Veterans Day After Day

I was called out today for not posting on Facebook a sentiment of gratitude for the veterans of US armed forces. As if my posting a sentence proclaiming some thank you to soldiers is what Veterans Day is about. At the risk of offending many, I say that’s not at all what Veteran’s Day is about.

First, against popular opinion, I do not believe my freedoms are protected by a nation at arms with another. I would venture to guess that not since the Civil War has our country’s armed forces fought to protect our freedoms, but rather to promote democracy or protect another country’s chance at freedom, or to help liberate or protect a group of people in a foreign land.

Our freedoms are outlined in the founding documents of this country and the only way they will be diminished is by electing people who would act to destroy those principles. We have one of the most powerful, if not the most powerful, military forces in the world. And last I checked, no country since World War II has attempted an invasion or takeover of our land.

Sure, we’ve been bombed. We’ve been terrorized. But are those attempts to occupy the United States, or rather actions to prove political points or instill fear in a nation or act out some deluded sense of retribution?

On Veterans Day, I take time to reflect on the best way to honor our veterans – people like my uncles, my father, friends. Some who voluntarily joined the armed forces and some who were drafted against their will. And some who were drafted and chose to make a career of that service.

I admire and honor those who have served in our armed forces. It is a job I could not do. But the best honor to these individuals is served by being vocal when their lives are being risked. It is questioning those in power and their decisions to send troops into combat. The best support for our troops is to make sure that the battles they are fighting are for the right reasons, are truly worth the ultimate sacrifice some give, and are well-supplied. We shouldn’t have to send phone cards to troops – communication with their families should be a given. We shouldn’t have to send our troops anything but love, prayers and the occasional gift from home.

It is our duty as citizens of this country to ensure that policies are not made that are to the detriment of those individuals fighting in combat. That they receive all benefits due to them. That when they come home from combat, they have choices that do not leave them homeless and without medical care. That they are given proper medical care for both physical and mental scars from their service. That their families are afforded proper housing and support while soldiers are away.

Yes, Veterans Day is a day to be grateful for the service these men and women offer their country. But it is a day to remember that it is about more than one day of gratitude and one day of parades. Our veterans need not be forgotten the other 364 days of the year and they need not be abandoned by shrinking VA hospitals, diminishing benefits and budget cuts that could put their lives in danger. It is about remembering all year that we have men and women fighting an invisible enemy, an enemy that will not be defeated on any desert battlefield, and whose primary weapon is not a suicide bomb but rather the fear that follows such attacks. Are we fighting political wars on the battlefield? Are we putting lives at risk for just reasons?

So while I might not have posted a thank you to the veterans today, that does not mean that a bleeding-heart, peace-loving left winger like myself doesn’t consider the sacrifice our veterans have made and our active duty military personnel continue to make day in and day out. I just choose to voice my support for them on Election Day by electing people who will support them with more than speeches and rhetoric, and who will truly honor their service to our country. That is how I say thank you to our veterans.

Putting the Me in Team

It is probably no secret to those who know me well that I am not exactly what you’d describe as a gung-ho team player. Granted, I’m not one of those people out to sabotage the work of the team, I’m just usually not one of those people jumping into the rah-rah team effort on anything.

This is not new. In childhood, I gave team sports a good run. I tried softball, volleyball, basketball (do not laugh at the hoop dreams of a 5-foot-2 middle schooler). But I never fit in.

I joined civic clubs (we talked about things, so it was sorta social), but never went far beyond what my individual contribution or take-away was.

In college, I rushed the sororities, only again to find out I don’t fit in with that team either.

We all know my stories of dating in the adult world – again, not exactly a team player there either it would seem. Although, to my credit, potential teammates did leave a bit to be desired – see note 26 Reasons if you doubt me on this.

Eventually I gave up and admitted, I’m not a team player. I never learned how to fit in as part of a team on anything. I’m a lone-sport kinda gal, be it sport, work, play. Maybe it comes from being an only child and learning to spend so much quality time with my quality self. Maybe it comes from a lack of trust in my fellow people, which sadly, is more often the rule than the exception.

