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Even better than Disney?

February 10, 2024/2 Comments/in Uncategorized/by stacy@stacymcneely.com

(a series on ways that for me, Disney, Jesus and therapy all fit together…)

I took a deep, and I do mean, DEEP breath…the kind that I can feel all the way through my torso. The kind…that would make Mr. B, my choir teacher, so very proud. The plane was landing, I peered out the small window and saw palm trees swaying gently in the sunshine-filled sky, a breeze lulling them into movement, just a bit….

My love and I were there to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary, my 50th birthday and anything else we could possibly celebrate. And yes, THERE was in fact, Walt Disney World. If you know us, then you are probably NOT surprised. If you don’t, well, it is time for a bit of my backstory and my love of Disney, Mickey, the love of all things good and more of Jesus.

I think I was about 5 years old the first time we visited Disney World. My memories are vivid, though few are actually mine. Many have been solidified by pictures of that trip. I clearly remember our stay at the Polynesian, getting to “drive the monorail,” being both scared and mesmerized, developing vivid memories of The Pirates of the Caribbean – arriving in the middle of a battle between the pirate ships, the musky, yet inviting smell of the water, looking up from the boat to see a pirate’s VERY hairy leg hanging off the stone wall above and “YO HO, YO HO….” that I would never forget. The Haunted Mansion – the “ghosts,” an elegant, yet spooky ballroom and organ, graveyards and a terrified man and his shivering dog. Yes, at 5, I was scared at some points and I was also completely smitten with the magic. WDW was indeed a Fantasy land to me. Parades, characters, music, smells and wonder.

My most vivid memories were those of meeting Mickey Mouse. I just loved him. I loved his smile, happiness and was thrilled when I got my own turn to visit with him. We went for a character breakfast at the Crystal Palace, but none held a candle to sweet Mickey for me.

Picking a souvenir was SO HARD! It was such a big decision and I could not decide….my dad still talks about how many gift shops we visited and how my sister and I had to go back to many. Still, I finally settled on a stuffed Mickey and oh goodness, did I love the stuffing out of that one. Once we got home, I was so distraught that I had split Mickey and Minnie up, that my parents had some good family friends pick up the matching Minnie on their trip a few weeks later. That surprise on Christmas was unforgettable.

We visited again soon after adopting my younger brother, about 3 years later. My brother was searching for Mickey on the runway as the plane landed. I remember the Poly again, the stuffed Donald Duck he treasured and the love of being there once again.

Pure joy! (And what was I doing with my hair?)

There have been a number of trips over the course of my life, the ones with my parents and siblings, the one in college when I had an opportunity to go along with a family I babysat for, another with my best friend, my sister and her husband and then the trips with my husband and eventually, our beloved kids. Throughout my life, my love for Disney, Mickey and Disney World has remained constant. It has been part of my identity for as long as I can remember. I was “Aunt Mickey Mouse” to differentiate me from another “Aunt Stacy” at Camp Geneva and I think, lovingly adopted Mickey and gang as my team. What began for me as a kid (and probably the obligation my parents and so many others feel to let their kids experience Disney as least once, thank you mom and dad!!) has become a true love with a place, a feeling and something I still have difficulty putting an accurate description to.

From my youth, my love for both Disney and Jesus have had defining moments in who I am. Obviously, these are not equal. But, on this trip, I began to see how present my experience of Jesus is, everywhere, even at Disney.

From being a kid truly enamored with the parks, the characters and Mickey himself to an adult Disney lover, researcher and fan for many reasons, it has become so much more than childhood infatuation. It is an awareness of goodness, joy and a sense of returning to those feelings of youth. It is so much more for many, evidenced by increasing social media accounts, blogs and an entire art form that has become related to all things Disney. Our recent trip (just husband and I), had me really listening, watching and becoming aware of a much bigger picture of Disney than most would assume….

There is a sense there, of “all being right with the world – a suspension of “normal stress,” even though it gets traded for the less talked about stress that is, “high Disney expectations that so often go unmet.” Still, Disney’s numbers do not lie. Since its’ opening on October 1, 1971, it is estimated that an average of 58 million visit yearly. For us, not yearly, but as often as possible with a busy life, kids activities, jobs, etc.

Before I write another sentence, let me tell you a couple important details. 1) I am a very glass-half-full person. Not in an avoidant or Pollyanna way, but in a way that continues to evolve as I age. I choose to believe the good. I love the perspective (and sometimes challenge) of seeing the good when it seems to be hidden.) AND…I can sit in the hard, negative or downright difficult. Both/And has become a way of life for me. It is not trite. It is for me, the only way to approach almost everything because nearly everything is multi-faceted. 2) I am very aware of the underbelly that is present with Disney and most other things. It is commercialized, at its core, a business to make money and yes, extremely expensive. I am not avoidant of that awareness either. I again, just choose the good, the joy and positive more than the negative….

That said….

Husband and I arrived to celebrate a few important milestones, to refresh, to be together, and to PLAY at the parks. We appreciate the quality at the resorts, the food and the now familiar joy of being on Disney property. I am not sure how, but they work VERY hard to ensure the cast members are kind, accommodating and will go an extra 10 miles if needed to provide each guest with a magical stay, no matter what. We have experienced this over and over again.

This time, though, I was acutely aware of kindness, even more than fantastic customer service.

This time, around, I chose to use a wheelchair, which is not my everyday experience. I typically use a wheelchair when there are long distances and/or uneven terrain.

One of the beautiful things about Disney is their awareness and care for those with disabilities. Every time we rolled up to an attraction, big or small, a cast member had made eye contact along with a smile, begun clearing the way, unlatching lane lines or already directing us to a specified accessible entrance, with a lot of care and acceptance. Each conveyed a seemingly natural sense of inclusion, almost as if they didn’t even realize they were doing so. Throughout rides, shows or even getting to our resort, cast members were ready with an additional arm to support, encouragement to “take all the time you need,” or simple issues related to dignity. This meant more to me than I can convey.

I follow many Disney sites and forums, therefore hearing a lot of different experiences. It is my joy to live vicariously through others experiences, especially because the reality of going to WDW as often as I’d like is impossible.

Recently, I read a story, how a single mom was determined to bring her kids to Disney World even though she herself struggled with an anxiety disorder, panic attacks, and acute claustrophobia. As she entered a ride vehicle, her panic set in, and she knew she needed to get off the ride. A cast member saw her get on, then quickly get off with her kids in tow. The CM gently guided her another direction past the line cue, brought her to an extra ride vehicle, then took time to let her practice getting in and out. The cast member then went a further extra mile and offered to go on the ride with her. She (the CM) pointed out the hidden exits throughout the ride in order to help her keep the claustrophobia at bay, as well as hidden ride details and a few distractions. As this brave, strong Mom relayed the story in the forum, you could almost hear her tears of appreciation and changed perspective, because a cast member was so infinitely kind.

Another recent story told of another single mom, bringing her sweet daughter, who was in her last few weeks of life due to a brain tumor. The mom explained how when they finally got their turn to see Anna and Elsa, she told Elsa about her daughter’s joy and devotion. The cast member assigned to help then closed the line, proceeded to assist with a bigger photo shoot just for this mom and daughter. The mom shared that her daughter had since passed away, but these pictures meant so very much to her in the gut-wrenching throes of grief. I am not sure if either cast member is on that forum or if they are aware of the life-changing things that they provided for these two exceptionally brave women and their kids.

