God's Timing

If you read the prior post, you will easily see I screwed up and I knew it - big time!

I also shared links with those involved.

Then, while I was poking around in Twitter's DM box, I was led to read through some of the older messages.

There I saw one that hit me between the eyes and into the heart. "Very nice. ADAGE: "Our History is Not our Destiny!" ~Agape' Love 4eva"

This was sent June 9th, and at that time I smiled and moved on. This time, I GOT the message.

Through this person, God had reached out and let me know that while I did screw up, it doesn't mean I will do so again. My past is not my future.

I actually started to laugh in Joy over this, silly as that may seem. For me, though, it was a small sign. God knows. God cares. God had timed things so that message reached me at the very moment I needed to really hear it.

God's timing is perfect.

Always!

~ESA 

Priorities

This particular blog post is dedicated to my "little" brother (who ended up being the tallest of our generation).

When my brother was 12 years old, he was diagnosed with AVM, which is a malformation in his brain. Granted, medicine and technology have come a long way since he was first diagnosed in the early 1980's; he one of the first cases in the United States.

They told my parents that he would not likely live to see adulthood. They could try to prolong his life a little by alleviating the pressure on the brain. The first of many brain-surgeries opened a place in his skull, so he could no longer participate in track - a sport he loved. In fact, with nothing but hair and skin between a potential impact and his brain, he was banned from all sports, including the school's gym class.

I don't know how much my brother realized his time in this world was limited; he did know that each time he went into the hospital (yearly at times) may be his last time. But beyond that, he continued to live his life as though nothing was different. He laughed and lived each moment to the fullest.

In school, he was one a handful selected to learn the newest "rage" - the computer. Like my dad, he had an exceptionally sharp mind and uncanny ability to figure out the technology with very little instruction. Soon he was teaching the teachers on the school's first computer (which, if I recall correctly, was in a storage room next to the mimeograph machine they still used at the time).

My brother always looked at the positive side of things, though, and found humor in the strangest places. He would get such a thrill when he told people to place their hand on a certain part of his head. Then he'd lean forward so they would feel his brain slosh against their fingertips, laughing at the expression on their face. It was certainly something they couldn't do.

But his medical condition wasn't the only thing he laughed about. He'd enjoy laughing at everything. It was this sense of humor that lifted the entire family, through both his problems and ones we faced in our own lives.

Because of my little brother's example, we all held onto a child-like heart through life's ups and downs.

 
Needless to say, despite the doctor's warnings, my little brother reached adulthood. He went on to become a Director of IT for a company, got married, bought a nice house and had three beautiful children.

While his kids were still young, my brother's health began to decline. He could no longer drive long distances safely, so I helped him work with his HR department to arrange a telecommuting option. This was a golden opportunity, as it enabled him to spend even more time with the ones he loved dearly.

Then came the terrible news, his marriage was ending. While loosing his wife was horrific enough, being separated from his children was unbearable.
So he fought hard to have the kids with him every other day as well as alternating weekends. He was there to walk them to/from the bus stop, check their homework, make them dinner, read to them, and tuck them in at night. He attended school plays, games and every function that was important to the kids.

I think the kids realized something was wrong with their daddy. Unlike other dad's, he went to the doctors a lot and had many brain surgeries; they'd visit him in the hospital when they were old enough.

Just as the last of the kids entered grade school, my brother needed to use a cane to manage his balance. They had no qualms about his handicap; they'd play with his cane or hang on to it instead of his hand when they walked together. It was part of who their daddy was.

As they grew older, I could see how even the youngest instinctively knew when to use her slight weight just enough to counter the way dad would suddenly lean when he was distracted, helping him to stay balanced.

In 2010, we needed to rent a scooter for him at our annual family trip to a local amusement park. The kids had the best time with that; they'd fight over who got to ride with daddy on the scooter between the rides. In fact, riding the scooter with daddy was the BEST ride in the park.
...

My brother had a stroke around 8pm on April 1st last year (2011). His ex-wife had just dropped off the kids for the weekend. They were worried when the ambulance came to take their unconscious father to the hospital. It wasn't the first time; he's been rushed to the hospital many times in their short lives. But he always came back home.

