Grandmothers

I've spent dozens of nights in the Embassy Suites in Laredo and every time I'm here I wonder it it will be the last time I get to see my grandmother. Tomorrow she turns 94 years old. Her birthday has become somewhat of an international holiday. When she turned 90 there was a celebration in Mexico. Her 91st and 92nd birthdays were more low key, a backyard fiesta in Laredo. Her 93rd we were back down in Oaxaca. Her birthday coincides with Dia de los Muertos so it's always a fun time to go to Mexico. This year it was another back yard party complete with a piñata and pineapple upside down cake. I wouldn't miss this celebration for anything and whether or not my priorities are straight, I don't even care.

Actually, I have 2 grandmothers in Laredo. The other grandmother just turned a youthful 88 years old. She is mobile and seems to be closer to 70 years old than 90 years old. She just moved into her own 4 bedroom house, drives and reads voraciously. Whenever I get an opportunity to come to Laredo, despite the 6 hour drive, I hop in my car and go. My kids love coming here too. And they love the familiarity of the Embassy Suites and Abuelita Fina's backyard and Nana's irritable chihuahua and the routine of visiting; half the day at Nana's and half the day at Abuelita Fina's.

My daughter chose to stay in Houston with her dad so she could go trick or treating and I don't begrudge her that decision. In her 10 year old mind the benefits of limitless candy outweighed the benefits of a day off of school to travel.

Fina, my 94 year old grandmother, is pleasantly demented but still quick witted and sharp tongued. She vacillates between wondering when her deceased husband will return from work to delivering a razor sharp retort in a battle of the wits. My 71 year old uncle, her oldest son, teases her mercilessly and she loves it. The night we arrived we went to visit her and she was admiring my overly priced Louis Vuitton bag, caressing and coveting it. My uncle, in Spanish (she is wittiest in her native language and I can finally understand the back and forth), tells her that he will sell her my bag for $7 to which she responds she will only pay $5. They haggle over the price for a while and then when she begins to look at the contents of my bag my uncle scolds her and tells her not to be so nosy as his mistress' panties may be inside. I, however, draw a line at my Louis Vuitton bag. No matter how much I love and adore my Abuelita, she will never get my bag! I have real reason to be concerned as she is a bit of a hoarder and a thief. My 2 year old niece loves cell phones and the other night she cried when she had to return my son's cell phone to him, "Me pona!" This is my 94 year old grandmother as she is hiding my cousin's iPhone inside a jewelry box she just received and she becomes equally irate when my aunt, her youngest daughter, tries to take it away from her. To pacify her, I hand her my iPhone which she deftly squirrels away in the small jewelry box.

Magda, my 88 year old grandmother has no memory problems and hasn't regressed into a toddler. She is knowledgable in all areas and she can talk to you about politics and current events and she always has a new book to recommend. She married at age 15 and had her first child at age 16 and like my other grandmother, she has sacrificed. She has no bitterness or regret or anger, only calm wisdom. In talking to her, it becomes apparant that in the generation preceding mine and amongst your family, a tremendous sense of duty and obligation was cultivated. There was never room for individual rights and preferences. You did and still do what is right and best for the family, collectively. Brothers and sisters don't leave each other out to dry and they don't squabble over fairness. Personal rights take a back seat to family loyalty and honor and as I listen to her I am overcome with emotion. How can so much change in one generation? Suddenly my mother and her demands and her siblings and their acts of selflessness make more sense. This is how she and they were raised. You don't question your elders and you are your brother's keeper.

Some days I get frustrated with my own mother and her seeming demands on my time and my attention but in her generation's mind, this is what they are owed. They sowed their seeds and now they want to reap the harvest. We don't live in a world of honoring your elders above all else. We have our schedules and our activities and these win our attention time and time again and now I wonder what we are loosing in the process. This is why I love Laredo and my Abuelita and my Nana and my Tias and Tios. This place and these people anchor me.

