Help for the Hurting

by Brenda Black

In tragedy and grief, we come together as a community to both share and bear the weight of walking through it rightly. We do our level best to say kind things and to demonstrate loving actions. All the while, we wrestle with insufficiency and second guess our good intentions. Is there ever truly a right response? Is silence the best choice? Yes...and no to both questions. There is no perfect plan in the midst of grief. There are just humans trying to offer comfort and peace any way they know how. And therein lies the greatest challenge: we don't know what to say or do to make it better.

Accepting that reality may well provide opportunity for the greatest acts of sympathy. For when we don't have the eloquence nor vocabulary, all we can offer is love, respect and understanding.

A community expresses love often in the face of tragedy, by eagerly extending generosity. From prayers to proceeds, sometimes all folks can do is just do something.

Respect and understanding are a little harder to handle. According to grief.com, a few of the best ways to demonstrate true concern begin with admitting you simply may not know what to say. “I wish I had the right words, just know I care.” “I don't know how you feel, but I am here to help anyway I can.” Saying nothing or just offering a hug speaks volumes. Above all, the best way we can offer support is to call on the only One who truly understands and go to God in prayer.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit,” Psalm 34:18. The peace He brings is unparalleled and so incredibly powerful at times like this. His touch is tender. His comfort is complete. His love is what is needed most – for the grieving and the consoling. For His love is perfect and in our weakness, He proves Himself strong, and closer than ever.

Merciful and faithful Lord, because of Your great love, we are not consumed, for Your compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. God, You are our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Help us to not fear, though the earth seems to give way and a mountainous weight presses down on our aching hearts. Though waters of grief roar and in our shaken state, we feel like the ground beneath our feet quakes, we will be still and know that You are God. You, Lord Almighty, are with us. You are our fortress. (Lam. 3:22-23; Ps. 41:1-2, 10-11)

©201 The Word's Out-Brenda Black

May Day! May Day! Tears on the Way!

By Brenda Black

No matter how many years pass, no matter how far removed from the direct ties to a graduate, I still cry at commencements. I scan the audience, spotting moms who are doing their level best to just keep it all together for the moment. Instantly, I'm in their skin and I'm the mess. My heart races, tears trickle and I find myself digging through my purse for a tissue to blot damp cheeks marked by empathy.

Why, oh why, does Mother's Day have to come in the same month, and often on the same day as graduation ceremonies? The one-two punch to a maternal gut is nearly more than a momma can take standing up! I liken it to post traumatic stress, with flashbacks from birthing pains to toddler tumbles each time you attend “the last” of something. Last game, last day, last performance, last award banquet, last...last...last. All such finality causes the brain to churn up memories of all the firsts.

Numbly you go through the motions surrounded by other shell-shocked parents, pretending to be celebrating rather than grieving. The first lost tooth, the first step, the first word and that big ol' bus swallowing your five year old up on the first day of school jolts one into the awful reality that 13 years have come and gone in a flash.

And there they stand, young men and young women, taller and stronger than their folks. Still, in a mother's eyes these are infants just yesterday rocked and swaddled. Doggone it, I'm crying again just thinking about it!

From one who's been there and survived, my heart goes out to each of you dying a little inside. Trust me when I tell you, there are more great days ahead. There will be phone calls home late in the night when mom's voice is the only one those big kids want to hear. Through the grogginess and worries, your heart will be filled. You'll be squeezed hard and lifted off the floor with bear hugs and big sighs, accompanied by all that college laundry when they come home for a visit. Your world will widen with them. New people, new places, new topics of conversation are just around the bend.

And then one day you sense the greatest change; without warning you've become dear friends. Oh, you will always be their mama, but this shift is something magical. As they transform into independent adults, you are escorted past another milestone. There you'll be ushered to a front row seat to enjoy the fruit of your labor. Smiles will come again, but there is one caveat. You'll still cry.

It's just part of the mother phenomenon.

©2016 The Word's Out-Brenda Black

The Wonder of It All

By Brenda Black

My heart skipped a beat when first my toes touched the powdery soft sand that gradually sloped toward the Pacific. A ferry ride and a two-mile hike in cowboy boots landed me the closest I've ever been to salt water and sea weed. I couldn't peel those boots and socks fast enough!

Boots in the sand

Toes in the sea

The air was fresh, the sky and water blending together in hues of blue. Then it happened. A wave rushed in faster than we had imagined and billowed up our rolled up pant legs, leaving my husband and me wet, shocked and giddy! I'm not a beach girl. Don't really have any desire to set sail across the deep blue seas. I've seen pictures of the creatures they continue to discover under all that water, and frankly it gives me the heebie jeebies! After my first encounter this past week with real sand and ocean water on my feet, I've come to understand the appeal. But as for me, I plan to keep on the shore.

Pacific Ocean Blue

Our visit was delightful, but Missouri and solid earth beckoned. So with the imagery of foamy waves and sea gulls lingering on my mind, we boarded a plane and took flight, homeward bound. Between the coast and the Heartland, stretches a whole lot of territory! From 37,000 feet up, the immensity of our country and its incredible diversity is incomprehensible. Each mountain range and desert, every winding river, barren rock and snow-covered peak heralds individuality and the thumbprint of a divine Creator.