Always.

This time he didn't. He lasted a few more hours, enough for my sister, mother and I to arrive and say goodbye. My other brother had only just landed in NY on his mad-dash flight from San Diego when our little brother breathed his last.

* * *

It wasn't until I was going through some pictures following his death that I realized there was something my little brother did consistently. He always did things with and for the kids first. His house was badly in need of repairs and cleaning at times, but there was always time to play.

Even when low-points of his condition created severe migraines or caused him to sleep deeply for hours through the day, his kids would play quietly around him, being near to him. Some day's he'd wake up to discover his daughter had surrounded him with little paper tanks she folded when he was sleeping. There was even the time their mischievous aunt helped them build a playhouse over daddy- couch and all.

The middle-child was the one closest to my brother. He was the one who had his own head shaved every time  daddy needed his head shaved for surgery. He was the one that laughed the loudest and stuck by his dad's side through thick and thin....

He was the hardest hit when daddy was no longer a part of his young life.

 
The video shows the last birthday this child shared with his daddy. It was a common moment perhaps shared countless times between the two, but none of us ever knew it would be the last time...

A few months ago, the anniversary of their dad's passing, this child asked for some things he wanted to have. While the house they spent many happy memories with their dad had since been cleared out and sold, my mom kept a few items that belonged to my brother.
The first item he asked for was my brother's cane. This I think is a very big part of their memories of daddy. This was a part of him. In the last few years, he couldn't walk across the room without it. Now he is in a place where he no longer needs it.

The youngest had made a drawing to place in her daddy's casket. It was her memory of the two of them picking apples. He was holding her up so she could reach the apples on the tree branches. Leaning in easy reach against the tree's truck is that ever-present cane.

The second item the middle-child requested was a surprise to us. When my brother decided to try to meet someone new, after the divorce, he tried to create a roguish appearance. His hair, after all those surgeries, was thinned if not completely gone in sections. So he shaved it all off and grew a goatie instead.

Then one day the family noticed a new image on his FaceBook account. My brother had gotten a new hat, and wore it quite frequently at family gatherings as well as on dates.

His son wanted that hat.

When we dug it out, I expected that it would be far too big for his young head. After all, my brother was 6'7" and had a big head to match. But, remarkably, it fit the son's head perfectly! He was a dapper young man wearing his dad's hat and strutting with his dad's cane.

It was the first time I've seen even a hint of a smile on that child's face for a year.

---

Like my little brother, each of us are only here a short time. We never know when our life will end, we only know the moment we have in our hands. If my brother had worked long hours, or only saw them every-other weekend, or focused on the to-do list at home, I don't think he would have built the close ties he had with his kids. It's true he only had a short time with them; none had yet reached middle-school when he died. 

But they do have some beautiful memories that they can share for the rest of their lives.

Happy Father's Day - may you share it with those you love.

~ ESA

My Sister, the Camel

At times, the hardest people to forgive are those closest to us, such as a family member. We argue that we know them too well and that they will never change. Who are we to say "never?"

I continue to struggle with my feelings about my sister. (Yes, that picture is actually us, six years apart in age.)

For two nights in a row, I've had dreams that involved the grudge I have against my little sister. Given that my Twitter account lists me as "His (Jesus') Little Sister," who certainly needs His forgiveness, why is it so hard to forgive my own little sister and look past some of the things she says and does? 

I will admit, there is a lot of jealousies, almost all on my side. I was the oldest child in the family, the one who had to help my parents and was responsible for my three younger siblings. She was the youngest and got away with everything.

My parents had very little income as I grew up; I've shoveled snow, babysat, and delivered papers since I was 10 to pay for each treat. When I was in high-school, my father landed a lucrative means of income, and my sister got everything for which she asked without having to work for it.

I worked 20-70 hours per week since I was 16. While fortunate enough to have some of my college expenses paid (I know many who never had that chance), I worked in the college cafeteria 35-hours per week to help cover the rest of my bills, and up to 70 hours over the summer with all the work I could find. In college, my sister rode on coat-tails of luxury and had an off-campus apartment paid for by my parents. She would take summers off because she "worked" so hard in school, including three years at law school, which was also covered in full.