A Day in the Life of an ER visit

I wish I was in a better mood, a joke telling mood. Normally I think I'm pretty funny. I can find humor in most situations. Right now I'm sitting in and ER with my middle kid. I don't think he is sick enough to justify a visit to the ER, but I couldn't take the moaning any more. It was more about my own self preservation than his illness. I know he's dehydrated and he won't drink so we're cheating and getting IV fluids. Because the resident found out my husband and I are teaching faculty my kid is getting the blood work they wouldn't normally get. I don't think it's necessary and they don't either but lots of times what dictates our actions in medicine is not what we think it is, but what we think it isn't. This is mostly so no one can turn around and claim we missed something. No one wants to miss a diagnosis on an attending's kid. Honestly, the moaning stopped as soon as we walked into the ER. "I'm in the hospital. I don't want to seem like I'm sick." he says. Really, we are in the emergency room. This is exactly the location you should be in if you're sick. Better to moan here than at home. Regardless, here we sit awaiting our thousand dollar work up to tell us what we already know; he has a viral infection and he's dehydrated. I do find solace in the other 80% of the families here who also have no business being in an emergency room. But it's probably worse that I'm a doctor. I should know better. I should be in an urgent care center and I thought this children's hospital had one, but they don't. So, I tried.

There weren't too many people here when we first arrived but they put us in a room with another family. It was a large family both in quality and quantity. Their noise level was out of proportion to the number present and it didn't help with the headache. My kid turned to me and said, "I hate them. I think they brought an entire continent with them." So I went and asked if they had a private room like I'm at the Ritz-Carlton or something. They obliged but I'm sure some snarky comments were made at my expense.

I told my kid that the triage medical tech had won the Miss Congeniality contest 3 years in a row. Normally people who work in a children's hospital are obnoxiously chipper but I get it; sick kids need distraction and ridiculously happy is distracting. This lady had the personality of the bottom of my shoe. I listened to the tech across the hall with envy. She was jokey and personable. Our lady seemed like she had suffered the effects of too much ECT. After triage where they took his vitals, they ushered us to some hard, plastic chairs where we sat till they called us to registration. "Would you like to pay your $100 co-pay?" I was asked. My own private thought bubble popped up and silently I said to myself, "No. Not really, but do I have a choice? It's either now or later." Then I handed over my already maxed out credit card.

After registration we sat in the lobby for a nanosecond. Just long enough for my kid to lie down and get comfortable and then get his name called again. At this point we were no longer audibly moaning in pain, but every little movement elicited grimaces (on the ride over he asked me to stop going over bumps b/c even riding in the car hurt. Since we live below sea level I could not accommodate his request). In the lobby I see lots of other kids who are playing on iPads and running around and looking too good to be here. Now we are just waiting, finally in our own, private, "suite" after completing the psychotic, virtual dot-to-dot ER process.

My other 2 kids have been left at home. This is okay with them because it means they can watch television for 8 hours straight with no one telling them to go do something productive. My daughter can watch YouTube video after YouTube video of teenaged girls singing the covers of sappy, Taylor Swift-esq love ballads and looking up decorating ideas for her room (because I am a sub-optimal designer in her eyes). And my oldest can play video games on his phone until his thumbs bleed. I've only gotten 2 phone calls from them and there was no panic on their end though they did express some concern regarding their brother's condition. "Overall his prognosis is good" I tell my daughter. "What does that mean?" she asks. "That he's gonna make it." Her response..."meh".

The sick kid is in heaven because he gets to watch Sponge Bob without having to compromise about the TV and he has a team of women waiting on him. I'm fighting off the final act of desperation...walking over to the McDonalds inside the hospital and getting him some curative french fries and myself a medium sized value meal...there is only so much Sponge Bob a grown woman can handle.

Well the resident is in here now and she's looking up his results (all normal) so I'd better go and act interested...

Holes

I'm a hot mess right now. I can't control life circumstances so I'm doing the next best thing....trying to impose order into my surroundings. I have been attacking kids' rooms and closets like an vicious Mary Poppins. There is something about ridding your life of plastic and wire hangers that is cleansing to the soul. There are mountains of unwanted clothes, books and toys in every direction. You know how when you dig a hole at the beach and it fills up with water and the walls collapse so you just keep digging but really you are getting no where? That's what I feel like right now. If I could just have everything in my house exactly the way it should be, then maybe the things in my life that I can't control would pop back into place? The only problem is my hole keeps filling back up again.

I've returned to praying every morning because even though prayer won't immediately change my circumstance, it's a good way to start the day; a reminder that I'm not in control and that is ok. And a reminder that there is one that I can trust even if I don't feel that reassurance. He is there.