From 7 miles up

Finger Paint Compliments of God

Just a little puddle 37,000 feet away

Las Vegas strip 

From ground level, they look the same. From a bird's eye view, not a single boulder or sparkling lake is shaped alike. The colors are remarkably varied with stripes of orange, green, red, blue, brown and yellow painting carved out bluffs. Others will “oohh” and “aahh” over the Las Vegas strip with all its man made lights and glitz. As for me, that massive city seemed insignificant in the middle of God's great wilderness. From seven miles above both city and rugged landscapes, I have to grant the wow factor to the Rockies, the Painted Desert, the Sierras and the Grand Canyon!

Grandeur as far as the eye can see

For many, a stroll on the beach or a plane ride for a thousand miles is common place. But even if you're an expert on sea shells and have been up in the air a hundred times, there should remain a sense of wonder. That is how I choose to live on this great and gorgeous planet! Whether by land or by sea, she is lovely and masterfully designed. This I have seen and I remain amazed and moved by its grandeur.

 photos by Brenda Black

Start Somewhere

By Brenda Black

A new year begins. It must start somewhere. According to history, January 1, fits the bill. When Roman dictator Julius Caesar decided that the traditional Roman calendar needed reform, he enlisted the aid of Sosigenes, an Alexandrian astronomer. He advised Caesar to follow the solar year, like the Egyptians. The year was calculated to be 365 and 1/4 days, and Caesar added 67 days to 45 B.C., making 46 B.C. begin on January 1. There you have it – a start, a beginning that begins each year.

Like the flipping of the calendar page from 2015 to 2016, every journey, each ending and all plans have a genesis. The fact is that nothing happens unless it is initially put into motion. On January 1, the timing is right, the opportunity present annually at this traditional moment to set a course of action. It's time again to S-T-A-R-T.

S – Set a goal. The go-to resolutions typically involve weight or bad habits humans long to banish from their lives. The idea is simple: eliminate the accumulation of a lifetime of poor choices in 12 months or less. By week six, we're not sure why we even tried. This year, I challenge you to think deeper. Plan longer. Look higher and cast a vision different from all those ventured in the past. Dream big! Don't just toss up flippantly the hope that something will change. Set a goal to see something through. Go for it!

T – Take a chance. Do something unexpected, unrehearsed or unfamiliar in 2016 that will stretch you out of your comfort zone. Shake it up a bit and try something new that isn't all about you. Reach out and help someone in need. Forgive someone unworthy of your grace. Extend an offer that can never be repaid. Take a chance on someone who needs a second chance and you might just find you are the one being set free.

A – Answer a call. Now go bigger still. See your small gestures grow into a mission that changes not just one or two lives, but a community. With every act of mercy or aid, see the greater possibilities of how to expand your territory and answer many needs.

R – Raise the bar. Keep it up and set an example. Model being a good neighbor, provide an example of generosity and challenge yourself to always be kind. You are what the world needs most, more now than ever. Set the pace so that others will follow.

T – Take stock. When you look back over this year, count the cost as gain, not loss. See your efforts as investments into lives. With every goal you set, each risk you encounter, the call you answer and the role you play, you are sure to look at the world differently by 2017. And the one most altered will be the man or woman in the mirror that you see come next New Year's Day.

 Start somewhere. Start now. Make this year the beginning of something worthwhile.

Take Time for Time's Sake

By Brenda Black

In one brief span of an hour, I learned that a steady diet of daytime television is the equivalent to dining on nothing but cotton candy covered in skunk. What a wasteland! My viewing was not by choice, but by entrapment, in the waiting room of a dealership's service department. And just when I had my fill, a daytime t.v. junkie entered the room.

He found the remote control and cranked up the nonsense, cruising through lame tips for better marriages, political bantering over the least important issues, crackpot doctors doling out advice based on anything but science. Then he began his commentary, spewing opinions, obviously fueled by previous days spent lingering tubeside.

Complemented by the smell of stale and burnt popcorn, my stomach began to churn. Try as I might to concentrate on the work on my laptop, I longed for fresh air and something intelligent to ponder. No wonder our world is in such a mess, if this is the garbage filling idle minds day after day. How we, as Americans, do find mindless and futile ways to pilfer the time away.

Time. It is fleeting and fragile. In the past month, I learned of eight individuals I knew personally who passed from this life. Their time suddenly halted. That makes me stop and think just how am I spending this precious commodity in limited quantity that never regenerates.

There are countless ways to invest it, clever ways to enjoy it, powerful ways to utilize it and creative ways to embellish it. But you only get one chance at every minute. Unfortunately, there never seems to be enough of those.

I'm learning as the years fly by that time flies exponentially faster. Each day seems to come and go with lightening rapidity, leaving me shaking my head and wondering how I didn't accomplish more with the time I had. Instead of regretting the tick-tocking that keeps me panicked, I'm trying to become more cognizant of just where all the moments get passed. I won't waste your time listing the petty things that rob my days. Instead, I'd like to challenge you to take a few seconds and evaluate your own limited treasure chest of seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks and years.