My experiences are not nearly that profound. And they were beautiful…

As we boarded Soarin’, I was seated next to a woman who was terrified of heights. During our preflight safety check, she was going back and forth in fear, “I need to get off” then her grown daughters asked her to stay. “Is it really high?” she asked husband and I with wide, fear-filled eyes. Husband was so reassuring to her, explained the mechanics. “I think you will be sorry if you don’t try” he gently told her and I was so proud of him. Still as the ride began, her body went rigid next to me. “Oh SHIT,” she exclaimed, eyes closed tightly. I leaned over, covered her white-knuckled hand with mine. “If you want to hold my hand you can..” I whispered. Then I began to quietly narrate the scenery before us. “Now we are dipping low over a river, near some kayaks…” she opened her eyes just a bit, whispered, “ok, I like this…

Then we swooped up, over a mountain, said hello to a hang glider on the screen, then soared over a grove of orange trees. Smells of fresh citrus filled our nostrils. Then is was ocean waves, dessert wind gusts and the streets of Disneyland on the screen…all the while I whispered, she gripped my hand and we settled back on the floor. She smiled at me, her eyes giving all her thanks. I squeezed her hand and softly encouraged her to “find a good margarita if you like them.” “Oh, I will!!” She was gone in a flash. I was thankful to have been in that seat, at THAT moment.

My own experiences, held their own life-changing beauty. I sat in that wheelchair as my husband selflessly pushed, helped and purely loved me for many many miles in the parks. Countless times, cast members were right there to assist if we needed it. And then there were a few meetings with Mickey himself.

You may find it silly that going to get my picture with Mickey Mouse as a 50 year old woman was important to me. That’s entirely OK. But watching the cast members care, listening to the joy of each person who got to walk into any characters presence and hearing how much it meant to so many based on the lines to get there, tells me that I’m not the only one.

By the time it was our turn, husband and I had already established a routine. As the people ahead were getting their pictures, we pushed the wheelchair off to the side and then made work of getting up to visit Mickey & Minnie ( or whomever.)

As soon as the previous group had left the queue, Mickey turned his attention to me. There was such a gentleness and care as Mickey and Minnie both would take my hand and walk me over to the center spot. There was love and support that came through from the heart behind that costume. It was palpable and happened time and time and time again.

My adult brain is very aware of what is happening with a person behind the costume, but with each picture was the awareness that for at least 40 years this character has meant a lot to me.

One of my favorite quotes from Maya Angelou says, ” I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Disney is SO masterful at capturing the feelings - the music, the joy, the familiar, the wonder, (even the smells!) that bring us all back to a place we remember, if not in our actual memory, than in a deep, primal part of our brains. As I watched all those people in the park, seeking this feeling, enjoying the stability and sameness that Disney somehow manages, I was aware again, how we are all looking for the same thing in real life. We want things to be unchanging. We want joy and goodness. We want to be seen. We are all moved by kindness. We want wonder…we want to remember how all of it feels, at least I think so.

Yes, a lot of that can be found at Disney, not all the .time though. Husband and I giggled quite a few times with empathy for young parents who just wanted that sweet picture with their child and Buzz Lightyear, with Minnie or with a their favorite snack for their Instagram. And yet, as it happens, kids (and adults) get overstimulated, tired of waiting, hungry or sometimes, something we just don’t know. We all struggle with something, even at Walt Disney World.

It would be so easy for me to make Disney some sort of idol, even inadvertently. While I love so many things about The Walt Disney Company: the atmosphere, imagination and overall goodness found in the ability to experience a “fantasy” while on vacation, it is just that, a means to get away from “real life.” While Disney allows me (and so many others) to chase the feeling that we want to hold on to forever, there is something so much bigger.

Nothing in my life is separate from or more important than Jesus Christ. While Disney is my “joy,” a place and ideas where I find sheer delight, it always ends, at least for that vacation.

Jesus is unchanging, forever and ever. Romans 8: 38-39 says, “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

While it is a fantastic vacation at Disney and we absolutely CAN find moments of experiences that reflect all the good, kind, joyful characteristics of Jesus EVERYWHERE, the God of Heaven and Earth IS all of those things and SO MUCH MORE! He is LOVE. He is LIGHT. He is PERFECT. He is so much more than our best experiences, even when we feel the characteristics in small amounts everywhere.

We experienced all kinds love and goodness while on vacation. As with so many people and places in life, there are so many reflections of Jesus: in our families and most intimate friendships, relationships, nature, artwork, creativity, skills, hobbies and abilities. It is ALL created to reflect and glorify the creator, even how we experience feelings, people and joy at Disney. I can experience a reflection of my Savior in everything, and I do. There is never a shortage of things to be in awe of. And nothing deserves my awe, my love and devotion more than He does. NOTHING compares to the journey and relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ.

In speaking with my friend and pastor, Ross, he told me about the Biblical idea of “Kal Vehomer.” In his words, “It’s a phrase that literally means “light & heavy” and it’s an argument that moves from the lesser to the greater. It’s usually translated as “how much more,” Jesus uses it when he talks about parents knowing how to give good gifts…and so “how much more” our Heavenly Father does too.” He went on to say, ” if Disney knows how to see & honor & love people — and to create an atmosphere of goodness — how much more does Jesus see and love and how much more does God know how to create a world saturated with goodness in the kingdom come.” I am so appreciative of this dear friend’s perspective, editing help and wisdom. I couldn’t have said this better myself. It is EXACTLY what I was hoping to say.

My love, thank you for showing me Jesus in all the ways as we spent this time together. Your care, joy and sacrifice on my behalf, are not unnoticed. You astound me every day. I am humbled to be given your love for this lifetime.

To each and every cast member who goes above and beyond, who work diligently to provide dignity, time, support and happiness to those of us who come and take this place for granted. Your efforts don’t go unnoticed either.

My Jesus, thank you for the sunshine and swaying palm trees. Thank you for opportunities to go and experience the magnificent artistry of Imagineers, creativity, visual and audible wonders of music, shows, food, fireworks and so much more. Your attention to detail so that we may experience joy is so, so extravagant. Thank you for the laughter of kids and adults alike, the way you are the one who has created wonder at all. Thank you that you are the true author of our stories, your presence in the good and evil, the deep down fear, battles, redemption and love. I pray that through all things, even Disney, you continue to use it to show us who you are.

Both/And

xoxo

1 Corinthians 13:4-8

PS I am hoping in the next few posts to write about some of the common analogies that I use in counseling using some of the poignant moments Disney has created that reflect to me humanity, Jesus and therapy all together…let’s see how it goes!

Links

January 28, 2024/3 Comments/in Uncategorized/by stacy@stacymcneely.com

When my mom picked up her computer to start writing this week’s blog I asked if I could write. I wanted to write on my mom’s blog to talk about my experience with LINKS. You all probably know me from my mom’s blog. I’m her youngest daughter. I am in 7^th grade and 12 years old.

I feel like I have a connection with kids with different abilities. I am so blessed to have been able to meet so many people who I am very close to now. Last year, I met this amazing boy with autism (T). He didn’t really know how to control his anger or stress. He would have little tantrums.

