Secrets

Have you ever had a secret? 

A tiny little surprise that you aren't yet ready to tell anyone. Or a great bit shocker that will knock the socks off people. Something you know, but something you have to keep quiet about because, well...because it's a secret. Not to be shared. Yet.

And not a bad secret. Bad secrets hurt our bodies. Bad secrets make us feel worried and ashamed. Keeping those dark thoughts to ourselves increases our anxiety and removes our hope for the future. I'm definitely not talking about bad secrets.

But good secrets? Surprises? Something you know is coming to someone you love and the time just isn't right for sharing. Those secrets are good. 

A special gift.
A surprise vacation.
An engagement.
A party.
A long-awaited answer.

An event in the life of someone you love that will make their life better.

That's a good secret.

Good secrets give us the greatest feeling of hope.

You can be working away, and suddenly your mind wanders to that little surprise that no one knows but you. You smile. Relax a bit. Close your eyes and take a deep breath or two. Then continue on with your work, feeling just a bit happier. 

You visit with a friend and you think "Hmmmm. Is now the right time? Should I tell her?"

Again, you smile. Little bubbles of excitement pop in your brain and your heart. You savor that secret bit longer.

March is a great time for some surprises. The birds are singing a bit more joyfully. Temperatures are warming up. The days are getting longer. It's been a long, hard winter - a long hard year, actually - and everyone needs the excitement that little secret surprise bring. 

So...pick up your husband's favorite treat and surprise him with it. Make cookies for no special reason. Plan a little adventure. Have a surprise party. 

Keep that little secret. Live with hope!

Losing a Friend

Sunday, Jan 31, we sat on the beach at Manasota Key and watched as the sun set. It had been an overcast afternoon, but by 4:00 the skies had cleared in the west and the sun appeared just above the horizon. The surf was coming in fast and furious. A storm was on the way. But in that few minutes we watched as the sun touched the surface of the water, and then slowly sank into the ocean.

How do you find hope in the death of a friend?

As it disappeared I reflected on the life of an amazing woman, cut way too short and way too unexpectedly. The life of a dear friend, a coworker, an Alpha Phi sister, and a mentor. None of those words can fully contain all that she was, because Candy did every one of them beyond their definition. 

You find hope by celebrating her life - and living a life like hers.

Candy was an active volunteer, passionately supporting what she loved: Itasca State Park, Soaring Eagle Ski Trails, and education. She was one of those members a group can depend on, often taking on the jobs that no one else wanted to do. President. Treasurer. Secretary. Director. She did them all.

Candy could take on any challenge and complete it successfully. Not only was it done, it was done well.  In our little education sorority, when Candy said "we should do this" we did it. She brought others into leadership too, because she knew how to get everyone involved. Candy could be counted on to make sure the task was completed.

After it was done, we celebrated. Candy knew how to celebrate.

Candy knew how to be a friend. I think she knew everyone - and she included everyone! She would send an email invitation to a big group of people she thought might get along and have a spontaneous arts & crafts party, or mystery trip. Let's make a wreath. Let's decorate a wine bottle. Bring your hot glue gun and come on over. 

Expecting a hot summer day? Candy would gather a group of friends to go kayaking. Or she'd plan a "lake day"on her pontoon. Bring out all the toys. We'd lounge, paddle and laugh like teenagers.

Always active, even on the coldest winter days, Candy would arrange cross country skiing or snow shoe gatherings. As long as there was snow, people would gather. But when you finished the outdoor activity, the most fun was gathering in the warming house or around a bonfire with snacks and wine. And Candy never seemed to be in a hurry to leave. 

And best of all, Candy taught me how to "be retired". And that meant to be active, to do what you wanted to do, and to do it with abundant joy. More than once she told me "You're retired. You can do whatever you want. Just do what you love."

Candy knew how to celebrate family. Not only would she travel miles to watch her grandkids participate in any activity, but Candy welcomed them to her Big Sand Lake house in the summer. For weeks before they arrived she would plan their activities: camp games! Scavenger hunts! And of course, there were many bonfires, great meals, and relaxing hours spent on the lake...all planned by Candy.

Candy treasured her family, her friends, and the outdoors. She lived vibrantly, loved deeply, laughed easily, shared readily.