I read the following this morning in Streams in the Desert:

"Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak.(Genesis 32:24)

In this passage, God is wrestling with Jacob more than Jacob is wrestling with God. The "man" referred to here is the Son of Man—the Angel of the Covenant. It was God in human form, pressing down on Jacob to press his old life from him. And by daybreak God had prevailed, for Jacob's "hip was wrenched" (v. 25). As Jacob "fell" from his old life, he fell into the arms of God, clinging to Him but also wrestling until his blessing came. His blessing was that of a new life, so he rose from the earthly to the heavenly, the human to the divine, and the natural to the supernatural. From that morning forward, he was a weak and broken man from a human perspective, but God was there. And the Lord's heavenly voice proclaimed, "Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with men and have overcome" (v. 28).

Beloved, this should be a typical scene in the life of everyone who has been transformed. If God has called us to His highest and best, each of us will have a time of crisis, when all our resources will fail and when we face either ruin or something better than we have ever dreamed. But before we can receive the blessing, we must rely on God's infinite help. We must be willing to let go, surrendering completely to Him, and cease from our own wisdom, strength, and righteousness. We must be "crucified with Christ" (Gal 2:20) and yet alive in Him. God knows how to lead us to the point of crisis, and He knows how to lead us through it.

Is God leading you in this way? Is this the meaning of your mysterious trial, your difficult circumstances, your impossible situation, or that trying place you cannot seem to move past without Him? But do you have enough of Him to win the victory?

Then turn to Jacob's God! Throw yourself helplessly at His feet. Die in His loving arms to your own strength and wisdom, and rise like Jacob into His strength and sufficiency. There is no way out of your difficult and narrow situation except at the top. You must win deliverance by rising higher, coming into a new experience with God. And may it bring you into all that is meant by the revelation of "the Mighty One of Jacob" (Isa 60:16)! There is no way out but God.

At Your feet I fall,
Yield You up my ALL,
TO SUFFER, LIVE, OR DIE
For my Lord crucified."

I'm trying God.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

My Cousin

Major Depressive Disorder. Bipolar Disorders. Autism Spectrum Disorder. Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. Schizophrenia. Anxiety Disorders. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Anorexia Nervosa. Bulemia Nervosa. All of these labels come with a diagnostic code and they are all defined in the DSM V, The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders; the book that is the mental health professional's bible.

Yesterday, along with an intern, I treated a woman who clearly met the diagnostic criteria for MDD (major depressive disorder). She was adamant that she would not go to see either a psychiatrist or any other mental health provider. No amount of coaxing was going to convince her that she might benefit from talking to a trained, objective 3rd party. We finally compromised and agreed to start medication and she would return in 2 weeks to evaluate the effects of the medication and at that time we'd discuss therapy some more.

I'm going to out myself here. I've had the same mental health provider for almost 20 years. At times we've seen each other more frequently than other times; during and after pregnancies, major home renovations and treatment for breast cancer we saw a lot of each other. Now, I talk to her monthly whether I "need" it or not. I've decided that mental health maintenance is important for me and my family and the annual cost far outweighs any future cost from not going. Am I crazy? Aren't we all a little bit? I'll tell you one thing, after 20+ years of therapy I'm far less crazy than I might have been without it. Throughout the course of our relationship, this woman, who is an angel from God himself and like a second mother to me, has never told me what to think or given me the answers but she has listened and in listening she's helped me analyze situations and relationships clearly.

I first sought out help from mental health providers in medical school when I was clinically depressed. I had all of the symptoms, sleeplessness, anhedonia, decreased appetite, depressed mood, feelings of guilt and worthlessness. The scariest part was the suicidal thoughts that I was having. I never actually attempted suicide, but I had come up with several scenarios. You see, at this time, the pain was unbearable. There was no rationale explanation for my depression. I knew that my family would suffer but many times I thought this was the only way to escape the pain that I was feeling and to stop some of my destructive behaviors. I felt embarrassed about the way my brain was working, I felt defective and I didn't think anyone could help me. At that time I became friends with one of my clinical rotation partners and she was one person who couldn't see me through the same filter in which I was viewing myself. When you are depressed, the reflection you see is warped, like a funhouse mirror. Finally I mustered the courage to ask my primary care doctor for the name of a therapist. She gave me a list of names and I randomly picked a number and called.