(T) is both fun and smart. I started hanging out with him not too long after I met him. I became really close friends with him. He was in a good mood most of the time and in my 3^rd hour choir class. He really didn’t like choir, that’s where he needed help the most. I felt sad for him because he didn’t know any better. My teacher was the best when it came to these situations. She always told us “I’m not worried about him. If I thought he was going to do anything, I would take care of it. I know he is in control.” I always thought she was so brave for that. I wasn’t scared of him; I was just worried. I knew he was going through a hard time; he just needed a friend. And I was going to be that friend.

I found out he has a deep love for squismallows just like me. We started bonding over the cute plushies. A few weeks later, he walked over to me and told me “Sky I really like you.” “Well, I like you too.” “More than a friend?” he said excitedly “Oh umm well (T) I’m really sorry, I just like you as a friend. I don’t know if I’m ready to be really liking anyone yet.” He looked down and said “ok.” he dragged his feet and walked away slowly.

I felt bad. I mean should I have said something different? But at the same time, I wasn’t really interested in dating him. I just wanted to be friends. Eventually he stopped thinking about it. He is an amazing kid and I love being his friend.

After the summer, I come to find out that I will have two classes with him! I was so happy. We normally went on breaks together throughout the day when he needed them and I helped him with all his work. In the 2^nd quarter, 2 new teachers joined. That meant a lot of kid’s schedules would change. Including mine. I got moved out of my 1^st, 2^nd and 3^rd hour, two of which I had with (T). I heard from my teacher that he was really unhappy without me in either of his classes. I felt so bad, but knew it wasn’t my fault.

When I got home that day, I told my mom and dad everything – how my schedule changed and that I wasn’t in any classes with (T) anymore. My mom was really sad to hear that. My sister and brother have had one of the teachers that I got moved out of and we all loved her. My teacher and mom did some mastermind hacking and got me back into her class! They both thought that it was a good idea for me to be back in her class. I’m so thankful that it all worked out. I wasn’t moved back into the other class with (T), so I remained in my new 3^rd hour class. But Tyler is still my bestie as well as his other friend (L). She is an amazing friend to both of us. (L) started her school year in 6^th grade by joining the LINKS program.

LINKS is for anyone who wants to join, also people with different abilities who need a little more help. (L) has been in links for a while now. I have wanted to join but I never knew how. We’ll come back to that. A few weeks ago, I was in 1^st hour. (T) was not there. I asked to go to the library to finish my work. On my way down there, I saw Mrs. (P), a LINKS teacher. (T) was standing by the main entrance with all of his stuff. I asked “what’s (T) doing?” “He wants to go home; he doesn’t want to be at school. I tried talking to him asking him to come back to class but he wouldn’t listen.” “Could I try talking to him?” “That would be great!” I walked over to him, and asked “what are you doing bud?” “I don’t want to be here!” “I know, but think about it, if you never came to school, you wouldn’t be able to see all of your friends.” He said “yeah that’s true.” So, I gave him a hug and we went to the library. On the way, Mrs.(P) said “You’re the best!”

Later that week I got nominated for student of the month. My teacher saw how good I was doing with (T) in 1^st hour. I was thrilled! I was so blessed with all these opportunities. Thank you, Jesus. The next week, I was walking down the hall and Mrs. (P) stopped me and said “Hello sunshine! I’ve seen how well you work with (T) in class so I thought that I would add you to the list for LINKS!” “Thank you so much! This means so much to me!” She gave me a hug and emailed my mom about it, telling her how proud she was of me and how well I work with (T). Ever since then, I’ve been helping and being there for him in any way he needs me. I am so blessed to have met all these incredible people. My life would not be the same without them.

Both/and

Xoxo -(S) for my mom. She leaves tomorrow for vacation, but will be back with even more stories!

What is it that really moves you?

January 21, 2024/0 Comments/in Uncategorized/by stacy@stacymcneely.com

For a recent movie night with my husband and kids, I chose E.T. My kids, somehow, had NEVER seen this classic all the way through. I am still a bit shocked by that fact, even though we have certainly remedied that error. But as I sat watching this movie that was fairly formative for me, I could feel my heart squeezing, tearing and soaring as if it was the first time watching this endearing, complex and ultimately familiar story of love and loss.

I hope this is not a spoiler, but the bond between Elliot and E.T. is both beautiful and heart-breaking. It speaks of love and connection to me every single time I’ve watched it – with humor, perseverance, hope and the painfulness of goodbye. While every bit of that moves me, the thing that sends my heart soaring is the swell of the music while the boys, ET and their bikes rise to the sky. It is their laughter, freedom and surprise that truly stirs me. And it is their laughter, freedom and joy that awakens again in my brain this many years since ET’s release in 1982. 42 years ago! What is it that keeps us connected to a person, memory or event that so moves us?

According to multiple sources, an average of 35,000 people visit Walt Disney World each day. Each. day of the year! Whether you are one of those or you are one who is determined to avoid Disney at all costs, there is something that spurs true Disney fans on to journey to Florida, California or other parks across the world, over and over again. There is pure delight for young and old as they board a Doom Buggy and hear the opening strains of Grim Grinning Ghosts. When Splash Mountain closed last January to make way for Tiana’s Bayou Adventure, hundreds packed the Magic Kingdom for one last ride, some waiting 3 hours in line or over 3 hours just to see the final run of the iconic ride.

Again, I wonder, what is it, that draws one person or another to have such an emotional connection to a place or event? The ones that are obvious are the weddings, baptisms, graduations and yes, funerals. But what about the things that are personal to us and us alone?

I can touch the triangles in the quilt I had made of my kids baby cloths and be transported to their baptisms, their days of little league, rec soccer, or even everyday events that are stored deep in my memory. That quilt is one of my favorite gifts to myself this past year. Rather than store all their old stuff in a bin in the storage room, I now can wrap myself in these moments and share the stories with them again and again. “Tell me about this one, Mom.” “Oh, I remember that one!” These moments flood me with the joy and love of family while the days seem to fly by.

Perhaps it is the strain of a song that brings you back to a place or time or like me, a movie that moves us to feel and remember.

I loved crooning Rainbow Connection and Top of the World in music class with Ms. Crawford in elementary music class.

When the bagpipes began at our wedding 20 years ago, it was a moment. We’ve heard from many of our loved ones what a beautiful moment that was…and yet, I am sure that not many, (other than our parents and ourselves) would know the name or even strains of the song. Yet, when it comes on because it is in one of my playlists, I am instantly transported back to standing in the back of the church, clutching my dad’s elbow and locking eyes with my love where he stood waiting for me.

I am nearly every Sunday, moved to tears as I worship. I feel something deep, deep down that almost cannot be described. Recently, our church did a four week series visiting the decades of the churches history, including the worship. Music has always been a big part of my relationship with Jesus. The Tree Song (anyone remember this one as well?), El-Shaddai and Awesome God bring me straight back to the wonder of my kid and pre-teen years. Hold Me Jesus, The Great Adventure and Ancient of Days recall my deepening relationship with Jesus while classic hymns and current offerings add to my of understanding worship and the love of Jesus through gifted musicians. I could almost make a timeline of my life based on certain worship songs and return to the time and place God was working in my heart – and I am stirred.

Even though I am NOT a lover of snow, I drew in a breath yesterday as I left the house, opened the garage and stood instantly in the middle of a snow globe. Huge, fast flakes covered our drive and lawn, untouched by dirt, other cars, footprints or anything. Daughter whispered, “even you, can’t be mad at that…” How right she was. Even when my muscles tense and my heart is grumpy because it too, is cold, I cannot deny being moved by the beauty, even briefly.