Maybe it comes from my inability to commit to anything when it involves other people. After all, I am the girl who can’t even commit to writing anything in ink – prefer pencil. It can be erased. (And yes, I’m aware that my preservation minded friends will be quick to point out that pencil often outlasts ink on paper…..what of it?)

A nonrefundable down payment is my nemesis.

So all of this said, it is not hard to imagine, that I’m not usually the eager, go team go gal. But this weekend, I was reminded that sometimes, a little help and a little teamwork can lead to great things and perhaps it’s time to reconsider this whole team concept.

On Sunday, a committee of dedicated volunteers and one overachieving American Cancer Society employee pulled off an amazing event that we began planning just two short months ago. But Sunday, it all came together relatively smoothly. Each member of the team had a job to do and each member of the team did that job. In the end, those efforts provided a near glitch-free day of fun for nearly 80 dogs and their associated humans. And it raised a good chunk of change for the ACS.

It isn’t hard to fathom that I’m usually an idea person. I like to have the big ideas. Big dreams. It’s my inner consultant. The people who swoop in, tell you how it should be done, what needs to be done and then leave you to do it. I’m one of those people. I have fantastic ideas. Great ideas. Delusions of grandeur. I’m NOT the person who usually makes them happen though.

And I still wouldn’t be had it not been for the work of one amazing team. So while there is no I in team….I can definitely see a me in team.

Joy - signed, sealed and delivered

As silly as it to admit, one of the things I absolutely love about my birthday is the rush of going to my mailbox and finding a birthday card waiting for me. Most mail these days is all business, so getting the personal card or letter fills me with such delight. Two times of year I can almost guarantee that excitement is Christmas, and my birthday.

I received the first card this past weekend from a friend I don’t talk to nearly as often as I would like to. Yet, each year, she is always among the first people to send that birthday greeting, and opening and reading her note always leaves me with a smile.

Today, when I got home from work, I immediately checked the mailbox to find a card from a friend I met for only a short time, but has remained relatively steady contact in the 8 years since we first met. Honestly though, we haven’t been in touch in months, if not longer. I don’t even know if either of us got Christmas cards out this year, I just don’t remember.

But walking to the mailbox and seeing her name on the return side of the card filled me with such joy. It is part of what makes birthdays wonderful and amazing times of the year – those little gifts of life like a surprise card from an old friend, the simple gesture made by someone close, any number of small, otherwise mundane, events that remind you on your birthday how good you really have it.

I always evaluate my life around my birthday – step back and take a good hard look at where I am, where I want to be and where I’m heading. The past year has reminded I’m not exactly on the course I want to be on. Time to get a little new direction, find a little new inspiration.

Birthdays, like Christmas, are magical times of the year where anything is possible. Friends are always kind. A good and generous spirit fills the air. And happiness is no further than my mailbox. That’s a feeling worth trying to sustain for the next 12 months.

The monster beneath my bed

Everyone has one big fear. It could be spiders. Maybe snakes. Closed spaces. High places. But my big fear – saying it sorta out loud here – is dying in my house alone and no one noticing for weeks until the smell becomes so unbearable and my animals have been forced to resort to nibbling on my decaying corpse for their survival. Yes, I’ve thought about this image on more than one occasion.

I was reminded of this fear this weekend when mom shared a story about someone she knows who was found dead in his apartment. Friends and associates hadn’t heard from him in a while and had been trying to contact him. After a week or so of failed attempts, they called neighbors they knew who also hadn’t seen him. The neighbors noticed an overflowing mailbox and a door that wasn’t being answered. He was found inside dead.

Stories like this always break my heart, and remind me of my deepest darkest fears (other than being impaled on something). You want to take my deep dark fear to the next level…it’s dying a slow and agonizing death after being impaled on something inside my house. But I digress….

I wonder sometimes, as I’m in my house alone, night after night, what happens when my mother is no longer around to check on me every day? I know that today, the chance of my worst fear becoming reality is minimal because after a day or two without contact, mom would notice something’s wrong. If it took her that long. She’s very good like that.