Robin Williams' death is a tragedy. He was well loved and his legacy will endure through his family and his body of work. The conversation that needs to occur through all of this is that mental health disorders are real and they are treatable. No one chooses depression or autism or schizophrenia or bipolar just as no one chooses diabetes or cancer or asthma or heart disease. Mental health disorders are not a weakness or flaw in character. They are biologic disorders that need recognition and treatment. All this energy that we are spending remembering Robin Williams can be shifted towards education and ridding our society of any stigma that may be associated with mental health disorders. Would you judge someone for having leukemia? Would you tell your family member to avoid medications to treat their high blood pressure? Yes, we can honor Robin Williams but in doing so lets make mental health awareness a thing, a ribbon, a month...Suicide is a manifestation of an illness. People who commit suicide are sick in the same way someone with congestive heart failure is sick, it's just a different organ system. If you were feeling short of breath you'd call a doctor. If you had a fever that won't go away, you'd call a doctor. If you have sadness or mania or anxiety or any other brain based symptom and it won't go away, call a doctor! It's not shameful to have the symptoms or to make the call. What would be a shame is to let the symptoms go unrecognized or untreated. If you have a loved one and they have brain based symptoms, talk to them about it and don't judge. Identify the signs that you might be witnessing and encourage treatment. If your brother or sister or cousin or friend had a disfiguring rash that won't go away, you'd eventually bring it up and take them to the dermatologist or urgent care center or ER or make them seek treatment. Brain based symptoms can be just as disfiguring, altering the individual that you know.

My cousin committed suicide 13 years ago, August 8th 2001. I don't have any sisters so my step-sister and my female cousins are the next best thing. My cousin was 4 years younger than me, but we had spent many summers together and when I moved to Texas for medical school she was starting college and our worlds started colliding more and more. Austin and Houston are only 2 and a half hours apart so we'd see each other frequently and I was able to see her go through those late adolescent stages of individuation as she challenged traditional values and tried on different view points and ideas. In the summer of 1994 she and I both spent a lot of time together in Mexico in Oaxaca and Cancun. She and I were both dating boys that we liked and were in the same early stages of like in our respective relationships. I heard a lot about her future husband and she heard a lot about the boy that I dumped for my future husband. We were become adults at the same time. We were in the same cohort and we were thinking about careers and weddings and marriage and kids and mental health. She was bipolar and had a lot of anxiety and I had major depression. We both got it.

I'll never forget that day and that phone call. It is permanently etched in my mind. The days that followed seemed like I was floating through an alternate universe. The air was thick and I was moving through mud. She wasn't my sister or my daughter, but she was the next closest thing and most days I think about her and what life might have been like if she had traveled along a different trajectory. She left a giant hole in my life and in the life of so many others. It's a hole that can never be filled and at times is more gaping than others. Right now is one of those times. It's like a scab has been ripped right off and the wound is fresh again, except this time the scab covers the majority of the body. The wound feels deeper, more sensitive and the salt is raining down. Her younger and only sister, has been vocal about her anger at the romanticization of Robin Williams. It's not anger at the man but there is anger towards the action. Those of us who survive suicide have to relive the horrors and lasso the demons frequently and unexpectedly. This time it's different; it's in your face and it's everywhere. Every magazine, every radio DJ, every online article, every movie on TV....everywhere...it's all about remembering this individual. That is fine. I remember my cousin everyday in lots of little ways. It's vital to remember her and talk about her and tell stories about her. Last night when I was floating in my pool, looking up at the stars after I had exorcised and exercised out my hurt and pain and anger, I thought about heaven and I thought about who I was most excited to see and I know my cousin can't wait, in time, to see all of us. It will be the best encuentro ever.

We talk about everything in our family of five. Nothing is off limits. My kids know about my cousin and they know about suicide and death and all sorts of uncomfortable topics. They know that I talk to my psychiatrist, my second mom, once a month. All the news and media coverage has brought up lots of conversations. I'm grateful for sunglasses and exercise and God and my Bible and the ability to write down my thoughts. This is not an easy time and it will get easier. In the mean time I'll honor my cousin and all others by knowing its okay to address mental health and brain based symptoms. There is no reason to fear the conversations or the acknowledgement. Talk to someone. Talk about it.

American Foundation for Suicide Prevention

www.afsp.org

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org


National Alliance on Mental Illness

www.nami.org

Gypsies

I’m sitting on the floor of our rented condo. I’ve been awake since 5 am and we’re packed into this place like sardines in a can. There are sleeping bodies everywhere; 3 sweaty teenaged boys lie about 15 feet away on make shift beds because when you are 13 years old you can be made to sleep on a couch or a floor or an air mattress and be told to be happy about it. Upstairs, grandmothers are huddled with giggly, gangly granddaughters and great-nieces. In the room across the hall are the uncle and aunt splayed-out across 2, now obsolete, full sized mattresses with a helicoptering baby between them. My husband is knocked out in the master bedroom unconcerned about my sleeplessness and grateful that he has weathered another event with my family.