As I watch the sun set I wonder how our community will go on without her...but I know that Candy taught us well.

 I know I am better because of her. She will live on in me.

You are better because of her too. Candy will live on in you.

Anticipation

I'm a planner. 

I love dreaming about a big trip, a new purchase, a holiday, an upcoming event. 

I suppose my husband would say that I love talking about it  - even more than actually getting into the work of preparing for it. Regardless - I find a huge amount of hope in the excitement of preparing and waiting. Planning and preparing is fun. Dreaming about the big day is exciting. 

I'm the same way with preparations for Christmas, a visit from friends, a new purchase. I just love to contemplate all that it could be. I may not make a lot of decisions or actually do anything, but it's always on my mind.

Last spring we intended to travel to Australia and New Zealand. In the previous fall I started talking to anyone who had ever traveled there. What did you see? Where did you go? What should we make sure we don't miss?

We have friends who live in Australia, and others who spent time there years ago. I borrowed books, spent hours on Google searches. I may not be the most efficient planner, but I certainly spend time on it. And eventually we had arranged our itinerary, bought our tickets, reserved our hotel rooms.

And then...covid.

But here's the interesting thing. Although we still plan to visit Australia and New Zealand as soon as we can, I look back on those days of planning and preparing and I remember the joy and the hope I felt. We didn't get to travel, but I almost feel as though we did, consumed as I was with the thought of it.

Planning. Anticipating. Dreaming about that trip or that big event gives me as much hope as actually participating in it. 

When my daughter Maria was 9 we adopted our son Joel. He was born in South Korea in May, and we knew in July that he would be joining our family soon. But we had to wait for him to arrive until everything was finalized.

So...you know now that I love the dreaming and planning. And as you can imagine, our little family began to do just that. Although we hadn't even seen Joel yet, we spent hours just talking about him, just planning for the day he would arrive, for the life we would live in our family of four.

Fast forward to late September. Joel had been in our home for about a week, and I was rocking him to sleep as Maria stood by my side. "You know Mom," she said quietly. "It was a lot more fun waiting for him than actually having him here."

Please don't judge Maria for that line. She absolutely adored (and still adores) her "baby brother". But Maria put into words how we feel as we plan and prepare and wait. 

It's hope. 

I hear a lot of people talking about the "new normal" or "when things get back to normal" after this pandemic, and I don't know when that will be or what it will be like. But I know this:

Plan. Dream. Prepare. Imagine. Daydream. 

No matter how they're experienced there are big days ahead of us. A home remodel. A move. A new birth. A celebration. Start thinking about those big days ahead of you - start preparing - start daydreaming.

Let them fill you with hope.

Riding in a Booster Seat

Do you ever feel like we're all just riding through life in a booster seat? You know, that child's seat in the back of the car?

In a booster seat you don't get to choose where you travel. Your driver may bring you to some very nice places. You may see a lot from that seat. But you don't get to choose where you go. That part isn't up to you.

In a booster seat you don't get to see the whole picture. Your view is limited to what's just outside your window. You can't see too far ahead. You also can't see too much behind you. 

In a booster seat you're wearing a seat belt. You're tightly strapped in. There are limits to how much you can move around, how far you can reach.

How could anyone find hope in riding in a booster seat, you may ask. 

Because riding in the booster seat is like going through life with God at the wheel. Oh that's a worn-out phrase! I think it might even be an old country song or something, but bear with me.

There's hope in knowing that a booster seat is meant to protect its passenger. It reminds us that God is in control. That He can see clearly, even though we can't.

It's knowing that the booster seat is actually the palm of His hand - like in the song On Eagle's Wings, where the last line reminds us:

And He will raise you up on eagles' wings
Bear you on the breath of dawn
Make you to shine like the sun
And hold you in the palm of His hand

I encourage you to take hope in the booster seat in which you travel.

Take in the spectacular view you are afforded from your window, knowing that although you don't have the whole picture, what you are seeing is amazing. Sure, it comes with some bumps in the road, but your driver is there to help you through them.

Enjoy life's travels, both down the block and around the world, knowing that although you don't always have control of the places you travel, you never travel alone. And it also helps to remember that the traveling is wonderful, but in the end, there's no place like home.

