Good Friday

I've been told per ca pita, Houston has the most churches, restaurants and strip clubs.  I don't know how true that really is, but drive a few miles down I-10 and one can be convinced this is fact rather quickly.  This week I've heard a bit about all of the different services planned to reflect on Christ's sacrifice.  As romantic as they sound, and I mean no disrespect (whatever makes one feel close to God is not for me to judge), but it all feels a bit empty to me.  I've witnessed a lot of cooler than thou Christians, a lot of man made liturgy and basically a real lack of the Holy Spirit.  I'm not exactly sure why, but this morning I felt a lot of anger over this.  I had a real urge to go table flipping as Christ did in the synagogue.  But I am just as guilty and full of sin as the next guy.  I have no right to flip anyone's table.  I think these reverent services can be beautiful and that as Christians we should not forget the importance of the days leading up to the resurrection.  Instead of washing each others feet and eating a last supper meal on Maundy Thursday, how about making sandwiches and passing them out to hungry people?  Washing the feet of someone you don't like or don't know?  With all of the pomp and circumstance of our modern day services, I'm not sure we could actually even recognize Him?  Would he be cool enough to invite to your table for supper?  Would you wash his feet?  Would I?  I don't know.  I hope so.  For some reason it feels good in our flesh to be still and reflective on Good Friday so we can really cut loose and party on Sunday.  I'm just not feeling that's what we're supposed to do.  It seems modern church caters to what makes its people feel good.

This is definitely a rant so apologies if this feels pointed, it's not.  Questions I have mostly for me.  I just don't think this is what Christ would want from us.  It feels exclusive and self praising.  I don't think that's why he did what he did.  I believe his motive was to free us.  Would you want your children mourning your sacrifice year after year after 2000 years?  This entire week should be a lively celebration!  And it will.  On Sunday.  Everyday of our lives should be lived as a celebration of love and gratitude.  Isaiah said the best we have to offer God are filthy rags.  I think of that a lot.  I think of standing in Heaven next to Mother Teresa and all either of us have in works are filthy rags.  Hard to imagine.  I know we are not saved by works, we are saved by grace.  Paul told us not to judge one another whether or not we choose to keep a day so long as we keep it in the name of the Lord.  It's not for me to say or judge and no one is better than the other for doing/not doing something on these days.  But if we are striving to be Christ like, shouldn't our love be radical?  Why are we instead drawn to flogging ourselves over this special week?  I prefer the party.  The joy.  Love.  Free love.  His love.

Survey Says!

What a week.  Dad had scans on Monday and got results on Wednesday.  It appears all of the thickening on his abdomen seen in surgery is gone!  The main mass doesn't appear to have shrunk very much, but he does have evidence that it is responding.  HE CAN PEE! Who knew that could be such exciting news?  His doctors are so encouraged by his progress and how well he is handling the chemo.  I'm convinced they are actually surprised.  I truly believe they underestimated his spirit.  Something we cannot measure by science.  He bought an exercise bike last week and rode five miles his first day.  I doubt I could (or maybe would) go five miles.  And I am a 'healthy' person.  Five miles!  I think a triathlon sprint is a twelve mile bike ride.  What's he gonna do when my community pool opens next month?  Spirit.  Will.  If you want something bad enough, you will give it everything you have.  And he is fighting this hard while dealing with some of the horrible side effects of chemotherapy.  He will not go gentle into that good night.  This experience has not only affirmed, but deepened my respect for him.

The good news for me is that I more than survived the audit, my team came through it favorably.  What an intense month.  The toughest two rounds of chemo and the most intense time I've had at work so far.  The noticeable lack of tension in my body last night was amazing. Good news for dad on Wednesday and good news for me on Thursday.  Huge sigh.  Now I just need a week at a resort full of sleep, booze and massages!  Then I might be back to normal.  HA!  Normal.  Hmm.

Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own

Another great U2 song I heard driving home.  Being such a geek for Bono, I know that he wrote it about his dad when he father became ill.

Please to enjoy...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CuDqHtAR6L8

Tough, you think you've got the stuff
You're telling me and anyone
You're hard enough

You don't have to put up a fight
You don't have to always be right
Let me take some of the punches
For you tonight

Listen to me now
I need to let you know
You don't have to go in alone

And it's you when I look in the mirror
And it's you when I don't pick up the phone
Sometimes you can't make it on your own

We fight all the time
You and I... that's alright
We're the same soul
I don't need... I don't need to hear you say
That if we weren't so alike
You'd like me a whole lot more

Listen to me now
I need to let you know
You don't have to go it alone

And it's you when I look in the mirror
And it's you when I don't pick up the phone
Sometimes you can't make it on your own

(This is it)
I know that we don't talk
I'm sick of it all
Can, you, hear, me, when, I, sing
You're the reason I sing
You're the reason why the opera is in me

Well hey now, still gotta let ya know
A house doesn't make a home
Don't leave me here alone

And it's you when I look in the mirror
And it's you that makes it hard to let go
Sometimes you can't make it on your own
Sometimes you can't make it
Best you can do is to fake it
Sometimes you can't make it on your own

Do Over

Shortly after my tenth birthday, I saw my dad for what would be our last visit for the following fourteen years.  My birthday is on January 19th, his on the 25th.  I always felt a little special for being born so close to my dad's birthday.  Like I owe one to God for the honor.  Ridiculous and awesome, I know.  But I truly adored my dad.  That year my granny took us to surprise him at his office.  We brought a cake and some goofy gifts, like a Miss Piggy dress up cardboard doll.  We loved watching the Muppet Show as a family.  Which I guess explains why I thought that was the perfect thing to give him.  My sisters and I were so excited to see him and he received us with a kind, but worn out love.  Too say my mother and father had irreconcilable differences would be an enormous understatement.  There were deep, deep wounds that we, as children, could not possibly fathom.  About a week after his birthday, I got a birthday card and a gold starfish necklace in the mail.  A belated birthday gift.  I still have it.

