Genuine

My husband handed me a little bag filled with worn velvet boxes. Little treasures his dad bought for his mom throughout their lifetime together. Little treasures she left behind when she went to meet his dad in heaven. “I thought you and Jessie would like these,” he said. I opened the first box to reveal a gold opal necklace with matching earrings. They were “real” opals set in 14K gold. “Let’s put them under the tree,” I said. “We can tell her Christmas morning that her grandfather bought them for her grandmother.” Mitch loved the idea and the fact that opal was actually our daughter’s birthstone.

I opened the next box, a small square grey velvet one, which revealed the name "Wilson’s" printed in the silk on the inside top cover. Wilson’s was a large gift retailer and jewelry store. My thoughts took me back to 1978 when I worked there. Mitch lost his father before I married him, so I had never met him. Could he have asked to see those square diamond earrings? Could his hands have held this diamond and baguette necklace? Could I have watched as he pondered if she’d like it?

“Do you think it’s real?” Mitch broke into my thoughts. “Not sure,” I mumbled, “but it’s pretty,” I added. “You can take it to the jeweler to find out,” he said. I thought it wasn't important if it was “real” or not. His parents' love was, and that was genuine enough. “I’ll wrap it and put it under the tree from you to me,” I said with a smile.

On Christmas morning, I opened the small box. I took my time with it and appreciated that my husband wanted me to have a piece of his parents' life together. I’ve worn it every day since Christmas and have treated both the earrings and necklace as if they were real. This morning, when I was putting them on, “genuine” came to my mind.

Genuine... g e n u i n e  resounded with me. Oh! Was this it? I am on a retreat where I was asked to seek a word for the upcoming year. I took some time to get quiet and turned on a worship song, following along in my head. In this quiet space, my mind's eye went to the earrings and necklace.

Those square stones—I’ve always worn round stones. When life felt right and normal, I’d say I felt like a round peg in a round hole. Nothing has felt right or normal these past six months. “They're unique,” I thought, “like me.” I’ve been finding a new me underneath the trauma, underneath the pain.

My thoughts shifted to the pendant, a square made up of diamonds and baguettes, actually just the outline of the square. It’s a box. I’ve been passionate against “boxes” lately— the “boxes” people assign to each other. It seems we all have to fit somewhere: Christian, Jewish, Republican, Democrat, rich, poor, angry, and just tired of it all. When did we get to a place where we all have to be and think alike? I’m wearing this genuine box over my heart to remind me that the only thing going in or out the door of my heart will be genuine.

As I walked through the steps of my retreat, answers came that addressed my losses, my pain, and my relationships. I began to see that I had agency over my life and I could choose to live and love with my heart wide open. I could choose to be genuine, embrace the genuine, and gently release the disingenuous.

Yes, my word is genuine.

2019

Beyond Loss: A Healing Journey

It has been 20 years since you left. My mind's eye blinks, and it feels like just a minute ago. In a flash, I can roll over and see you there. The stillness, both in you and in the air, stole my breath and any peace I had. You left so quickly and suddenly. The impact tore a hole in me and in our children. I felt myself ripped in half, thinking it was only the half of you, the part that made us one. In the coming years, I would find out it was our children too. The pain was incredibly deep; I just kept breathing.

Screaming into the heavens, "I am a double, all I've ever known was to be a wife."It wasn't long before I followed a trail of what I convinced myself was God's plan, that I wasn't left alone. The fact that you were asking about your friend just weeks before, and then, after 20 years, he walked into our lives at the funeral. All the care and concern for me and our children drew me to him. His love for God felt like a beacon, a path I could follow to find my way to wholeness.

He loved our children and our grandchildren and included them in his life. He helped raise our baby girl, and he introduced us to a ministry that was indeed a pathway for me and other family members to heal. He used to say, "It's happening, so it must be God's will." My time with him was not wasted. I learned that Jesus is the same yesterday and forever, and He answers prayer.

Today, on this anniversary of your passing, memories flooded my Facebook. In reading them, it is clear that my children and many others were thankful for the role he played in our lives in your absence.

It was good until it wasn't. In the end, I would learn that you can't make a whole person out of two broken people. As I struggled once again, now with the loss of a second marriage, the loss of you flooded in again. My heart and soul wanted to leave, to die, to find you in a place where there was no pain. I felt like I had been hung upside down and duct-taped in a cocoon. Isolated, lost, abandoned, and fearful. For years, I struggled to understand how my life could have led me here.

One day, while writing out my prayers—or in reality, I should say my anguish—I cried out to God, saying, "I didn't ask for Wes to die or to lose everything in my divorce!" It was a quick response, the words flung through me, "But, did you die?" Stunned, I shook myself and began to write. No, on the contrary, I found out that you, God, are Infinite, and if I only had you and nothing else, I would be okay. I found a genuine place to live, where my money, my house, or my car did not define who I was. I had a vision that was leading me to hope for a future. I started to engage again in life and anticipate a future. Just as a butterfly emerges from the cocoon, I too emerged.