Take comfort in the protective hands of the Lord holding you - the seatbelt sometimes constraining you. Wrapping around you like a blanket. Find peace, for the Lord is with you always.

Go ye therefore and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you. And lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world." Amen                                                                                              - Matthew 28:19-20

A Day of Hope

Wednesday was Inauguration Day. Like many Americans, I watched the events unfold on tv. 

The day was made for television. Narrators introduced every person who appeared in the camera's view. The music, the speeches, every moment was well planned and beautifully executed. Our own Minnesota Senator Amy Klobuchar charmed and entertained with her humble midwestern humor, humility and grace. The beautiful poet laureate Amanda Gorman stunned us with her words...and with her determined, brilliant smile.

There were holy moments. The Bidens and many others attending mass in the morning. The Invocation by Father Leo O'Donovan. The significance of the family bibles. The singing of Amazing Grace. The Benediction by Rev. Silvester Beaman. The solemn, heartbreaking Covid-19 memorial.

The evening's tv shows continued the celebration, ending with the unbelievable fireworks that closed the night. Has anyone ever seen such a spectacular display of fireworks?

America! 

What I loved the most was that the day featured and recognized so many people, from all walks of life and all parts of the country. They were ordinary people. Ordinary people who care deeply about others. Ordinary people who want to help make this country better. 

Four years ago I was in Washington DC for the Inauguration of our 45th President of the United States. I had been excited about this day for over a year. Imagine: the inauguration! In person! It was an event I never ever dreamed I'd be able to attend. Never.

I was fully engaged in the entire event. The morning of the inauguration I could hardly contain my excitement. We were participating in a large gathering directly in front of the Capitol - where we would have a full outdoor view of the presentation as well as a 3-story screen indoors to watch every moment!  We would be watching the parade, and then dressing up to attend an inaugural ball. (No, not the inaugural ball, but one right down the road.)

The motorcade rolled directly in front of us and I stared in awe at the vehicle we thought carried the Obamas and the Trumps. It was one of those unbelievable things you never imagine you will see in real life. As the former presidents arrived we watched them on the big screen and applauded with the others gathered there. Such an amazing display - seeing all of these people who work so hard for our country - and I was there in person!! Goosebumps!

As President Obama and the First Lady were introduced I experienced something I never dreamed I'd hear. It was the most obnoxious and shocking form of racism I have ever witnessed. Spoken loudly, unabashedly, and unapologetically: basically a "Go home where you came from" type of statement, but with several expletives mixed in. And then loud agreement and laughter from the adults gathered near.

That was such a stunning moment for me. I honestly had never heard those words spoken out loud in public before. And unfortunately, it was not a one-time experience.

In the four years since that moment I have heard even people I call friends repeat these racist statements on facebook. Suddenly people don't seem to mind being cruel and vicious - saying things that we would've punished our own children for saying.

It's gotten bad, folks. And not only have we all been hearing it, to a certain extent we've all been doing it. We've all been dragged into this gutter of name-calling and lies. I can't help but remember that Inauguration Day 2017 was when truth became distorted, and when lies became acceptable. When blaming others, name-calling, and tearing people down was even okay with Christians. What had we become?

But throughout the day yesterday I began to feel more and more hopeful. 

This is the America I want to live in. An America where we build others up instead of tearing them down. An America where we point out the good in others. Where we recognize success, value children, speak the truth and seek out good.

I hope that's what you want for America too.

Thank you for the hope! Let's keep it flowing!

And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us
but what stands before us
We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,
we must first put our differences aside
We lay down our arms
so we can reach out our arms
to one another

We seek harm to none and harmony for all     

                               -Amanda Gorman "The Hill We Climb"

If you haven't gotten a chance to listen to Amanda Gorman reciting "The Hill We Climb", here's the video.

Shark Teeth

On our first visit to Florida's Gulf Coast we were introduced to shark's teeth. Walking along the beach on Manasota Key, one is most certain to spot at least a few. And if you really search you will soon have a handful!

What started as a fun beach activity has become somewhat of an obsession. Oh not an obsession, as much as a fun way to walk along the beach and feel like you've hit the jackpot. Searching for shark's teeth is great entertainment.

And you're usually not alone. Many others are also walking along the beach, head down, or digging in the little shells along the shoreline, seeking those elusive little black teeth.

