyes, but felt by the human hearts of those who surrender to the vision of how it will be and allow it to be because that’s how it is. 

Faith Muscle