She was also good to have around when I had my little health holiday recently. While I was waiting to go down to surgery, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation in the next room. The nurse was asking the gentleman in there – a fella younger than me it seemed – if he had someone with him. Turns out, one person dropped him off and someone was hopefully coming to pick him up later. Not at all like my mother picking me up that morning, waiting for me to come out of recovery and taking me home where she played nurse while I recovered that week.

It makes me feel blessed, and guilty and sad all at the same time. Sad that there are people out there so alone. Guilty that I sometimes feel alone when I it is obvious that I am not. Blessed that I have an abundance of wonderful people in my life. Blessed that I have good friends who fill my days with laughter and joy, and who are there to console when life isn’t all sugar and spice and everything nice. Blessed that as I prepare this week to celebrate another year of life, I have people eager to share the celebration with me.

Blessed in knowing that my worst fear is probably nothing more scary than the monster beneath the bed, because I know I am not walking this life alone. And I pray in my own way for those who are.

Beautiful Football Saturdays

Every college has its legends and lore. Tales of great events that happened at some time or another. Stories of people and places that came before that linger in the history of the school. Missouri is no different, and this weekend marks the 20th anniversary of a piece of football legend that I remember like it was yesterday.

Back in 1990, my freshman year of school, Missouri faced the University of Colorado in what has since been known as the Fifth Down Game. In the final moments of the game, officials failed to stop the play and allowed Colorado to score on a fifth down. That’s the extent of the football I can explain on it, I just know it cost us the game.

What strikes me now is that every year, I think about that game when Missouri is up against Colorado. It was all the talk that fall. I’m not that big of a football fan, but I will always cheer on my Mizzou, because that, too, is the tradition.

Ever since college, when fall rolls around, my memory drifts back to those clear blue skies and cool crisp air of a Missouri autumn. What we’d call a beautiful football Saturday. Game day rituals ensued.

I don’t remember when the hot wings tradition began for us, but I will forever associate hot wings with football, specifically Missouri football. Hot wings and beer. No matter what time kick-off was, we ate hot wings and drank beer (well not me, not a beer fan). And not just any hot wings, CJ’s BYFO wings. In bulk.

I don’t remember watching many games – I was far more interested in the crowd. I cheered with my Missouri boys, stood in awe on those super cold days when they’d strip of the shirts and stand in bare painted chests. So many memories associated with those beautiful football Saturdays – the time it was so cold we stopped in a medical school building on our walk back so my feet could warm up. The time when a friend from Baytown visited and proclaimed it to be the coldest he’d ever been sitting the stands at Memorial Stadium. Entire Saturday schedules that revolved around the game. So many pieces that became part of my personal history. Good memories with some of the best of friends who I cannot believe I’ve now known for 20 years.

An article in today’s Kansas City Star talked about the 20th anniversary of that Fifth Down Game, and how the current players, some of whom weren’t even born when that game was played, aren’t familiar with it. That’s when I realized, that just as it’s part of my history and lore, the time I spent at Missouri and the events of those years are part of the school’s legend and lore. The Fifth Down Game that shaped a fall season for us, and what probably lured me into Mizzou football, is a piece of the school history that just happened while I was there.

So while the actual anniversary means very little to me, the back story of that legendary game is part of Mizzou’s history, and a much more meaningful and cherished piece of my history, too.

Blessings from the storm

“Man never made any material as resilient as the human spirit.” ~Bern Williams

We’ve all heard the clichés about everything happening for a reason, or there’s a plan for you or it will all work out. While always said with the best intentions, they never do anything to calm the anxiety and worry associated with facing a disaster or otherwise troublesome time in your life. That was true two years ago as we waited to learn the fate of our island after Ike’s surge washed ashore.

At about this time two years ago, mom and I were trying to settle into a hotel in San Antonio with what seemed like hundreds of other refugees from Hurricane Ike’s path. We had no idea how long we’d need a hotel room, what had happened to our homes on the island and what we faced ahead. Those who know me know I have an innate ability to imagine the worst-case scenario for any given situation. And I’d run through all the worst-case scenarios while I waited for official word on the fate of my house. But honestly, no worst-case scenario I imagined prepared me for the days and weeks and year that followed that storm.