As young adults, the divide only grew. I've struggled to pay bills in lower-income brackets where "vacation" was a 3-day weekend at a friend's house. My sister landed high-income jobs from the start and has gone on at least one (up to three) cruise(s) per year.

Having little means myself, I grew up to have a heart for others who have little and give as often as I could, in time, money or from my own closet. My sister on the other hand, will frequently gripe about the "hand outs" and "free ride" those that are on social support receive.

She bitched about the "free cell phones" where recycled old phones were reprogrammed so homeless and poor could dial "911" in an emergency. Yet, in her mind, they were calling long distance to yak for hours on end with their relatives.

She derides people on food stamps, believing "they should just go out and work for a living like I do." My sister has never been hungry in her life; I've had several weeks with only generic cereal (dry) and cheap generic spaghetti. Once, I even had a stretch where I had to rely on the kindness of strangers to supply one good meal a day; I worked three part-time jobs at the time. I've even been homeless once, and was blessed as a friend took me in for a few months until I could get another place.

Her most recent rant involves the FHA loan (where government helps low-income households purchase a home). Last year she sold her 3-bedroom house with a finished basement to upgrade to one of those McMansions that bloomed everywhere in the market boom. The family that purchased her old home financed through FHA, and she recently heard from a former neighbor that they were painting the home. Not any major remodeling, mind you, just a fresh coat of paint. She went on a lengthy tirade how the government shouldn't be supplementing mortgages for people who could afford to do that! In fact, they shouldn't support people at all. Let them work for a living, like she does. She didn't even realize that her rants were presented to two people who have yet to afford their first home - even with FHA financing...
My sister had one of the first of my nieces and nephews; I've never been blessed with kids of my own but so desperately wanted one.

Having low income, I hand-crafted teddy bears, hidden-pocket pillows and other unique gifts for the kids, but those gifts were often left behind compared to the X-box games and other high-end gifts that I could never give anyone, including myself.

Matters only became more estranged when my parents announced that the grandchildren would inherit everything after they were gone. To this day my sister strives to have even more kids after the first two; part of me wonders if this is to get a larger portion of the estate once my mother is gone... She even had the audacity to ask my husband and I - the childless couple with little income - to donate money into a fund to help her adopt kids from overseas! Then she requested that we ask our friends for money too.

While we are sisters, we are completely different people. She sees others as  people she could use to help better either her status (networking) or her life (by them serving her). I see people as my brothers and sisters whom I am called to help.

Though, I do find it harder to relate to people who have so little kindness for the least of us; and the more wealth they seem to have, the less they seem to care about others. I don't hate them, I don't think I truly could hate anyone. But I do become angry, and afterwards I feel sad for them; they just don't "get it."

Perhaps that's why Yeshua/Jesus taught that it's easier for a camel to go through the eye of the needle, than for the rich to enter the Kingdom. This is true, and it is those for whom we should pray. They are blind and they need His healing to help them see...

This past Christmas, we exchanged the typical "wish lists" among the family. Instead of what I would like under the tree, I created a list of charities, such as food banks, Samaritan's Purse and similar humanitarian aid organizations to which my husband and I would like to contribute more, if we had the means.

The rest of my family got me gift certificates to restaurants and things not on that list. My sister was the only one who made a donation in my name to one of the agencies. There is hope.

Recently, my sister took her family on a cruise. On Easter morning, she was out on a land excursion in San Juan and heading out to breakfast with her family. She spied a hungry homeless person on the street near the restaurant and purchased a hot meal and coffee for him. There is hope...

I strive to be the best example for her in this life; I am her big sister after all. That, and I need to forgive her. She's said and done some rotten things about others in her past. She likely will do so in the future; it takes time for some to change. But if I continue to forgive her, to pray for her, to shine a good example for her, hopefully she will begin to hear the Spirit within her as well. And change...

There is hope
Always
:*)

~ESA