Maya Angelou said, “We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.”

Why is that? It is sheer wonder on both sides, the process and the result. What if we lived that way all the time – allowing ourselves to be moved, stirred and alive in both? Could we notice: The colors of the fall and how they got there? The joy of a Christmas bike ride and the mechanics of bodies that can? A warm cinnamon roll cookie made by my daughter. The conversation with a beloved friend, ending in a hug and deeper understanding, the way the horses gallop to the fence when I bike to Windmill, then gently let me pet their silky noses. Finally, the way I walk into physical therapy with a bit of anxiety, pain and frustration with my sore ankle and leave encouraged and grateful from the help of my wise physical therapist. I am moved by sunsets AND sunrise, embrace the pang of sadness because I finished a fantastic book. I am moved as I continue to learn and become a therapist, never losing the wonder at the trust of walking intense, beautiful journeys.

And the reason I am moved at all? Because the IMMOVABLE is so moved to love me at all. I sometimes imagine his glee in creating it all – giraffes, trees, tea, dogs, my loves. Hyacinths so fragrant that I can’t breath in enough, (lilacs too, for that matter,) being able to witness the success and accomplishments all around me. The deep belly laugh of my love when my daughter delivers a witty comment when least expected and the hug I get from my mom just when I need one. The perfect bite of lemon meringue pie that transports me to my Gram’s table, the tiniest sight of a rainbow in the middle of a blizzard….

Psalm 92: 1-2, 4-5 says,

¹It is good to praise the Lord
and make music to your name, O Most High,
²proclaiming your love in the morning
and your faithfulness at night,

For you make me glad by your deeds, Lord;
I sing for joy at what your hands have done.
⁵How great are your works, Lord,
how profound your thoughts!

I could go on and on in praise and thankfulness. But truly, I wonder, what moves you?

Perhaps it is grandkids, or your pet, your artwork or your favorite band. Perhaps it is a beautiful requiem or holding your loved ones favorite shirt after they’ve passed. I think the key is to allow ourselves to be moved at all. Do we take the time to notice all the things the CAN move us or do we miss it? No judgements, just thoughts….

I pray you find sheer delight and wonder in all the everyday ways in which God delights in you. I pray you KNOW, that you are knit together in such a way that you are INTENDED to be moved, over and over and over by your creator. And I pray that if you are struggling, the wonder and movement can be held with and for you until you can find it again for yourself.

“Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than we ask or imagine; according to his power that is at work within us.” Ephesians 3:20

Both/And

xoxo

The Phone of the Wind…

January 2, 2024/5 Comments/in Uncategorized/by stacy@stacymcneely.com

I sat scrolling on my phone the day before my husband and I were heading up north for an anniversary trip, half-heartedly searching for new restaurants to try or places to visit. We love “windshield time” on our drives and wandering in new places. A few interesting restaurants popped up, but none caught my attention like the 4th thing down on the “Interesting places nearby” list…

As I looked at the photo, I was instantly transported back to my Gram’s kitchen, a place I only get to visit in my thoughts since her death 30 years ago…

Arriving at her house, nearly an hour away from my own was one of my very favorite places to arrive, EVER. She was joy, doting, silliness, all our favorite foods and oh, the smell of her…if happiness had an aroma, it was her.

I could tell you so many things about my beloved Gram…but this post, this one is mostly about her phone.

In her wide open kitchen and dining room, decorated with popular colors of the seventies, exactly kitty-corner from her dining room table where we had a million tea parties and games of Rummy, was her orange rotary telephone. The coiled chord was long and always twisted. Her phone is likely where I began to love the color orange, long before I attended Hope College. Because her phone, kept her close to me, even when she lived an hour away…

She would tell me so many things, always making me laugh. One of my very favorite stories of her phone was how when a little boy called one day and she answered, he told her, “I am sorry, I must’ve called the wrong number.”

“Oh, that’s ok,” she told him, “I’m Liz, how are you?” They began to talk and giggle, and from then on, he would call on purpose, “to talk to his friend.”

She would tell me about long conversations with my cousins, her best friend, Eloise and Sandy, who cut her hair. And we were apart, she would make me giggle on the phone, stories about my grandpa’s escapades, including spilling paint all over her kitchen floor. Black. paint.

As this picture rolled across my phone, all the memories of Gram’s orange phone danced around my memory immediately.

I spend a great majority of my time as a therapist offering support and listening to stories of loss. As strange as it may sound, this area of life and loss is the most natural for me as a mental health professional. There are so many reasons why – some my own experiences of loss, professional experiences, training, those whose lives have impacted mine permanently. But let me be so clear…the greatest reason I am a therapist specializing in grief and loss is because God is sovereign.

What began in my journey began with a supervisor who exudes such race and dignity; she modeled the beauty that is possible in end-of-life care. Countless role models who were similar and an internship that allowed me to better understand the whole picture of loss, care and the bereavement process. Though we did not name it so, it was in that internship in Hospice care that I learned both/and.

Gram died 9 years before that internship and it was there I began to understand what mourning is.

21 years later, it is my privilege to hear many stories of loss, lament, agonizing, breath-taking pain and hope. I am given the tender invitation into some of my clients hardest, most raw moments and my greatest hope is to offer hope; to bear witness to the painstaking wrenching of heart, soul and mind, or the questions that feel unanswerable.

It is the reason that the phone of the wind caught my attention at all…

It is the oldest, most painful sentiment of so many this side of heaven..

“if I could only talk to them one more time…”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye…I needed to tell her that I love her.”

“He didn’t know….”

As I sat looking at the photo of the Phone of the Wind, “nearby,” I was immediately drawn to know more. What was it? I peered at the plaque on the the picture, drew in a breath and began to search for the story behind this beautiful sentiment.

A phone booth the first-ever wind phone, an unconnected telephone booth in Ōtsuchi, Iwate Prefecture, Japan, where visitors can hold one-way conversations with deceased loved ones. Initially created by garden designer Itaru Sasaki in 2010 to help him cope with his cousin’s death, it was opened to the public in the following year after the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami killed over 15,000 people in the Tōhoku region. The wind phone has since received over 30,000 visitors.

As of December, 2023, there are more than 100 wind phone replica’s worldwide.

I was amazed, my brain full of thoughts, from my Gram’s orange phone, my brave clients in various journeys with loss and instantly the idea of comfort in the form of a disconnected phone in the wind.

A short search brought me to this novel. I can never turn down a book, especially one that can teach me more about grief.

I bought them both and was quickly drawn in.

This novel is rich in detail, wisdom and hope.

For several years, Yui’s image of happiness had resided in the telephone booth and the heavy black object with the numbers 1 to 0 arranged in a circle on the front. With her ear pressed to the receiver, she would become absorbed in the view of the garden on that remote hillside in northeast Japan. From there she could see the glittering sea, smell the salt rising up in the ripples. From there Yui would dream of talking to her daughter, whose life had ended after only three years and her mother, who had held the little girl until the very end.” (The phone at the edge of the world, page 9.)

And further, Yui and Takeshi gradually realized that the Wind Phone was conjugated differently for each person; everyone’s grief looked the same at first, but was, ultimately, unique. (p 124.)

It is a story of grief, trauma, love and understanding.

After husband and I went searching for the Wind Phone but couldn’t find it, I began to dream on our drive home. I talked all about building one with an orange phone like Gram’s.