It was like waking up after all these years, after so much emotional turmoil I was experiencing a shift of perspective, clarity as to what was most important ready to embrace life, embrace our children, only to find that we didn't heal together. I felt like the wrong parent had died. It felt like they had resurrected walls around their hearts to not feel that pain again and to protect themselves emotionally. And most recently, I have come to feel like I abandoned them in my own pain.

In the writing of this, I am struck with the realization that my understanding of this complex mix of emotions—grief, regret, guilt, and the desire for healing and connection within the family—reflects my journey towards acceptance, understanding, and reconciliation in the face of such a significant loss of you.

Just recently, I started attending a church that began in the building of the first church I went to when I moved to the Northshore, without you. As I stood there, surrounded by familiar walls, I found myself singing those words displayed on the big screen.

was

Oh, Your mercy never fails me

All my days, I've been held in Your hands

From the moment that I wake up

Until I lay my head

Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God

And all my life You have been faithful

And all my life You have been so, so good

With every breath that I am able

Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God

I love Your voice

You have led me through the fire

And in darkest night You are close like no other

I've known You as a Father

I've known You as a Friend

And I have lived in the goodness of God, yeah

And all my life You have been faithful, oh

And all my life You have been so, so good

With every breath that I am able

Oh, I will sing of the goodness of God, yeah

'Cause Your goodness is running after, it's running after me

Your goodness is running after, it's running after me

With my life laid down, I'm surrendered now

I give You everything

'Cause Your goodness is running after, it's running after me, oh-oh

'Cause Your goodness is running after, it's running after me

Your goodness is running after, it's running after me

With my life laid down, I'm surrendered now

I give You everything

'Cause Your goodness is running after, it keeps running after me

And all my life You have been faithful

And all my life You have been so, so good

With every breath that I am able

Oh, I'm gonna sing of the goodness of God

I'm gonna sing, I'm gonna sing

Oh, 'cause

'Cause all my life You have been faithful

And all my life You have been so, so good

With every breath that I am able

Oh, I'm gonna sing of the goodness of God

Oh, I'm gonna sing of the goodness of God

We love You for that

One for all my days

"Is He? Is God good?" These questions raced through my mind, triggering a flood of memories as I stood in this familiar spot with my two baby girls. It was here that I had once moved across the lake, embarking on a new life without you. Reflecting on the journey we had taken together, from the restoration of our marriage to the growth of our love alongside our children and grandchildren, I couldn't help but ponder the goodness of God.

We had pursued your dreams together, witnessing each one come to fruition. But then you were gone, and time relentlessly marched forward, eventually guiding me to the man standing beside me in this service. Amidst the overwhelming emotions and tears welling in my eyes, I found solace in the realization that my entire life had been steeped in prayer.

Through the highs and lows, I had never wavered in my faith in God's plan for me. The memories of standing in this very building served as a  reminder of the unwavering presence of divine guidance in my life. In that moment, as I stood surrounded by love and blessings, I knew with certainty that I was exactly where I was meant to be. Yes, throughout my life, God has undeniably been good to me.

Today marks 20 years. As I wake up beside my husband, I see the concern in his eyes as he watches tears stream down my face while my fingers race across my keyboard.  I have found joy and peace again. I am settling into a warm and comfortable place with some of our children and grandchildren. I am confident that healing is taking place in all of our family.

Our family, which has grown from our four children to 16 grandchildren and one great-grandson, share our faith. I am confident that this shared faith in God will continue to bring us together and ultimately unite us in heaven one day.

As I reflect on the journey we have traveled together,  both in life and death. I am grateful for the love and blessings that have surrounded us. I feel a renewed sense of hope for the future. Today, I am reminded that even in the midst of trials and tribulations, God's presence remains steadfast, guiding us towards healing, unity, and everlasting peace.

Legacy of a Name

As I sat at my mom's grave, surrounded by the quiet serenity of the cemetery, my gaze fell upon the inscription on her headstone. Her last name, etched in stone for eternity, caught my attention, as a thought crossed my mind. Did she ever imagine that she would end up with her ex-husband's name forever written on her final resting place?

Lost in contemplation, I pondered the significance of names and the stories they carry. I couldn't help but think about my own last names - the ones that define me, the ones that are so hard to write, and wondered what would be engraved on my headstone one day.

My thoughts shifted back to my mom. I ran through all her names; her birth name, common for America, but when pronounced with the Swedish dialect, sounded so beautiful. My dad’s name, Ripley (believe it or not). And now etched on this stone before me  the 11-letter Italian name of my step father. There were her first and middle names as well, although she hated her first name and went by her middle. I sat there and thought, I only knew her as Mom.  I realized that beyond any name or title, the most important identity I hold is that of a mother.