It tested my strength and my endurance more than any long-distance bike ride ever did. It tested my faith in myself and my neighbors more than anything had before. And it tested my ability to see beyond that moment, to see what might be, in a way that no other situation in life had.

Two years have passed since that storm, and finally, Ike doesn’t occupy so much of our conversations. I’ve been in my house a little more than a year and I’m finally feeling settled at home. Last year was all about getting past the previous 12 months—letting go of the anger and sadness, and letting go of the things I lost in the flood.

This year, I am finding peace in the many blessings brought to me because of that hurricane. I still do not buy into the notion that “everything happens for a reason.” Any reason you find is a reason we apply to make ourselves feel better about whatever is happening.

But I can say easily, there are changes in my life that would not have been if not for the storm, and for those changes, I am grateful. These are my blessings from the storm:

*My knitting gals. A group of women who were friends before the storm came to rely on each other after the hurricane. We gather almost weekly to laugh and sometimes cry together about the events in our lives. We support one another and have formed an unbreakable and tighter bond in the months following the storm. Had our lives not been interrupted by Ike, I’m not sure our relationship would have evolved the way it did and for that.

*Renewed sense of community. I worked on the Recovery Committee and have volunteered on projects in the community. I have witnessed a renewed sense of community in Galveston that reminds me why I love this island. We are a strong people, those who grew up and those like me who chose to call this sandbar home. Staying after the storm was a conscious choice for me and one I wouldn’t change if I had the chance. After Ike, I can without hesitation say I’m a Galvestonian.

*Closet space. Granted, I wouldn’t wish this kind of remodel on anyone, but from the storm I was able to add the bedroom closet and pantry my house so desperately needed. I don’t remember how I stored my dry goods in the kitchen before that wonderful pocket-door pantry Beau Rawlins helped design.

*Outside Kitty. She disappeared before I could get her to evacuate, and she took four months to show up after the storm. But like the rest of the island, she’s a survivor and she’s there to greet me most days.

*The things that survived. From art to small collectibles to the ring my father made for me, Ike managed to spare a handful of what was in my house. I no longer simply think my art looks pretty – it helps define my house as my home. I look around and am surrounded by art that matters to me and am grateful for the sense of place it gives me in the world.

My list can go on and on. Each day I am reminded of the changes brought forth from that event in my life and each day I am reminded I am as strong as I think I am.

Ike might have ravaged my house and my neighbors’ houses, but it didn’t ravage our spirit. We can all count the blessings in life a little better. As I learned when my father was sick, it can always be worse. And despite losing much of what I owned, I didn’t lose me, I didn’t lose those I loved and I still have the shell of a house to call home. And today, I am home and right where I need to be.

Desperately seeking nothing

The subject of online dating came up in conversation recently, and as most people know, I was a willing participant of the online dating world for a small stretch of time. But I learned, after MUCH trial and error, that what is sought through such activities can never really be found that way.

I know there are exceptions to every rule, and I know two. But to be honest, I don’t recall that either of the success stories I know actually met through online personals. It was more chance encounters, or introductions via an electronic medium. When I refer to online dating, I refer specifically to the practice of placing and responding to personal ads online. Sites such as eHarmony, Match.Com, OKCupid all promise to find you the love of your life. Despite canceling my accounts ages ago, my inbox is still flooded with reminders from Match.Com that Mr. Wonderful is waiting for me in Galveston – all I need to do is log on.

It makes me wonder, though. Is all this online dating really leading to happy, healthy relationships? Sure, 25 percent of couples met online. But are those 25 percent still happily together? And are they really each other’s soul mates?

I hate the phrase “my other half.” It always implies I’m missing a half. One of my favorite books has always been Shel Silverstein’s The Missing Piece Meets the Big O. If you’re not familiar with it, Google it and you can find an animated version to get the message across. The Missing Piece keeps searching and searching for the bigger piece from which it is missing. It goes through an entire series of bigger pieces wanting it to change to fit, to be flashy, to be something other than the simple missing piece it is. Until it finds the Big O, who explains to the piece it is not missing anything, but if the piece would like to roll along with it, that would be fine, too.