Searching eBay and Facebook marketplace, I immediately found “her” phone for a minimum of $400.00. Clearly, I was not the only one looking for an orange rotary phone!

For the next couple months we searched for a rotary phone (in other colors as well) and finally found a red one.

We vacillated between creating one to put on public land and one at our home.

About a month ago, after using wood from a friend’s barn, a piece of copper once owned by my grandpa who was a tin smith, my husband bought me to kitchen and showed me the most perfect Wind Phone.

Two days later, he brought home the plaque:

I am so thankful for husband’s many talents and his ability to make a multitude of dreams come true. I am thankful for the journey, even though there are some tremendously hard parts. Without those, I couldn’t walk the journey with others.

I am ever thankful for my Jesus, the ultimate voice of the wind in many ways. He is the reason I will be reunited with loved ones, the reason for everything.

I pray that if you are missing one you love, know there is hope. Reach out, lean in and keep being kind to yourself. You are not alone.

Longing for bravery in the new year and a few lessons we can learn from Elsa…

January 1, 2024/2 Comments/in Uncategorized/by stacy@stacymcneely.com

The heaviness he shared felt nothing short of oppressive…a 100 pound weight blanket that paralyzed in every way. He shared all the methods and advice he’d been given over a lifetime of fighting and I do mean, FIGHTING depression. From all the adages that well-meaning friends, family and professionals advise: “eat healthy, exercise, journal, pay attention to negative thoughts, mindfulness, prayer, meditation, yoga…” There was also deeper advice, involving medication, invasive brain treatment and years of therapy….

My heart breaks as I listen intently. I both BELIEVE in ALL of that true and well- researched advice and I am again understanding how depression can feel, paralyzing a person’s ability to help themselves. All I can do in these breathtakingly sad and difficult moments is be near: witness and empathize and validate the sheer anguish that IS everyday living with depression.

A video popped up on my feed yesterday in which Kate Bowler was interviewing Lisa Damour. The title of the video said, “How saying, that sucks, I’m sorry has spiritual power. (See link below!) https://youtu.be/mHQGCNeBx7k?si=DwOX89K_BwW5Iy7S

Don’t we all just want someone to be WITH US when something really hurts, agonizes or aggravates?

It is still, after 23 years in the field of counseling, an amazing moment when I am allowed to sit with clients in the hardest, most painful parts of life. The moment when I remind myself to stay silent and after the right pause in the telling of one’s story, I can just utter, “That must be so hard, I am so sorry,” or, “that sucks…” It IS spiritual. I can physically see sighs of relief, shoulders loosen or facial expressions ease as I listen and acknowledge each person’s lived experience….

Losses that feel so final that one doesn’t know if they can gather the strength to take another breath. A cancer diagnosis that in a swoop, changes an entire families’ future plans or years of infertility, treatments and silent suffering amidst a world of women who seem to easily get pregnant; and the slow, cruel loss of a lifetime of dreams about motherhood. These are just a few this year, that I have the honor of being with.

To be entirely honest, I am often torn between the helplessness so many feel, the responsibility in my calling and the sheer audacity of hope that I am allowed to witness each and every day.

My grandfather died nearly 30 years ago, about two years after my grandma. Both died very suddenly and I don’t think I had a clue what grief was, mercifully, until then. I know that I had not fully processed the loss of Gram, when I received a phone call while at work (my parents were on vacation) that my Aunt had found Grandpa at his home after what appeared to be a stroke.

The days and weeks to follow were a blur. Somewhere in those new, raw and unreal days of loss, I heard a song lyric about, wishing you a brave new year. I clung to that phrase, not at all sure how to be brave and hoping it was possible, to indeed have, a brave new year.

That phrase has stayed with me ever since….both the undeniable, unstoppable hope in that wish and the awareness, deeper over time how monumentally hard it is to feel, be or hope to be brave. From the time I heard that lyric to the present is a journey from finding my own bravery to helping others find it also.

What comes to mind with the word, brave? I threw out a small poll and here are some of the responses I received:

“Bravery and courage are interchangeable to me. It’s being fearful of stepping forward, but doing it despite fear and WITH the fear.

But the thing is, the fear you started the steps with, never makes it to the end point with you.”

-JB

“Brave is an adjective. To be brave is to do or be something that you never believed possible, to beat the odds that are stacked against you; to continue growing amidst challenges and obstacles, to choose to get up in the morning when it seems there’s nothing to even wake up for, to make it through the day, to forgive, to do all the things that in your mind can’t be done. Bravery and faith are intertwined, as they are both taking the first step, even when you can’t see the whole staircase.” -EM

“To Overcome, not all heroes wear capes.” – MM

“Fear because usually when you are brave you are doing something that scares you or gives you fear” -EWM

For me, there are many that come to mind. There is the Disney movie starring feisty Merida, of course. There are so many inspiring stories from all over social media. There are those who currently, as I write, are somehow bravely surviving in war-torn parts of the Middle East and beyond. I think of a pastor I began listening to 2 years ago who has recently had a recurrence of cancer in his brain. I think of how Amy Purdy, who inspires me, starting with her appearances on Dancing with the Stars.

But do you know what else? My perspective of brave has shifted. The images above ARE so brave…and so is the family who is advocating for mental health awareness following the unexpected death by suicide of a beloved friend, daughter, son or parent. Those who are quietly coming to sessions, learning to feel all the hard feelings and sharing their story safely.

Brave IS the person who DOESN’T give in to the temptation to relieve their pain by attempting suicide. Brave IS showing up day after day in the midst of bullying, holding on to your own beliefs and not giving into the ever-present lies of worthlessness. Brave IS saying, “I am not going to drink, smoke or hurt myself” when it seems so much simpler to do so to ease pain. Brave is every day -choices to live out faith, beliefs and boundaries when there is so much pushback…

Brave is continuing to fight whatever fight you are fighting: a minute, hour, day, week, month or year at a time. Brave is listening to that strong voice inside you that guides you to the next right thing. Maybe that means relinquishing something we love dearly this year, dream or part of because you know it is right. (By the way, I believe, that the right thing is rarely the easy thing and that in itself is brave. Maybe that is choosing your own need or right thing amidst a sea of opinions, advice and pressure from all around.

It is BRAVE to change career paths amidst choices and already laid paths leading to a “safe” spot, but the gnawing inside you is unable to forget a different opportunity or idea.

Have you watched Frozen 2? Elsa, Anna, Kristoff and friends are busy in what seems the “happy ever after” following Frozen. Yet, Elsa is stirred by an unknown, beckoning voice. She tries so hard to ignore the voice, yet, in, Into the Unknown, she cannot not hear it. (Link to the song here. https://youtu.be/l1uoTMkhUiE?si=oP-FUbE-5jcwVLy9 )

You can hear her internal struggle between both wanting to be content and afraid to let people down or change and then…the brave, heart-swelling moments of finding herself and her truth. Later, as she comes to a watershed moment in her quest to understand the calling – she is earnest, passionate and brave in seeking.

Maybe you agree or don’t, but to me, Show Yourself (https://youtu.be/md7dK5-qvHc?si=oUicMlnS5TMG5wFN) is a picture of embracing the Holy Spirit in some ways. The brave, brave effort of seeking truth and the singular drive toward hope is astounding.