And what hope we are filled with, each time we visit the beach! Today we'll find shark teeth! With each collected tooth the hope grows. Searching for shark's teeth is a hopeful activity.

What is it about collecting teeth that I find so much hope in? I think it's the fact that we find them. We find quite a few of them. And with each tooth slipped into the pocket, there is the hope that there will be more to find.

But I think it's the success in finding that makes the searching so much fun. If we spent a morning at the beach looking for teeth and didn't even find one tooth, I'm guessing we would soon give up. We would spend our time at the beach just walking. Not searching.

Isn't the same true in the kindness of people...in the act of moving through our lives? 

There's an old gentleman in our development who sits outside, just in the entrance to his garage. He seems to sit there all day. And he waves, and calls out a greeting to everyone who happens to walk or drive by.

He is like the people searching for shark's teeth. When someone waves back: he found one! Someone calls out a greeting in response to his: A big win! Someone stops to visit and spend a few minutes with him? Well that's hitting the jackpot. Like finding the megalodon - a rare and precious find. 

And if no one were to walk by. Or worse yet, if people walked by and didn't respond to his greetings. If people didn't even look up when he called out to them. If no one ever stopped to shoot the breeze? 

I'm afraid he would stop looking. 

I'm afraid he will lose hope.

Will the beach ever run out of shark's teeth? I hope not. I know we'll keep looking. 

Will people stop smiling, waving, stopping to say hello? I hope not. 

My hope for your world is that you're finding smiles, waves, greetings...and just a few shark's teeth along the way.

For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Romans 8: 24-25

Hopeful Squawking

The most hopeful people in the entire world (in my estimation!) have to be school music teachers: those band and and choir directors of all ages who love music, but who, every day, hear the squeaks and squawks and errant sharps and flats made by young people learning music, and still can somehow can envision a symphony.

I often wondered how the very people who love good music so much, can spend so much time listening to music played poorly.

My own experiences in choirs, bands and orchestras all throughout my education proved to me that beautiful music can be achieved, and is so often! But, oh, the pain our teachers must have felt as we were making our mistakes. 

When I was a student in college I used to love walking the halls of the practice rooms. Upon entering you heard the blending of all the sounds, but as you passed by each door you could hear the individual notes being played: a violin warming up, the cellist going over a difficult line, the repetitions of music theory, a lilting flute, and on and on. 

Standing by one door I could be reminded of how, as a little girl, I loved lying under our grand piano while my mother, a gifted pianist, practiced. 

I am convinced that good music heals the heart.

Even as a child I recognized that not everyone had a Baldwin grand piano in their living room. I also learned early that one could get out of doing dishes by practicing piano instead. Although my mom wasn't my personal music teacher, (she had 40 or so of her own piano students, but knew enough not to try to teach her own kids!) she knew every note of every song, so even when in a different room she would call out to me, saying things like "That's an F Sharp!" or "Try that line again."

She was a perfectionist, and firmly believed that music should be played correctly. However, she was a musician, and even more importantly than being played perfectly, she believed that it should be performed musically. 

Mom's organ teacher in college, at Concordia in Moorhead, MN, was none other than the famous Paul J. Christiansen. She told me about one of the first weddings she ever played for. In the middle of the prelude she looked down from the balcony in horror, as Paul J was ushered into the church. She says she played in fear of making a mistake that entire wedding. 

My guess is that he was proud of the beautiful job she did. 

I asked her if she made a mistake when she looked down and saw him. 

"My hands felt like jello," she admitted, "and I'm sure I missed a beat in that measure. But pretty soon I forgot that he was there and just enjoyed the music."

Mom never stopped striving for excellence, however. Whether accompanying a soloist, playing for church, enjoying Christmas carols, or with any type of music, she continually reinforced for me the importance of practicing, and of striving for perfection.

It was important to her, and she passed that down to me. Whether singing in a choir, preparing for a piano recital as a child, playing my flute in band or orchestra, or cantering during mass,  I wanted the notes, the pitch, and the rhythms to be perfect, although I know it rarely was.

And that's what amazes me about music teachers. Somewhere in the cacophony of sounds there is the hope that it will all come together. I think, even more than that, there is the hope that each child will develop a love of music.

So, here's to you, music teachers! You give me hope.