Doesn’t it seem like every time we conclude another _____ (birthday, holiday, vacation, dinner....) with family it’s as if we survived another round in the ring. We walk away winded, hands on our hips, swaying to and fro, slightly bloodied, knuckles bruised, faces swollen but victorious because this time, yet again, we didn’t get knocked down. And after a couple of months, once the post-pugilism amnesia has fully taken affect, after discussing with our agents, we sign up for another spot in the ring. Because in the end, we don’t remember if we win or lose, but we do remember that left hook to the temple or the upper cut to the jaw or the time we got back up off the mat. That’s what it is like with family, there might be that time when Great Aunt Gladys kept calling your wife the wrong name (your ex-wife’s name), or Little Johnny broke your great-grandmother’s heirloom vase (the urn in which you kept her ashes), or your cousin Bob drank too much and kept slurring his words (and you had to walk him back to his room and put him to bed), but you file that stuff away as family history.

Sure, family is genealogy-the whole big tree with all the limbs and branches and leaves and the trunk and the roots-but it is more than this. It’s shared experiences and collective history, both good and bad. It’s the reason God gave us families. We don’t get to pick them, we’re stuck with who we got and if you ever need a kidney, they are the people you are going to first (and not because they are feeling generous, but because you share DNA and they are the only match).

This is a long and winding road that we walk along, some of us with the good fortune of a longer journey. You pick up friends along the way and a few stay with you for the distance but most are only there for a short segment until their path takes them a different way. Per the wise, pot-smoking, guitar-picking, country music singing lyricist, Willie Nelson, we are a band of gypsies rolling down the highway. And while, at times, we might walk away and grumble, I am grateful that I am your pain-in-the-ass and you are mine. I am grateful that I wake up each day and that I have 2 legs that can take me places, 2 lungs that can fill with air without assistance or difficulty, the finances by which to stay in this over-stuffed condominium, family who will tolerate each other long enough to co-habitate together, an employer who allows me vacation time and a country that provides the liberties of free will and commerce and recreation and self expression.

Mostly, I am grateful for MY band of gypsies; all of you, our similarities AND or differences. I am grateful for my Abuelita and my Abuelito,and despite all of their short-comings, the two things they seemed to get right and pass on to my mom and my aunts and uncles, the things that matter most...the 2 commandments that Jesus said were the most important; 1) Love God your father and 2) love each other. Faith and fidelity. Remember this and give thanks. Life is a gift; choose gratitude.

Instructions Not Included

Sometimes parenthood is hard. Understatement, right? This is the drive a knife in your heart, keep you up at night kind of stuff. The shit that drives your spouse crazy because you won't relent and he drives you crazy because he can't see things through your set of lenses. It doesn't really matter what the issue is. Pick any issue; why isn't my kid talking, why isn't my kid reading, why can't my kid hit the ball, why is my kid overweight, why doesn't my kid have friends, why didn't my kid get invited, why didn't my kid get into that school, why did that person break my kid's heart, why didn't they get into medical school, why can't they find a mate, why can't they get pregnant....The anxiety can be overwhelming. There is a natural ebb and flow with parenthood. Times when it's smooth sailing, everyone is happy and healthy and we are all living the American Dream. The trick is to maintain sanity in the valleys. Learning to take deep breaths, trust and have faith.

I'm sure if you looked at a scatter plot of my life and years lived were on the X-axis and prayers uttered were on the Y-axis, you'd see points clustered randomly over time. But if you superimposed a timeline of life's events you'd see that the clusters correlate perfectly with the most stressful moments of life. I wonder if God gets sick of us and the 911 prayers. Does He feel used?

No one wants their kid to face adversity of any kind. It doesn't matter the adversity...the mean teacher, the bad coach, the bullies at school, acne, stuttering, illness...we all want to shield our babies. And no matter the age, they are always our babies.