Over those lost years, no one told us what had actually happened to my dad.  His family acted like they knew, but wouldn't tell.  My sisters and I didn't know for sure if he was dead or alive.  We would imagine what might have happened to him.  Maybe he was a spy.  Maybe he made a bunch of money and split.  Maybe he was homeless.  We just didn't know.  It was awful.  Hopeless.  The more years that passed, the more normal it felt.  A terrible reality.  A girl needs a dad to look after her when she's dating.  Especially when her mom is not available either.  My legally blind granny was the only one fending for us.  Time's got really tough, lean, embarrassing.

I was so ashamed that my parents never showed up to my school or sports events.  I made excuses for them to save face.  As a senior in high school, I made it into the top 5 finalists for Homecoming Queen.  My mom came out for the rally where they announced the winner for queen.  I was shocked.  There was a parade and a half time special for the homecoming court at the football game that night.  After the rally when another girl was named queen, I overheard my mom tell my granny that she was going home. When my granny asked her about the evening events, my mom replied, "It'd be different if she was queen."  I was crushed.

I did have a couple of families that adopted me and looked out for me.  I still feel so incredibly blessed to have been taken in by them.  It was in this era that I met my best friend Shay.  Someone who has always been there for me and loved me as I am.

One month shy of fourteen years, I got a phone call from my sister telling me my paternal grandfather had died.  Time froze.  It was the week of Christmas.  We all knew what this could mean.  Were we about to see our dad?  The funeral was postponed until after Christmas.  Christmas day was rather placid.  We quietly opened our gifts and ate our food and wondered what was going to happen.

The morning of grandpa's funeral, three of us got ready at granny's house.  We were down right giddy and anxious.  It was in the air.  We had no idea what was about to take place, but we knew.  It's so hard to describe.  We were hurried as if we actually had an appointment with dad.  Veronica drove us to Edy's apartment.  She drove like a bat outta hell.  Lynn and I laughed and joked that if she didn't slow down there would be more than one funeral that day.  We were so nervous.  But we also had a giant chip on our shoulder.  We were hurt.  We brought a real fuck off, you can't hurt us anymore attitude with us.  We had all of our armor on, ready for battle.  We waited for Edy for what felt like an eternity.  We didn't want to be the first people there, but we certainly didn't want to walk in late either. Finally the four of us were together in the car.  Going into whatever lay ahead together, united.  Four good Irish sisters ready to kick any and all ass necessary.  The timing of the impending events could not have been scripted better if it were for a movie.

Edy lived about three turns away from the funeral home.  Veronica just about put her car on two wheels for each of them.  She parked right in front.  As we pulled in, we could see our uncle standing outside of the door with some of the other mourners.  We immediately began making sarcastic jokes and laughing as we got out of the car.  From that moment everything actually went into a fog.  I remember getting out of the car, turning to close the door, when we spotted the white Lincoln Towncar driving toward us.  One of us quipped, "who the hell is that?" To which we all laughed.  As the car passed by us to park, I experienced one of the strangest moments of my life to this day.  I don't know if I said it or not, but I think I said it.  All I can remember with certainty is hearing the words, "That's our dad."  We were in absolute shock.  He parked the car next to us and got out with the others that rode with him.  The four of us girls stood in unity in the street, looking at him.  We were speechless and just stood there in disbelief.  The day we had waited so long for had actually arrived and we were breathing in its moment.  No one knew what to do.  Would he accept us?  Should we forgive him?  I can only imagine what he was experiencing.  I finally said simply, "Hi dad."  I moved toward him and before I knew it the five of us were in an embrace.  It felt as though a curse had been broken.  Something had been supernaturally mended.  Forgiveness that needed no words.  Love.  When our hug ended, he said to us through a cracked voice, "Let's go see my dad."  It was really something indescribably powerful to walk into that funeral home together.

After the funeral, we went back to my grandpa's house for the reception.  My dad gathered the four of us girls, told us why he did what he did and apologized.  It was the first time in fourteen years that someone spoke straight with us and told us what actually happened.

Too Tired to Blog

Seriously.  Too tired.  With all that is going on in my life, the last thing I needed was a major audit.  And guess what.  That's exactly what I got.  For that last two weeks I've been buried at work.  In some way it's a great distraction.  It's kind of nice to have something else to stress, worry and freak out over.  At least this will pass.  Two more weeks.  I'm so exhausted and I still have two weeks more of this pressure.

In these next two weeks, dad has an appointment for a scan which will show us if the tumors are responding to the treatment.  I pray they have.  He has such an awesome outlook.  He's getting his taste buds back.  And he is learning to play guitar.  Crazy.  Gotta love it.