Maybe our job with bravery is to see it in all things and understand that it really is breath-taking. Getting up in the morning for some, is the BRAVEST thing. Believing in yourself, so brave. Praying and holding on…I believe all of heaven is moved in this brave, holy effort.

Maybe…just maybe, we need to slow ourselves, offer so much more tenderness and earnestly seek the ways we and others around us are profoundly brave in this next year. Change IS brave. Big and so small. Hope is brave, always. Trying, is so brave! Surrender and tenacity and when we need each, is ridiculously brave.

Give yourself permission to change the way you experience brave this year. Don’t buy into the January hype that may say the only way to success is weight-loss, new goals and resolutions. Try Softer, as Aundi Kobler’s book says. (If you need a beautiful read, that one is it!) Kinder, softer slower.

Bravery is all around you. I believe in you and I know and believe in who Jesus is. Always.

1 Cor. 16:13

The weary world rejoices

December 25, 2023/3 Comments/in Uncategorized/by stacy@stacymcneely.com

Candles flicker, faces glow…. O Holy Night.

I let my tears spill from my eyes without wiping them away as the Hallelujah swells – both tears of sadness, remembering how it was so hard to sing at the funerals of two beloved grandparents and tears due to the pure holiness of standing in this sanctuary on THIS Christmas Eve. Funerals and majesty, two reasons we would say hallelujah in the first place.

I sit next to my son on one side, my husband, and the other, (the girls and my parents on either side of them,) knowing the family behind me is celebrating a new engagement. Families in front of me and all around, generations of growth, hope and change.

Christmas Eve together: the moments of taking pictures including our three dogs, that bring both laughter and preserving the moment and the frustration of trying to get the picture at all. Then we were off to one side of the family for Christmas, blessings of being cared for by my in-laws and gratitude for being loved.

We arrived for a candlelight service at our church that is still new to us and yet familiar. After attending church here as a teen, then another for nearly 25 years of my adult life, God brought us back here, post-COVID.

Worship this night led us to the very love of Jesus embodied in a vulnerable, helpless baby. Our lovely and talented worship leader encouraged us to think about the service as if it was the first or last time we would hear the story of Jesus Christ’s birth. What would be different, what would be new or what would we feel?

Oh Jesus, how could you, for me? How could you subject yourself to it ALL? Knowing and not knowing as a babe, knowing and teaching as a teen, as a rabbi, a sacrifice and ultimately as a Savior. How could you for us ALL? Can we worship you or thank you enough? Can we possibly love you to make it all worth it?

These were my thoughts, as I felt all around slip away and was just present with my Jesus, Lord and Savior. I can’t do, say, or love you well enough. I truly cannot….

But I can stand here, surrendered to the holiness of Christmas, allowing my heart to hear it new, to see you in a different light and share the love you have lavishly given so freely. I can stand here, still missing my beloved people who are with you already. I trust that your word is true.

Home after the service, the 5 of us. I relish these moments of us, the ones I feel slipping away like sand on a shore…the 18 year old just ready, talking more and more of “going to school.” My other two growing and changing as well… but for now she and we are here…the sparkle of Christmas lights, the arrival of friends who are family to share a hug and tea ring, a time honored tradition that brings again the pang of loss and the hope of heaven. The loss of this dear sister’s dad was a teacher of grief in my 20’s. Love tends to honor loss and hope so often, if not always. It is a difficult and deeply trusting both/and, on the daily.

Then is one of my favorite things of all… the giving of gifts to those I love. I often wish for a million dollars to be able to dole it out in all the best ways.

This year included Legos for my love and my son, their favorite cloths brands, sweet and meaningful jewelry, stuffed animals, books, electronics and favorite candy. The pure joy for us as their parents WAS the joy, the gratitude and the moments that THEY recognized just for a moment, how known and seen, loved and cherished they are. The stuff is simply a mechanism to show them love, care and unconditional presence to who they are.

I also received so much love in the form of their thoughtful and beautiful gifts: a handmaid piece of pottery, jewelry of sentiment and symbolism, soft socks and thoughts of my Gram; a candle “that smells perfect like you, Mom” and still more love than I could write. My love outdid himself, the sheer surprise of a recumbent bike he crafted out of metal, and tickets to see Pink in the Future! (If you are wondering why that is in bold, please see my last post!) I could not have been more surprised or felt more cherished. Not because of the gift, because love IS the gift.

Love is the gift, this Christmas and every other moment beyond, because HE, Jesus Christ, IS LOVE.

That’s what I felt in the candle lit glow of the sanctuary, a growing actual sanctuary of safety and love in the form of the church, new and old friends. That is how I saw the Christmas story new: the familiar, the sacrifice, innocence and the true LOVE. That is how I experience friends and family, the love of it all.

Christmas day brought still more love, care, laughter and our humanity in the form of all of us together. All the care, love and individuality. I am so thankful for the both/and. In it ALL, HE IS LOVE. We try to love and love well. We get to try to care and be kind to ourselves and each other. We GET TO cherish each other because, there by the grace of God, go (I) but truly we….

I pray for you, this Christmas season, that you GOT TO feel love in some form…that even in the hardest and darkest, hope somehow prevailed. I pray you KNOW without a shadow of doubt, how important and worthy you are and that you are able to rest and hope, in all that God promises.

The beautiful model recumbent my love made by hand. ❤️

Thank you for being on this writing journey with me. It is such a gift to write, interact and connect.

Merry Christmas again and a very brave, brave New Year.

Both/And

1 Peter 4:8

Holding my rail…

December 19, 2023/1 Comment/in Uncategorized/by stacy@stacymcneely.com

“Don’t let go of your rail.” I encouraged last week during a counseling session, to a person who has been enduring emotional abuse for the last 10 years. They have been working so hard on boundaries and I am so proud. As my day wound down, the memories and years I have been giving that phrase to brave clients played like a soundtrack in my head. It was no surprise to me that a smile pulled at my lips and my brain found the very first time I myself was told the exact same thing….

I was in my 20’s when I began the self care practice of getting deep tissue massages. I had/have a complicated relationship with this body, as I believe we all do. I was a young woman, introverted and not yet aware of how to care of these muscles who endure so much. Cerebral Palsy was confusing by itself, but learning how to care for and love a body that was hard for me to trust was…well, let’s just say that I am still and probably will always be learning about that in some ways. I am both much further than I was and not yet where I want to be.

I can’t remember how I came upon Suzy. It took many months, but my body and my heart would eventually trust this massage therapist who is kind and knowledgeable. She was for quite some time, a very safe person to open up to while she helped me learn what I needed with this disability AND this body. Suzy became more than my massage therapist, she was a teacher in many ways, as well as a friend, insightful and caring. While she was loosening my muscles, she also helped loosen my fears, insecurities and walls.

During one such appointment, I lay on a massage table while Suzy rolled my calf muscles, a vulnerability it had taken me a long time to brave…she would press so hard on the bottoms of my feet, which to me, is heavenly! Much of my spasticity originates in my feet, I have learned. She was a bit in awe that I wasn’t screaming in pain as she worked hard to get my muscles to release some of the tension that it does not realize it is gripping so tightly.

“I have made burly quarterbacks cry with much less pressure than this.” She quipped as I lay facedown on her massage table. I remember feeling simultaneously sad for said quarterback AND feeling very strong in that moment. Later I would say to myself, “how badass am I, if football players cry about this and I DON’T!”