I’m not looking for any missing piece. I’m that Big O, open for someone to roll alongside me in life, but certainly not looking for or needing that person. So if no one happens to come along, no one happens to come along. Life is fine and complete; I have no missing piece.a

I read through the profiles online from time to time. It reminds me that what I’m looking for isn’t something to be looked for at all. It’s just something to be open to in case it happens. Online dating treats dating like an interview process. That would be fine if I was looking to fill the job of boyfriend or husband. But those aren’t jobs to be filled. I’m not interviewing anyone.

Dating should be the fun, spontaneous convergence of two lives. It’s not an orchestrated search for a specific set of characteristics and pre-defined ideas of a perfect mate.

I was accused of not being open and welcoming. It’s not the first time someone has accused me of this. The other one who has also said I needed to change my packaging and marketing of myself, again, treating dating like a product line to be peddled to the highest bidder.

I am not lost, nor do I need to be found. I am not a lump of coal awaiting a gem caller to make me a diamond. (Yes, that was from someone’s online profile.)

I am who I am, and if and when the right life converges with mine, we’ll roll along together. Our paths could cross through mutual friends, through shared activities, or be as random as a chance encounter at a salad bar. And should our paths never cross, I at least know I can roll alone, without any pieces missing.

First impressions

Few things bring the simple pleasure of opening a CD for the first time and listening to it beginning to end. Being introduced to each song with no preconceived ideas, no expectations – pure and open to all possibilities. It could be horrible, true. But it could be amazingly wonderful and each song brings with it that little bit of joy and pleasure in meeting something for the first time.

This morning, I’m being introduced to Liz Goodgame’s Fresh Lemonade. Liz is a former colleague from the OUA days at UTMB. She and her husband moved to Delaware several years back. It had been her dream to record an album before her 30th birthday. As I’m listening to each amazing song, I’m at first in awe of her talent and second inspired not just by her music, but her ability to make that dream a reality.

That is my first impression of this album. Like so many things in life, though, the key is keeping that first impression. I wonder, how do we go through each day trying to keep that same awe and joy that comes with that first fabulous impression?

Take the people we know. I love those early days in a new friendship when you’re getting to know each other. Everything is new. Anything is possible. Then, as a true relationship develops, you grow more comfortable and that first impression drifts away into routine. If you’re lucky, it’s a good routine and you have trust and respect and compassion for one another. But, sometimes that routine can grown into something unpleasant. It grows into something too comfortable – where instead of continuing to learn about each other, we end up stuck at one place, with one set of perceptions and one set of expectations. We end up taking each other for granted instead of practicing daily respect and appreciation for one another, instead of remembering the joy of those first impressions and getting to know someone.

I have friends I have known for 20 years. I know I’m not the same person I was 20 years ago. And neither are they. But we grew together. I still remember the good times in the beginning, but the beautiful part is knowing that no matter what, when we are together today, we are still learning about each other, still showing interest in the lives of the others. I used to think it was just this unique set of people in my life. They are good people, but more than that, we’ve all worked hard to maintain our relationships on a current level instead of based on just what we once were.

I have friends I was once close with who I never speak to anymore. We just drifted away. The only difference I can figure between these relationships and the ones that have endured is the amount we were willing to give each other, and the willingness to get to know each other continually as we changed and grew as individuals.

So I wonder…how do we do that? How do we maintain the awe and endless possibilities that are there in the beginning? How do we sustain that throughout the course of our relationships with people? How do we keep the feeling of that fresh lemonade from the beginning of the glass to the end?

Manifesto for a friend

Henry David Thoreau once said “The most I can do for my friend is simply to be his friend.”

I like that. It’s simple. It’s to the point. And on the surface it seems to cover it all – be a friend and that’s all you need to do in life. If only life was as simple as Thoreau imagined. Unfortunately, though, we each tend to have different ideas of what it means “simply to be his friend.” The flaw in Thoreau’s idea lays not with the idea, but with the lack of definition of a key piece of it – friend.

