Archive for the ‘gratitude’ Category

Your Secret Super Power a Few Years Down the Road

I wrote a piece several years ago for a wonderful website called “Inspire Me Today”.  I wrote it while my now deceased husband was still alive and we were fighting for his life.  It is being reposted today and I hope you will revisit it by clicking here

As I reread the piece it made me reflect on how much as happened since I wrote it and how my view of the world has sharpened over time.  Even though Jim did not survive, our collective belief in ourselves, our family, our strength, and our knowledge that Jim would be healed in some way has not changed.  Our resilience got both Jim and I through some incredibly hard times.  Jim had chronic neurological Lyme disease that expressed itself with overlapping ALS-symptoms.  It got to the point that Jim could no longer walk, move, talk or breathe on his own.  Yet through these years Jim managed to touch people, to smile when friends showed up, to be present for our children.  His will was incredible and he survived longer than many physicians thought he would because of his belief in himself.  I juggled a job and raising children, managed to keep our family functioning as a family, and spearheaded Jim’s care because of my belief in self, lifted up with God’s help, and supported by many loving family and friends.

During the end of Jim’s life a friend said something profound to me that helped me realize that regardless of whether Jim would be healed while on Earth, it was guaranteed he would be healed after death.  In heaven, Jim is healthy again.  Our belief in self and our belief and faith in God supports that inner resilience and can make reality happen here or after in heaven.  My super power is still found within – it has taken a beating, but the joy I can feel for life and my children has been highlighted more brightly because of the pain of what we went through.  Not in spite of, but because of….. the secret super power is still present in full force – helping me carve a new path of my own choosing.




Is Skiing akin to Life?

It was one of my late husband’s favorite activities. The exhilaration of moving with ease quickly down a mountain, the challenge of a steep section of terrain, the beauty and peace of nature and the rush of crisp air.  He wanted to share this experience with his children.  He wanted to teach them to ski.  He wanted to laugh at their successes and celebrate their improvements over the years.  But it was not meant to be.  Jim died before the kids were old enough to start their training.

So I have taken up the cause, knowing this was one of a handful of “musts” in Jim’s mind. The kids participated in two days of ski school (or in my son’s case – snowboarding school) and on the third day we went out together.  At the beginning of the trip, things started off questionable – my daughter’s boots were too tight and she wailed and flung her body on the ground; my son had a fall that knocked the wind out of him and scared him such that I wasn’t sure he would get back on the slopes.  But then it all clicked.  After a brief rough start on day three, we were all moving well down the slopes.  I stayed behind the kids watching.  My maternal instincts of “you are going too fast” and “you are getting too close to the edge” had to be kept in check.  I held my tongue and hoped for the best, trusting that everything would be fine.

My worry turned to pride. My doubts turned to confidence.  In the end, all was well.

And then it occurred to me that this ski trip was a metaphor of our life as a family. Shaky starts.  Doubts.  Periods of scary times.  The need to trust.  In the end, with some practice, we are getting it “right” just as with skiing – we are finding confidence, joy, and peace.  Skiing does teach life lessons and is a reminder to look inward as well as outwards – believe in yourself, work hard to accomplish something meaningful, but at the same time, look outward – appreciate nature, look to others for help, and trust in something bigger than yourself.

Needless to say, we are already planning next year’s adventure.

New Book Giveaway

Hi Everyone,

Just a quick note to let you know that today is the last day of my book giveaway on goodreads.  I’m excited for you to read the new book as it has some neat contributions – my 9 year old son wrote some insights, my 7 year old daughter illustrated the book, and a friend’s eulogy to Jim is included in the book.  It is entitled When Miracles Aren’t Enough: The Lessons Tragedy Taught Me.  It has been well received and I’m excited to be giving away 20 books.  Please share the link as well with your friends.  Thanks so much!  Erica

Here is the link to enter the giveaway (again make sure you do it by the end of today – Friday March 4th):


Holiday Reflection Time

This time of year always brings out the glad and the sad at full face value. Not that the sadness is not present throughout the year, it’s never fully gone as a widow, but it is more subtle than during the holiday season. I choose to see the good in life and can push back the sadness that comes when I think about my late husband. During the holidays when there is a conscious direct acknowledgement of family, gratitude, precious time and life, gifts of grace, and joy, reflection is more direct than over the previous many months. Such deliberate consideration of life comes when my young daughter asks me to write down what I am thankful for, complete with justification. It comes when visiting the house of friends for Thanksgiving dinner and watching the interactions of couples and children. It comes with the time off from work and school and the ability to sleep in and have lazy mornings and time for pensive thought.