Reflecting on the countless times I've tried to explain my choices and actions to my children, I understood that what truly matters is how they remember me. Regardless of the names I've carried, the paths I've taken, or the changes I've embraced, all I want is for them to know me simply as Mom.

In the end, it's not the names we bear or the titles we hold that define us. It's the love we give, the memories we create, and the roles we play in the lives of those we care about. And as I sat there, surrounded by memories and the quiet presence of my mom, I found solace in the simple yet profound legacy of knowing her and being known as Mom.

Blind with Different Views

By: Susan Murphy

My friend has a beautiful backyard with a lovely swing. Sometimes I go sit with him while my dogs enjoy the freedom and exploration his place offers. I too love it, especially the bird watching. I found myself describing to George all that I see: "There is a bluebird with feathers as blue as the sky landing on the lamppost," or "Wow, there are so many cardinals dashing through the yard with their vibrant red feathers" I am careful to describe the scene to him because my friend is blind.

We had a friend between us who passed away. It is the love of our friend that is forming our new friendship. I enjoy spending those easy mornings talking with him about everything. Yesterday, we were talking about politics, particularly how disagreements over politics can divide relationships. We found ourselves in this conversation because recently I dared to share my thoughts on a political issue with a friend, only to be met with a wave of condescension and disrespect. As I spoke, trying to articulate my perspective, their tone turned dismissive and belittling, as if my words held no weight or merit.

With each sentence I uttered, they responded with a sneer and a mocking tone, making me feel as though my opinion was not just different but downright foolish. Their words cut through me like knives, leaving me feeling small and inadequate for daring to express a viewpoint that diverged from their own.

Instead of engaging in a meaningful discussion or trying to understand where I was coming from, they resorted to personal attacks and derisive comments, as if my thoughts were not worthy of consideration. I felt invalidated and marginalized, as if my voice didn't matter in the conversation, and that my intelligence was being called into question simply for holding a different perspective.

The experience left me frustrated and hurt, eroding my confidence and leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. It made me realize how toxic and divisive political discourse can be, and how important it is to approach differing opinions with respect and empathy, even when we strongly disagree.

George  listened to my frustration then told me that there was another blind guy in the neighborhood. I said, "Two blind guys? Are there two blind mice too?" We laughed as he continued with his thought. He and his friend had totally different political views. Because they did not see it the same way, they came up with a "safe" word “Noodles”. The word would help identify that their friendship, the bond they shared, was more important than convincing the other of their viewpoint. Their safe word reminds them that they choose to engage in respectful and empathetic dialogue, to seek common ground, and prioritize the bonds of their  friendship and connection over political differences.I pondered that these two blind men had two different views, but could see clearly what so many could not see.

The Empty Chair

By Susan Murphy

I sat straight up in bed, my mind calculating the time as my mouth clearly spoke this prayer. “Lord, please give Wesley a day pass so he can watch his baby girl graduate,” and with that, we were off! Everything that could go wrong seemed to. Perhaps, I hadn’t allowed enough time for traffic, parking, and navigating the stadium. Obviously, the families that were filling in the saved seats had prepared a little in advance. We finally found a spot, and I sat down. My eyes scanned through the rows of graduates to spot my daughter. Amazingly, our eyes met, and I waved like crazy.

My friend continued to look for a closer seat because he knew how important it was for me to see her, to see the smile on her face and witness firsthand this milestone with her. We’ve been through a lot. The rebellious teenage stuff seemed mild now in the light of the sudden death of her dad. Her dad and I had hoped she would take one of the high roads offered, and now after he passed, she was stepping into the woman we always knew she could be. My friend found me a seat a little closer, and once again, I found the eyes of my daughter and waved wildly. Unfortunately, an elderly woman needed a seat, so I gave mine up. I quickly found a step and perched like a bird scanning prey to find those blonde curls. I waited, I prayed that she would turn her head, and once more with all the excitement I had in me, I made my presence known.

I was feeling now as if we were playing a game of "Where is Waldo?" A game I knew would continue as I was being asked to leave the step because of fire safety. As I looked around for my next move, I saw my friend motioning me down to a seat right in front of the row where my daughter was seated, overlooking all the graduates. I saw her classmate whisper, and the quick jerk of her head towards me revealed her words: “Isn’t that your mom?” Our faces locked as we both smiled. I would see her receive her diploma. My game of musical chairs was over. I could relax as I settled into my seat. I heard a gentle whisper, I’ve come to know as the Spirit of God’s voice say, “Look next to you,” and there it was—an empty chair 🪑. As my daughter's name filled the auditorium, tears filled my eyes as I knew a daddy in heaven got a day pass to see his baby girl graduate.