So I’ve been thinking and I’ve been wondering, what does it mean exactly to be someone’s friend these days. In the world of Facebook, being a “friend” simply means to acknowledge someone exists and agree to share information.

A “friend” at the office is often someone you might share a lunch with but rarely if ever see outside the familiar and shared environment of the office.

There are people with whom you can be friendly, but does that make them friends? What really makes someone your friend?

With any relationship, be it business, personal or romantic, it is important to have a clear understanding of the expectations and rules of engagement so to speak. In that spirit, I offer this as my manifesto for a friend.

A Friend Manifesto
I accept my friends for who they are as individuals. I accept their flaws, love them unconditionally and acknowledge that none of us is perfect. No one will ever live up to every expectation we might have.

That being said, I believe that certain fundamental principles must be shared in order to have a healthy, mutual friendship, one in which both people are respected and appreciated. One in which both people contribute.

If I am to allow someone in my life, and give of myself to that person by sharing my time, energy, talents and resources, then I don’t think it much to ask to expect to be treated with the same kindness and respect I extend to people in my life.

• I expect my friends to respect me, first and foremost.

• I expect my friends to accept me as I am, the good, the bad and the downright ugly.

• I expect my friends to demonstrate courtesy and compassion toward me.

• I expect my friends to disagree with me from time to time, but I also expect that in our disagreement, we can still maintain lively conversation and exhibit that mutual respect for each other’s ideas.

• I expect my friends to be there to share in the good and the bad times of my life.

• I expect my friends to be honest. When the trust is gone, the love leaves as well.

• I expect my friends to take an interest in me as I do them.

• I expect my friends to be a friend to me as I have to them.

• A friend is supportive, understanding, patient and kind. I will not tolerate an abuse of the relationship, nor will I tolerate public humiliation for humiliation’s sake.

• A friend might poke fun, but will never intentionally insult me, my home or that which is important to me.

These are 10 simple principles by which a bond is formed and shared. As a friend once said to me, I will fight to the pain for a friend. And I can’t help but agree.

So the most I can do for my friend is simply to be his friend. But in return, I do expect my friend to be a friend to me.

Habitually new

I took the boys for a walk this evening. Their old route, slightly modified to accommodate Barkley’s aging hips and my desire not to walk in the puddles in the alleys. I’d forgotten how much we all enjoy those walks through the neighborhood.

Barkley has been moping the past couple of days. I think he’s missing someone; I know how he feels. When he didn’t greet me at the door tonight like he normally does, I decided he needed an outing. So off we went. The three of us, plus Outside Kitty following behind for her part of the walk.

The past 8 months I’ve been back in the house have been anything but a return to normalcy for me. For the first few weeks, it was the near every day adjustment to the newness of it all. Then, just as I was learning my new house, a friend moved in and it was a good distraction from all that wasn’t the same. But now that I’m back, living alone with the boys (and soon to bring home the cats), I realize, there is no more normal at home. I’m still working at making those new habits, settling into life back in my neighborhood.

As we walked tonight, I realized the neighborhood hasn’t returned to what it was yet either. Freshly planted trees stand in place of the giant oaks whose roots we had to walk over. Houses with dogs we used to know still sit empty. Where one dog died, two new dogs live in his place. Granted the changes aren’t all bad – there are the houses that once stood as trash-ridden slums getting a good cleanup. Alleys are cleaner. Stairs that were hanging by one board have been repaired.

Changes in the neighborhood were evident with each step. A constant reminder that no matter what, something happened, life changed and life goes on. But the one constant is the people. I visited with neighbors tonight who I haven’t yet met, and some I’ve known for years. Once again I am reminded that it is the people who make life, not the stuff that surrounds us.

I’m living solo again. Relearning old routines. Missing what was, but looking forward to each new walk with my boys, each visit with a new friend, and each step in the continual process of rebuilding we experience every single moment of the day.