That day, I was telling her about a concert I had attended a few nights before with a friend. The arena near our home is big and crowds have always been anxiety-provoking because of my balance. I tense up, fear getting bumped, falling and/or getting trampled. I explained how when I go down a set of stairs, I hold the rail tightly to keep myself upright and as safe as possible.

Inevitably though, someone will come up the stairs, (against the down-going flow) in the same spot that I am trying to go down, both of us holding tight to that rail. At that time, I firmly believed that I was required to get out of someone’s way if they came up to me that way. I erroneously believed that I was doing the better thing by letting go so they could pass, even though I would tense up and get very scared on that step until I could grab ahold again, clinging tighter still with a now clanging heartbeat. Perhaps this was VERY ingrained, “put others before yourself,” or people-pleasing because I thought that I had to be extra nice to everyone to make up for needing extra help sometimes. Either way, as I described it to Suzy, her eyes grew wide.

“You know that is not safe for you, right?” She had a stare that seemed to go right through me. And to be honest with you, I had never considered that. Now was my turn to blink and replay the events from a few nights before, including how I had handled those arena stairs.

“Huh…” I murmured, wondering for the first time in my life why I was indeed, getting out of someone else’s way when they were going the wrong direction and when it was more than necessary for me to hold on….

“Don’t you NEED the rail?” She asked, gently, working hard on my feet and toes, which I was noticing had become tighter and more contracted as she asked her questions.

Out of nowhere, tears filled my eyes and my nose filled up in mere seconds. I did. I could not get down any flight of stairs without that assistance.

A surprising silent wail threatened to rise from the toes that were painfully clinching to keep it deep down. She must have known…but she silently let me hold that wail, a soundless sob that shook my whole body. It was THEN, that I began to understand AND acknowledge how terrifying it was, to try to move and get out of someone’s way on those steps as I felt obligated to let go of those railings….

THAT was the day that I truly began to understand the connection between emotions and bodies. My own body was a living, moving example, (which to my chagrin at this moment,) that I could not control.

Suzy gently finished kneading the muscles in my feet, then walked softly to touch my shoulder. I was grateful to be laying facedown; snot running out of my nose. At least I didn’t have to look in her kind eyes. If I had, the sob would’ve burst forth and I undoubtedly would’ve been more undone…

“It’s ok for you to hold on and make them move,” she said and this was an entirely new revelation to me.

“It is???” I asked, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.

“Absolutely! You didn’t know that either, did you? ” She asked gently. Now she was surprised.

“I guess not,” I said. “I just never wanted to make things hard for anyone else.”

Suzy gave me an intense look that I could feel rather than see, then silently swept out the room so I could get dressed. When I came out a few minutes later, I walked to the desk. She surprised me again when she gave me a hug, telling me softly, “You don’t make things harder for anyone. Don’t let go of your rail. You have every right to need it and hold on.” Tears filled my eyes again, the tears of being seen, known and cared for. I thanked her and pondered railings, staircases and acceptance for many days following that massage.

A few weeks after that massage, I stood at the top of the stairs somewhere, pausing before I told my feet to step down, then another and another.

Suddenly, about 1/3 of the way down, a man darted up in the wrong direction and was face-to-face with me at that railing. My heart raced, I began to gear up to let go, but the sound of Suzy’s voice in my head gave me a second to pause. “Don’t let go of your railing…”

I held tight, tried to reassure myself that I was “not inconveniencing anyone,” and waited.

The man in front of me looked around quickly, then moved around me with ease.

I nearly burst into tears…change was happening….I had gotten out of the way for so many, so many times, that this change was a relief and in those early days of changing my own beliefs, felt both exhilarating and exhausting.

It has been nearly 25 years since that conversation with Suzy. Yet, as I write, I can remember every moment, how God himself began working in my head, heart and muscles because of those moments. Over the course of that time, I have held the rail SO many times. In fact, I don’t think I have let go since. That doesn’t mean is always easy to put myself first.

Just a few days ago, I began descending the stairs of a local high school after a dizzying week of swim meets, birthday (for my newly adult daughter) and all of life in between. I was tired, happy and as always, a bit awestruck at my teens’ (and their friends) incredible physical abilities in the pool.

As I gripped the railing and began instructing my leg muscles, (“step down, pause, gather your balance. Ok, step again…pause, repeat…”) a little girl darted up the stairs, running so fast right into my projected path. My heart began hammering and my inner dialogue changed gears, “hold on, just wait. Stop, you don’t have to move.” I held too tight, so tight my fingers throbbed, but Suzy’s voice came back even though I have not seen her in MANY years: “Don’t let go of your railing.”

Suzy’s voice, presence and how God used her in that one day: the last five-ten minutes of a massage has multiplied more times than I can count. “Don’t let go of your rail,” has become such a normal phrase for me personally, and also professionally.

Sometimes, “don’t let go of your rail” applies to family dynamics, boundaries, self worth and communication. Other times it applies to stating our needs, wants and emotions. Still others, “hold on to rail” can become a symbol for an anchor in a storm, grief, major life change or unexpected illness. There have been countless times where I have drawn on this phrase as a metaphor or physical reminder.

Personally, it is a whispered phrase of safety and self worth when someone stares a bit too long; a reminder to when my former soundtracks begin to blare: “I am a burden” “People are staring.” It is a phrase of comfort when I hear comments like, “what’s wrong with her feet, mom?” overheard in a store. At 50, all of these bother me less and less often than when I was younger, but occasionally, we ALL need the reminder, don’t we? The reminder to take care of ourselves, to let others’ opinions float away, to claim our own space, to hold tight to Him who IS the very best stability and anchor. To lean on the those who are dependable, even when we feel we’re going to fall…

Do you have a phrase, a mantra or reminder that you say to yourself when things feel hard? Maybe it is a role model that you emulate, one who feels placed in your path or vision for such a time as this…

Along with phrases and nearly every famous Mr. Rogers quote, there are many who inspire me, too many to name or count. One is Alecia Beth Moore Hart. Maybe you know her too, better by the name, Pink. Her journey is well-documented, from rough and badass, loud and rebellious to awe-inspiring performer and everything in between. She is an advocate for therapy, doing our own work, both individually and and family. Pink is unapologetic, she swears, she loves, she accepts and she bites back at fans who criticize and belittle. She is driven, seemingly fearless and athletic. AND she is a mama, wife and musician. She is a role-model in “holding her rail.”

I began following her music after seeing her perform an aerial silk routine on the Grammy awards in 2010 which left me completely thunderstruck. Her physical abilities and performance left me jealous and mesmerized. Since, I have listened to her music, followed her career and at times smiled at her attitude while turning the music down in the car so the kids wouldn’t pick up on ALL the words. Attending one of her shows is certainly on my bucket list. Recently, she did an interview on 60 minutes.

“These muscles that scare people? These muscles are my power…I eat well to go far, fast and hard.” -Pink

I sat watching, trying to understand how anyone could be scared of her muscles! Then I thought, “that is how you hold your rail….”

I had been scared of my own muscles, to trust and depend on them. I But as I listened to Pink, I resonated with this quote, negative beliefs and power in and throughout the journey. These muscles ARE my power…

What had begun for me with Suzy was God-breathed, his own reminder of being with me. He used Suzy; through that one conversation, she showed me how to reclaim my power AND hold my rail. I hold on, I show up for myself and I do my work to go far, especially with CP.