See where it is spurned and spent. Notice when it crawls or flees. Take a moment and make a plan to guard the days ordained for you on this planet. It might just be the best time you've ever spent.

Coming Home from One Side to the Other

By Brenda Black

Show me vivid green pastures dotted with black cattle. Show me white pines and giant oaks stately guarding Ozark hills. Show me rivers glistening and rambling. Show me flooded rice fields dancing on flat bottom land. From west to east, the scenery changes in the Show Me state, offering diversity that is broad and beautiful, one side to the other.

I took the ten-hour round trip tour a couple of weekends ago from Clinton to Sikeston, and home again. The hubs and I criss-crossed 12 counties, marveling at their differences. Though Mark Twain hailed from the opposite corner of the state, his namesake forest across the south central region offered scenic tranquility for part of the journey. The deep, dark, seemingly endless rows of trees surely would have inspired the story teller with as many back wood mysteries as the Mighty Mo river provided a backdrop for the folklore he made famous. And that's the beauty of this great state. Her cultural differences, various industry and natural characteristics run wide and deep, worthy of notice.

I often ponder on such road trips about the outcome of life had I lived just a few hours one way or another from where I call home. How much would the opportunities have changed; how would my world look differently? Would I still have gone to college or met the man I married? We spot pretty homesteads along the route and ask one another from time to time, "How would you like to live there?" We dream for a bit and venture the scenario, then always come up with the same answer. 

"No, I think I'll stay where I am."

There's no place like home. Though I must admit, I am tempted to transplant a few of those gorgeous tall evergreens and borrow a cool, clear stream for personal landscaping. A sprawling ranch with board fences and pristine paddocks, absent of ragweed, looks inviting. I'd like the deep, rich soil for our pastures and garden and some of those mountainous slopes for winter sledding. But, home is home and it always feels good to come back where the roots run deep and the surroundings are familiar.

Sometimes it takes a jaunt just a few hours away to rekindle an appreciation for the place where God planted us. It's nice to see the diversity; fun to enjoy some new scenery. But in the end, when the forest faded away and the sunset came into view, west and ahead, it felt right; it felt good. With some unseen, emotional magnetic force, home keeps pulling us back to the life and the folks we love and the history we've created.

From one side to the other, our state is spectacular and it's people memorable. Still, from one side to the other, home is preferable, and I'm glad each time I get there.

BTS and an Empty Nest

By Brenda Black

Once upon a time, I was shopping for backpacks, pencils and ruled paper in early August. The approaching autumn and school activities merited new clothes and shoes that fit our young sons. It hit me like a ton of bricks how long ago that now seems, as I watched hoards of families stock piling school supplies on “No Sales Tax” weekend. I nearly bought a box of crayons and a coloring book for myself, just for the sake of nostalgia. Besides I've heard it's great therapy for alleviating stress.

Funny how, on this side of time and distance, one only remembers the wonderment of back-to-school preps. We deny there were hassles and headaches. We conveniently forget how big of a dent the new clothes, paste and gym shoes put into our pocketbook. All we recall is smiling, cherub faces gleaming over Disney lunch boxes.

Perhaps this pollyannish mindset is the transfer of our own childhood memories upon our offspring. Truth be told, I still have my pink Tinker Bell lunch box. To me it still smells like tuna fish sandwiches – the good kind with sweet, homemade pickle relish and just the right amount of Miracle Whip -- lovingly cut by my mamma into perfect triangles that little hands could easily grip.

Wouldn't it be nice to turn that polyurethane insulated lunch bag into a time machine so that every time your baby opened it, the clock stood still and they stayed little. Then, once in a while, we could borrow it's magic, flip up the lid and step inside and go back to our own time of innocence.

So much for dreaming. We can't stop time and we can't go back. With the honor of motherhood comes happy memories as well as heartache. It would be nice if babies came with a guarantee of staying tiny. No colic, no tears, no toddler crashes, no loneliness on the playground and no teenage tragedies. It would be comforting to not have to worry over tough tests or deceitful friends or twenty-something break-ups. We'd like to think our child's life a bed of roses and innocence. But in the end, such a child would be spoiled and weak and have no history or meaningful memories. For all of life's experiences shape them into men and women we'll respect and upon which we may even depend. The whole of it is what makes watching them grow up worth the pain of letting it happen.

The instinct to provide and protect never ends. A desire to catch them before they fall or kiss all hurt away is protocol in the parent guidebook. That's what moms and dads do. We buy the supplies, we shuttle them to the practices. We check their progress and we carry their burdens like they were heaped in a backpack and strapped to our own shoulders. We watch them grow, without our permission, and cling to the memories of when they were little.

Then, one day, we look up to them. We step under the arm of a towering son, instead of holding him in our lap. We laugh like adult friends instead of warring like a mother at odds with her teenage daughter. We watch them launch. We celebrate their marriage. We welcome grandbabies and start the process all over!

Back to school takes me back in time. Back to when my children were babies. Yep, I think I'm going to go get that coloring book and use it as a bit of therapy to occupy and ease my mind, here in my empty nest.