Category: Wholeness - trish hermanson

Will My Sand Castle Survive?

6/12/2020

As Duane and I strolled along an Alabama beach, leaving our footprints in the sand, we came upon this elaborate castle. Someone expended great energy building this treasure. Yet it will all be swept away with the turn of the tide, just as our footsteps behind us already were receding into the restless sea.
     I recently received an email that two people I knew in our community died. What a shock. They were glorious castles in life. Now they’re swept away, leaving behind a moat of tears among those who knew them.
  Their passing reminded me of author Rick Warren, who says that life is a test, a temporary assignment, and a trust. I’ve experienced tests in life, and I’m pondering how temporary life is. Now as I think about life being a trust, I want to take my steps carefully, expending my energy building something more durable than a sand castle, because life is short and precious. A spirited song that speaks to me about this is here.    ***
   Please share. Previous bits are here.

How Do I Choose My Battles?

5/26/2020

Look closely, and you’ll spot me hiding in the roots of an oak tree where Confederate soldiers sought shelter after Yankees captured Fort Blakeley in Alabama. Unbeknownst to the Rebels, General Robert E. Lee had already surrendered. The Civil War was over. But because they didn’t know this, about 225 men from both sides died and 650 were injured.
     It was senseless, which is how some of the battles I engage in tend to be. Verbal battles to make sure my voice is heard. Or to get my point across. Or just to vent.
     At this last major skirmish of the Civil War, Union Brigadier General Christopher Columbus Andrews described the conflict as “picturesque and grand.” Yet it was pointless. And now as I viewed this field where soldiers died, folks in t-shirts and shorts walked dogs and pedaled bikes. Where Confederates hid in tree roots, visitors snapped photos. A bloody battleground had turned into a placid park.
     That’s something for me to keep in mind: to choose my battles carefully; to determine whether something is worth fighting over; and to consider whether I can preemptively turn a field of conflict into a pastoral setting.
  Because some battles aren’t worth fighting.

If Table Clutter Could Talk...

5/18/2020

If the clutter on the table at our daughter’s home could talk, what story would it tell?
     A pacifier - that’s Eve’s, a tawny-haired two-month-old who gets drunk on milk until her eyes roll back and she’s lost in la-la land.
     A fire rescue truck - that’s Oak’s, the two-year-old brother of Eve who moves at warp speed around the house as he creates his own “fires” and needs rescuing.
     A book on cancer - that’s our daughter Ashley’s, the mother of Eve and Oak. A week before Eve was born, Ashley learned she has cancer. She waited until Eve arrived, then began four months of chemotherapy.
     Objects not on the table: a computer belonging to Steve, Ashley’s scientist husband - sometimes he works from home these days; also not in this picture are Duane’s and my luggage - we flew from Denver in masks to arrive in Alabama to help.
     Charles Dickens once wrote, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” Can that be true in this situation? We have the threat of covid outside, the threat of cancer inside. Yet we experience remarkable times. Like the night before a chemo session, we danced around the table to Hank Williams’ singing “Jambalaya,” and then sat down to a meal of the Cajun dish provided by caring friends.
     Dickens was right: it can be the best of times, if we MAKE it that way.

Our Grandson Fought for His Breath

3/9/2020

Our two-month-old grandson Benjamin fought a battle for breath and won.
     This past week he was carried by ambulance to the intensive care unit at a Denver hospital for children, where he struggled after a life-threatening virus attacked his lungs, leaving him fevered, congested, and panting.
     All he could do was cough and cry, his big blue eyes asking “why?” as he peered at us through an oxygen mask that covered half his face.
     We were on alien terrain. Tubes, probes, whirring machines, and monitors with blinking lights that create constantly changing graphs with indecipherable peaks and valleys.
     I remembered what Mr. Rogers told children - when they were scared, they should look for the helpers. We adults needed helpers here, too. And we found them. Specialists, nurses, and food service workers who answered questions, helped us get pillows and find a bathroom with a shower and hot water for tea as we settled in for the vigil. None of them postured for position; everyone worked as a team.They turned this strange place into a “human” space.
     I’m thankful for those who care for all the kids I saw with burns, bandages, and bald heads from chemo. Kids with diseases with names as long as your arm. Kids whose moms and dads are frayed and fearful. All these helpers affirm that life is valuable.
     Benjamin’s, too. After five days, he returned home, breathing on his own.
     I thank God and wonder how I can be like those helpers on my little turf in life.

How to Avoid the Dump

12/4/2019

You’d think I’d learn not to stand directly under a tree when I shake heavy snow off limbs. But no, I position myself under the branches and end up getting dumped upon. Something similar happens to me if I’m not careful when others unload their burdens on me. All their misery dumps like heavy snow. So when I’m helping others shake loose their woes, I try to remind myself to come alongside and not stand directly under their angst. Otherwise, they walk away relieved, while I’m burdened and look like Frosty the Snowgirl.