What I continually have to wrap my mind around is the fact that they are simply on loan to us. They've been entrusted into our care for such a short period of time. And if they don't learn how to handle difficult or uncomfortable or adverse situations while they live with us, it will be so much more painful when they are not with us (and the stakes will be so much higher). Also, the big reveal here is that as much as I love my kid, there is a God in heaven who loves them even more. And that God didn't just put our kid on this planet for the pleasure and enjoyment of his/her parents. That same God in heaven has a purpose and plan for your kid that extend beyond the 18 years they live under your roof. If you kid is fortunate enough to live out their existence that is listed in actuarial table, 18 years is a fraction of their life. So, every time my stomach is in knots and I can't sleep, I hand the kid over one more time. I unclench my hands and say here you go God. He/she is yours. You dry their tears, heal their broken heart, calm their fears and you teach them how to be joyful in spite of their circumstance. And dear, precious, merciful God, show me, guide me, walk the steps for me. I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO DO THIS. I repeat. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE F*CK I AM DOING!

And I pray and realize how small I really am. But that is okay. Because just like Horton could hear the Hoo, God can hear me and he can hear my kid. He's not a magical genie, but he is present and that's all that matters.

Breathe in and breathe out.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Bean Bags

It's been awhile since I've written. This past school year I've been busier than necessary. It hasn't been good for anyone. My family suffered, my job suffered and my friendships suffered. I've always learned things the hard way. If someone tells me no then I am going to prove them wrong. Sometimes this quality is advantageous but when you bite off more than you can chew it is not.

It's interesting who is willing to forgive you/give you some latitude. Husband-check (he's a saint). Kids-check, check. Family-check, check, check. Job-check (still functioning at a high enough level that it's only obvious to myself. Not coming to work drunk or anything). House-check minus (but there are other extenuating factors that I will describe later). Friends-mostly check, check, check, check (last time I looked they were all equally as busy and tapped out to even notice me).

Being too busy can be an addiction; a false idol; a sickness. I fully admit that I suffer from it. There is a certain feeling of satisfaction when you can keep multiple balls in the air, even if it is detrimental to others (watch out below for falling plates, bowling pins, balls, etc). Sometimes you forget to pick up a kid from school, sometimes you forget who has practice where, sometimes you don't cook dinner, sometimes the dishes sit in the sink for 2 days, sometimes the dogs don't get walked. But, damn straight, you can balance on a tightrope while peddling on a unicycle and balancing a puppy doing a handstand on your nose and juggling flaming torches at the same time. "See, God, I am worthy! I can do many things at once even if I am doing most of them at 50% effort. Love me. Need someone to balance the federal deficit. I got it. Need someone to reduce carbon emissions. Got it. Need someone to find a cure for halitosis. Got it. Why don't you just come to me, God, for all of your needs. I got 'em covered." It's exhausting.

My kids just got their report cards and all 3 did well, As and Bs, but mostly As. My report card, B- at worst, B+ at best.

There is this intangible thing called grace. Not the kind of grace that you say before meals and not the kind of grace that trained ballerinas have, but grace that is all about forgiveness and mercy and unconditional love. In my belief system (I am a Christian, Presbyterian, but Jesus is my homie), grace is something not earned, but freely given. Some days and periods of time I need it in abundance and other times I just need a trickle. Right now I am feeling like I need a Niagara Falls worth of grace. My mom used to torture my brother and I in our Southern Baptist upbringing and we'd have to get up and read the Bible and pray before school and we'd have to memorize Bible verses. Looking back, it's like anything your parents forced you to do; you can see the utility in it as an adult. So, one of my favorites is 2 Corinthians 12:9 which goes something like this “My grace is all you need". There is more surrounding it, but that is the essence. Grace is sufficient.

I think, at least for the next little while, I am going to curl up into a giant, overstuffed bean-bag full of grace and hunker down there for awhile and maybe learn a thing or two while I'm trying to be still and not wiggle. At the end of the day, no one really cares about the laundry list of things you have accomplished (unless you are uber-rich and leave a lot of money behind. Then they might care b/c it gives your money more credibility. It's not just, hey here is some anonymous hermit who saved his money his whole life and bequeathed the city a library. It's the founder of Wowie Social Media site and electronic wizardry who left his fortune to the city. I'm not that uber-rich person. I'm just messy me). What matters, I think, is the way you have lived your life. That's what I want. To have lived my life well. I just need to slow down and circle my wagons and remember what really matters. Let's hope I don't get distracted by the next shiny object and can really put myself on a slower speed.

Peace out.