Friendly musings

So I’ve been thinking lately (yes, I know it’s been a trend, me thinking about things lately), but well I have been. And lately I’ve been thinking about my friends and the relationships I have in my life.

Today I had a nice chat with a friend who until the past year was someone I only spoke with occasionally, for a few weeks at a time over the course of several years. We met nearly 20 years ago, saw each other once or twice a year and then less frequently. Yet once we reconnected, it was like no time had lapsed and despite the many changes in our lives, we have managed to develop a remarkable friendship, one that has meant a lot to me during the past year.

Then there are my Missouri boys I’ve referenced so frequently. This group of men will always be the benchmark for men who enter my life. Individually, they are unique and amazing men, each with his own qualities that make him a good person to know. But together, they are a grounding force in my life. No matter what is going on in my life, or in their lives, I know that a call to one of them is a reminder to me that not everyone in the world is crazy, that not everyone is selfish or demanding, that not everyone wants me to change or be someone other than who I am, and that not every man sucks (although one of them will readily admit that yes, all men do suck he’s sad to say). Every man I encounter must be of Missouri standards, and unfortunately, very few are. My mother even reminded me this weekend that I’d be hard pressed to find friends like them again. Knowing she’s right, I value and appreciate them far more than I’m sure any of them fully understand.

I also have my girlfriends – the gals who always know what to say, are supportive of me, understanding of me and are the ones I turn to when I need to laugh, to cry or just scream. These are the women I’ve met through the years who help remind me of the strength found in the sisterhood of women. Some I see and talk to almost every day. Some I speak to less frequently. Some I don’t get to see nearly as often or as much as I’d like. But still, each is a blessing in my life who, no matter when or how often we see each other or talk, knows that when we’re together, it’s time spent with someone we each cares about and someone with whom each of us can trust.

Then there are those who don’t fit into any specific category – those individuals who, through the years, have been the rollercoasters of my life. The ones I’ve seen great ups and downs with, gone through spells of great closeness and spells of great isolation. But at the end of the day, I’m just as grateful for these people in my life, with all the letdowns, disappointments, sadness and sometimes anger that goes along with knowing them. For it is these people who I appreciate every single minute we have together because I truly do not know if there will be any beyond this current moment. They are the ones who remind me that every day with someone we care about is a blessing, and nothing in life is guaranteed. Enjoy what we have while we have it, and let it go when we do not.

I guess that’s true for anything in life though isn’t it?

Unconditional struggle

Unconditional-- not conditional or limited: absolute, unqualified


Easter. The sermons center around resurrection. Around overcoming death. Around spreading the news of a messiah resurrected. But when I read the Easter stories, I read a story about forgiveness, about unconditional love, about hope.

That’s what I get from it anyway. You have the story of someone who is betrayed by his closest friends. His own father allows the execution. He is left alone to die next to thieves. This would be someone who could easily be justified in a little bitterness and anger and probably some hatred toward those who have wronged him.

But instead of a story of hate and anger, the story of Easter is a story of forgiveness and love beyond all measure and understanding. A story of that unconditional love we strive for but never seem to attain.

According to Christian tradition, Jesus demonstrated an outpouring of love and forgiveness for those who betrayed him. Instead of being spiteful, he showed love, a love so pure that anything, even betrayal and crucifixion can be forgiven. He is supposed to set an example by which we should all live our lives, right? After all, unconditional love and acceptance is the ideal for which we all strive.

It’s even clear right there in the Lord’s Prayer, recited day after day in churches everywhere: Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Think about it – we ask for and offer forgiveness together. We can’t expect forgiveness if we ourselves cannot offer it as well.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu recently wrote:

“Perfect love is not an emotion, it is not how we feel. It is what we do. Perfect love is action that is not wrapped up in self-regard, and it has no concern with deserving. Instead, perfect love is love poured out. It is self-offering made out of the joy of giving. It requires no prompting. It seeks no response and no reward.”

That sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? And some days it seems so easy to love someone unconditionally, accepting that person with his good and wonderful qualities, and the joy that he brings to your life. But other days, it’s a struggle to remember that unconditional means just that, absolute, unqualified. It’s on those days when the cruel words are exchanged, and the tempers flare and the ugly side of people come out that unconditional is the hardest. I think on those days it’s the most important.