It is during such times that I am reminded of how grateful I really am for all that I have. It is also during these times that the underlying sadness of what is present consistently decides to rear its head directly and gives me pause. I have now been a widow through two holiday seasons, with young children that would be thriving with my late husband’s attention and love. We have lost much, especially when I think of potential future – what would my children’s personalities be like with Jim in the picture? What lessons are they missing out on that Jim would have given that I cannot? Will they be at a disadvantage compared to their peers because they didn’t have his attention, direction, and love? Will they grieve as they age and feel a gap in their lives?

The ultimate question becomes one of provision – that is, will I be able to give my children all they need to be successful, thriving people? With this mindset, the goal of helping my children do just that takes center stage and sadness once again gets its rightful place as a backdrop. The reminder that there is so much good in the world still overrides the sad card. The holiday months bring out a more direct attention to what is good and what is possible still – not what is lost, as much as what is to be celebrated. My late husband Jim is to be celebrated, the amazing new opportunities that have appeared in our lives are to be celebrated, and the excitement of what is to come is to be celebrated. During this time of year I am reminded of gifts to celebrate – gifts of people in my life, gifts in the form of reminders at the precise moment I need them, gifts in the form of grace, gifts in the form of Jesus coming to earth. And because of this final gift, we are guaranteed that we will see Jim again and that for now he is active and joyful in heaven.  I now understand that Jim wants me and our children to be happy on earth.  I did not know this last holiday season.  I do realize that this holiday season.  And that is a big cause for celebration for us all.

My 7-year old daughter's reminder that life is to be celebrated

My 7-year old daughter’s reminder that life is to be celebrated

Can a 25-minute encounter change your life?

The doorbell rang.  I was impressed on the punctual arrival.  A sweet elderly lady greeted me with a smile.  She had travelled an hour to pick up a hospital bed for her husband.  The same one my late husband used.  We went to the garage and I showed her how to put it back together (it was in parts for easy mobility) and we talked logistics.  Then the question came, “Why are you selling the bed?”  I had to explain.  I was grateful for the question – so many people avoid talking or asking about Jim these days for fear they will upset me.  She looked shocked.  I was reminded how shocking it is that neurological Lyme disease can kill a person.  Then she told me her story.  Her husband had a stroke.  At first the physicians misdiagnosed it as Parkinson’s disease.  Then while he was walking in his disabled state, a car struck him.  I was horrified for her.  We both fought back tears.  We talked about the pain of seeing someone you love suffer and the frustration of not being able to help them in the ways we would want to.  Then she announced, “Come meet him.”  I didn’t realize he was in the car.  We walked over and I opened the door.  Another lovely wide beautiful smile.  A face aged by years of “doing”.  Wrinkles, crow’s feet, and signs of stress and age on the face.  A beautiful face.  We chatted for a bit and then I excused myself so I could get the bed into their van.

After we loaded up the bed, the woman asked, “How much do I owe you?” as she pulled out an envelope of cash.  “There is no need,” I replied, “I hope you enjoy the bed and that it is helpful for your husband.”  Then I paused and added, “I’m happy it is going to you both.  It served Jim well and I hope it does the same for your husband.”  Again, the woman had the look of shock on her face.  “No, I insist I pay you something,” she protested.  I again said no.  Then her tears flowed, she embraced me with the biggest bear hug I’ve had in awhile.  “God bless you,” she said.  “God bless you too,” I replied back.  She stood back and then came to hug me again, so genuine in her gestures.  Several more times she commented “God bless you,” and she meant it.

I approached the man again in the passenger seat.  His wife had told him the bed was a gift.  He started tearing up and then the tears started to fall.  The three of us were all there crying with the connection of pain, blessings of having lived good lives, and the frustration that comes with the knowledge that things sometimes go wrong and you can’t control them.

As the van drove off and I waved goodbye, my tears continued to stream down my face.  This couple, elderly and so full of love for each other, had just blessed my life.  I was saddened in that I had thought Jim and I would get to that point – be the cute elderly couple who still enjoyed each other so much.  I was glad too though to have made a small difference in this particular couple’s lives.

My 25-minute encounter with these two beautiful people reminded me that there are blessings always and that even though we are not in control of events, we are still in control of our attitudes and perspectives.  Thank God (literally) for amazing people to come along and remind us of the important things in life.

The Surreal Camping Experience: What the Skies Can Tell Us

We occasionally have those experiences that seem so unreal that they would be found in a movie. You know those stories someone tells you where you think “yeah, sure, come on…” but your friend insists she is telling the truth.  Well I had one of those the other week.  My kids and I were at a family camp weekend with our church.  I struggled to go on the front end – not because I didn’t want to go, but it was just so much – so much to do to get prepared physically and the mental anguish involved: the ultimate sadness of engaging in these activities without my husband at my side, the reminders of death, unfairness, of being alone.  But the three of us went – my 8 year old son, my 5 year old daughter and me.  It was the right thing to do and the kids were excited.  When we arrived that Friday evening, it was raining cats and dogs, it was dark, the drive was longer than anticipated, and again, I was thinking I made a mistake.

But as with most things, once you start, it is fine and often times, it is good. The next day brought sunshine, kids playing and laughing, and things felt right.  But the skies decided to again get cloudy.  The timing was just fine as it was mandatory rest time for all campers.  My kids went scampering off with friends and I was left alone to return to our cabin.  I pulled out the chair and sat on the front porch admiring the scenery.  Our cabin was on the water, there was green grass and trees all around, and I could hear seagulls in the background.  And so I sat.  The longer I sat and watched, the more I could see – including a man standing on the dock.  He wore a blue rain jacket with a hood and he was alone.  I thought that was odd given that I was the only single parent there and most adults were with spouses, buddies, or children.

As the clouds continued to roll in a haze fell in the backdrop of the dock. Now I could see the man even more clearly.  I couldn’t figure out what he was doing.  It didn’t look like anything.  There was no one else around – rain was inevitable and everyone was indoors.  Who was he?  The logical part of me said it was a counselor or someone working at the camp, but the longing part of me wanted it to be Jim.  Looking away from the man at this time, I saw an amazing site.  On the right side of the dock all across the water, the sky and landscape was completely covered with hazy rain.  I couldn’t make out the hills, the buildings or anything else.  It was a blanket of dew.  To the left of the dock, the sky was still visible and the imagery intact.  The rain hadn’t gotten that far yet.

Two things struck me:

  1. How much more detail I could make out with the haze in place. My attention was directed to the one object I could still see – the man. I could really see him now. I waited for “Jim” to turn around, wave to me, and smile.
  2. How one perspective (mine) could have both cloudy, hazy dreary on one side and clear, bright on the other. Both are possible at once, which has been my existence for the past many years. There is good present always, even in the sadness.

As I continued to watch the man and the sky, the haze and rain moved across the water. It covered the man eventually, and as the right side of the dock cleared and the left became hazed, things changed once again.  As the rain moved on, so too did the man.  My “Jim” was gone when the sun returned to the dock, but I appreciated his reminder to see the clear through the haze.

The Widow’s Dream

It finally happened – the dream that all the widow books said would come.  The presence that others told me about that happens after a spouse dies.  It has been just over 2 months since Jim passed away.  As he was dying, I asked him to send me a sign letting me know he was alright and he delivered the next day.  I haven’t had that connection since.  Until the other night.  I don’t typically remember my dreams and I was so grateful that this one woke me, made me pause, and forced me to give thanks that Jim is well, hanging out with Jesus and doing things physically he hasn’t been able to do in years.  I focus on those things.  They are what make the sadness, pain, and more sadness bearable.

The dream wasn’t much, but the reminder was grand.  Jim was in a bed.  It was a recollection of the night he passed, except it wasn’t his bed and it wasn’t his bedroom.  Still, I knew he was dying and I was physically lying next to him in the bed.  Then the life passed out of him.  Again, a recollection of what was.  He was present in this space, although he was physically struggling and far off in a way too, and then he was not in his body anymore.  The body was only a shell of the essence of Jim.  That was so evident in real life.  My first experience with something so intimate as a life passing before my eyes and that same experience happened in the dream.

Then in the dream, there was the pause.  This was the recollection of reality too.  In real life I remember staring at Jim hard, trying to process what had happened even though I knew what had happened and then crying out “Lazarus, get up”  – I urged Jim to defy all odds and for his eyes to pop open and his body to revive itself.  For Jim to return.  This of course did not happen in real life, but I sat next to Jim’s body and his bed for quite some time, hoping that it would.

In my dream, this same scene played out, minus the words.  There was Jim’s body and my living presence looking at him and then making slow-motion movements walking around the room, trying to process what had happened.  In the dream, there was that pause.  The confusion.  And, then Jim sat up in the bed and then Jim stood up next to the bed.  I looked at him.  He looked at me.  We smiled at one another.  I knew.  He knew.  He was moving on.  He was about to walk out of that room.  Two things struck me: Jim smiled and Jim walked – two things that didn’t happen much, if at all, during his last months here.

And then in the dream, Jim walked.  He was still in the room when I woke up.  He was still smiling at me when my eyes opened into this reality.  I paused, reflecting on the gift just given to me.  I reflected on what I already knew, but what was graciously given to me in a dream: a reminder that Jim is well.  Jim is walking, smiling, and whole again.

And then, just in case I didn’t get it, after I got out of the bed and headed into the bathroom to get ready for the day, I paused at a bureau.  As I opened the doors, a photo fell off the top shelf and hit my feet.  It was a frame divided into 3 parts: one with Jim and our daughter, one photo with Jim and our son, and one photo with Jim and me.  Jim is there with each one of us and that in and of itself is worth celebrating.

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