I know I try each and every day to live a life of forgiveness, not necessarily out of Christian faith – those who know me well know that has long been left behind. But rather, I do it because it seems right. It feels right to love someone so unconditionally that nothing that person does can shake that love.

Yet while it can feel so right, some days it can be downright painful to maintain that notion of unconditional. It’s on those days that I wonder, at what point does that continual forgiveness and understanding and patience become detrimental? Or if it is real, would that even be a question? And if it’s really unconditional, shouldn’t we still practice an unconditional love even if those around us do not?

I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately, and even more so since reading Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s “Made for Goodness,” the book he wrote with his daughter, Mpho, about living the life of goodness and love that we were intended to live.

In this book is story after story about some of the worst betrayals, some of the most heinous of crimes against fellow humans, and yet in each story is a story of forgiveness. He tells the story about a woman whose daughter was brutally murdered, and how that grieving mother works with her daughter’s murderers to promote the message of peace and love. She works side by side with the men who killed her daughter because each and every day she practices forgiveness and an unconditional love.

How many of us could do that? Most of us find it challenging to forgive the little indiscretions of daily life – the small hurts that pile up on each other into larger hurts. If a mother can work side by side with the man who murdered her daughter, shouldn’t we at least be able to forgive the harsh words said in moments of anger, or the mistakes that make for more work in our lives?

I look at my dogs as the ultimate example of living that life of unconditional love, a life of total forgiveness, a life of complete and pure love. Sure, dogs might not be able to love the way people can, but they offer what they can and they offer it without hesitation and without the expectation of anything in return. They are appreciative of what they receive, but it is never a condition of the love and faithfulness they exhibit.

So during this Easter season, wouldn’t it be a grand thing if we all continued to strive for that unconditional outpouring of love? Love those in our lives without the expectation of anything in return. Forgive the trespasses against us, no matter how often or how many, and love unconditionally.

"..The pain cannot be unmade,
The life cannot be unlived,
The time will not run backward,
You cannot un-choose your choice,
But the pain can be healed,
Your choices can be redeemed,
Your life can be blessed,
And love can bring you home" ~ Archbishop Desmond Tutu

“Just as you are.”

There’s a pivotal line in the film Bridget Jones’s Diary where Mark Darcy says to our fair Bridget “I like you very much. Just as you are.” And women everyone sighed, for it is that simple line that I think we all want to hear at some point in our lives. It’s the single most important aspect of being loved by someone that we hope to achieve. Or at least that’s my opinion on it. I know it’s my number one quality I seek in a man – the man who will like me just as I am.

Girlfriends and I were talking about this the other day, and we all agreed. How challenging is it in this world to find that one person for whom nothing about you needs to be changed, the person who takes you just as you are, flaws and all. It’s the root of the unconditional love so many of us seek.

I look to my dogs as the finest example of unconditional love you can find. No matter what, my boys are there for me each night and are there each morning as I wake. I can scold them for doing something bad the night before and by morning, all is forgiven and they offer affection without the expectation of anything but appreciation in return. Every so often I wonder, why can’t people do the same?

Instead, we look to change people to fit our needs, to fit our wants, to fit this image we’ve conjured in our head. It sounds so easy to let go of all that and just accept who we love as the person we love. I’ve tried doing that, and in some cases, it’s hard. It’s hard to look past those characteristics that make you question why on earth you even care about this person at all. Yet when you stop to think about it, you can find all the reasons you love someone have very little to do with these things about them you’d like to change.

Or so is the case with me I’ve found. Unfortunately, I’ve not yet found that person who can return that love unconditionally, without want of some change in me – be it physical appearance, personality or some other aspect of someone’s daily habit or character, whatever it might be. So as we approach another Valentine’s Day, a holiday dedicated to sharing our love for one another, I ask these questions: Is love ever really unconditional? Can we ever say to someone “I like you very much. Just as you are.”? And shouldn’t we at least try? I'd like to think I do.