Today, I encourage and challenge you to “hold your own rail,” own your presence and look to the one who will never leave you to go it alone. Maybe it IS through hard interactions this holiday season, losses or grief that threatens to swallow you. Maybe it is finally allowing yourself to see your own good, hold your own needs or share your truth. Perhaps holding your rail is seeing the Savior with fresh eyes this Christmas.

I am thankful for every bit of it, even the scary moments when I let go and wasn’t sure why. That makes the times I’ve held on and helped others hold on also, that much sweeter. I thankful for the big and small encounters, the role models (some of whom we may never physically met) and the growth and confidence God bestows over the course of time. I am thankful for Suzy, Pink and those who I get to walk with. I pray you are kind to yourself, giving grace and mercy, especially to yourself. And I pray that you can hold on to your rail, because it is so worth it.

I wish you both a Blessed Christmas and a brave New Year

Hebrews 13:5

Both/And

Not my rail, but a reminder of strong and steadfast support….

Not my personal railing either, but oh my, is this one beautiful!

The “Pink” doll my daughter created for me. I love the visual reminder!

Waiting for the Hydrangeas

December 11, 2023/0 Comments/in Uncategorized/by stacy@stacymcneely.com

We drove through the dark, rainy night, peering at houses on an unfamiliar road, squinting into the inky night, searching for a specific house number. Life can look different than it does in photos, because of perspective. Things also look VERY different night to day, as well as from familiar to new and unknown. We peered out our car windows again, tipped off to our destination by glowing red taillights just a driveway ahead of us. I glanced at my husband, noticing his jaw muscles twitching with both excitement and anxious energy. He found the house number, then slowly turned into the driveway and parked to the left of another car.

We were not in a desperate situation, we didn’t NEED to be looking for a new home, thankfully. Instead, we’d begun to understand that it was time to move our 5 person family into a new space with more square footage. We’d been casually looking at Zillow and somehow had each stumbled on this listing. We had a trip out of town the next day and were afraid we’d miss an opportunity to at least see it if we didn’t look at it before we left.

It was very early November…rain and leaves the regular in our corner of Michigan. But this night, was also the beginning of a dream and seeing God at work in, before and behind our family. Just months before, my talented husband had started a new job. While we both stumbled on this house, husband did a bit of research and found that this house was owned by his boss! No coincidences, right?

After a few conversations and our fall schedule dictating our availability to go see it, we knew that there was an open house planned while we were gone for the weekend. Which meant, our relator’s team went the extra mile to meet us on a windy, soggy and hopeful Wednesday night.

I am a bit ashamed to say that I don’t remember name of the realtor who met us there (not our dear Heather, but a colleague).I don’t remember much on the outside of the house from that visit…other than the mounds of soggy leaves that were piled in the driveway, clinging to our shoes. Other than that, not so much of the exterior of the house we now have loved into being home.

I can still still remember every inch of the interior, the way our house greets me still, every time I re-enter her doors and sacred space for our family. I remember how she instantly felt warm, even on that random, soggy November evening. I remember trying to keep my hopes tempered as we walked, room to room. I couldn’t stop smiling, imagining our sweet kids in each bedroom and the life we could possibly have here…

God is so good…we HAVE been here for 6 years and every single day, I am grateful. A million memories, a million to go.

I know, you are wondering what in the world this has to do with hydrangeas? I wrote a few posts ago how I love hearing a good backstory, perhaps you remember? Well, for me, giving the backstory feels important too. To share with you the love and blessing of our home only makes understanding the rest of the story a bit easier, I hope…

As we became owners of our home, we began to take a closer look around and finally could see the exterior. I remember walking around our yard in the light of day, enjoying the landscaping the previous owners had arranged. Just to the left of our garage was a group of green bushes, even in November.

Here is the disclaimer…husband and I are not experts at gardening or curating landscapes. I think those who do this well are truly artists! I was thankful that we inherited the effort and blessing from the previous owners and had no idea how to care for such artistry. Thankfully also, we have family members on both sides of our families who have natural skill for such things. Because it was November, we didn’t need to begin learning about caring for the landscaping until the Spring.

Spring and Summer revealed those bushes to be lush and vibrant, green leaves and small white buds that didn’t bloom for our two summers here. We were told they were hydrangeas, a flower I’ve always loved. I was thrilled, waited to see the intricate umbrella shaped clusters that were described on one gardening website as, imbuing a light and airy presence that evokes the essence of carefree summer days.

Yet, after two summers, we concluded they must need to be pruned, like many other plants and bushes, following a summer season. We don’t know what we don’t know…. we cut them down until they looked like small bamboo shoots, whiskers shooting up from the wood chips in the front beds just off the lawn.

Then, we waited…for 3 summers…

We watered them, fertilized them and waited. I hoped to see the beautiful flowering bulbs that friends had in their landscaping but truly, we saw just enough new growth in the form of tiny leaves that all we knew is that we hadn’t killed them completely. That was both good and we were baffled where the flowers were.

The following spring, we found ourselves wandering through a nursery, looking at other bushes and flowers to add to the yard. We came upon some stunning hydrangea’s growing in the cozy greenhouse. The wizard of a landscaper we were talking to had a beautiful British accent and scads of knowledge. He was a delight! He explained how, though we had had the best intentions, we had essentially cut off the new growth on our hydrangeas at home and would now have to just wait until they grew up again. I was immediately reminded of the short haircut I had to have just before my freshman year in high school, which I immediately regretted, then had to wait many years until it grew out to any length again. Torture!

Then, as we continued to wander, I began to think about intentions. How many times have I in my life, thought I was doing the best thing, only to find out I was actually making something WORSE?

I had a high school friend who for whatever reason, stopped talking to me. I tried EVERYTHING to right our relationship, over-explaining, over-apologizing, over-blaming and over-everything out of my own fear and insecurity. I was trying so hard to “fix something,” that I was in reality, probably pushing her further away. When I was able to accept her choice, turn to other outlets and friends and help myself regulate, I was in a much better spot.

Somehow, she and I reconnected and the craziest part? As hard as it was when she shut the door, I can’t remember HOW or WHO opened it again. I mostly remember the devastating rejection, my own neediness and vaguely, that I ended high school with a sleepover at her house like nothing had ever happened.

The things that so often feel SO big, heartbreaking, often are and they are not. How often do we continue watering, talking, feeding something that we could let go, let wither or let change? A job, a friendship, a commitment, a habit or even routine, because these are things we just do? And on the flip side, how often do we end something in our lives because it is too difficult, takes to long, we lose interest or we are scared to do the hard work to see it through?

I have a client who has been working for a long time on processing past trauma and relationship difficulties. They have been processing so much pain and experienced tremendous growth. But it was recently, that they had their own “hydrangea moment:” “I realized that if my relationships are going to change, I have to quit trying the same things, acting the same way, even to myself.” They described, “I want a healthy relationship, so I am going to approach it differently, including how I am to and about myself.” The pride and confidence appeared like sun on new growth! When I described this hydrangea analogy, my brave client could not stop smiling.

“I was just thinking how I felt so gross for so long and then I imagined a huge bright pink hydrangea bush! It feels good to change things that you don’t even realize are holding you back so much.”

I have used this and similar analogies many times in my career. I know even for myself, there are many times that my habits, reactions or patterns can feel like “nothing is changing!” But if can be honest and kind to myself, sometimes that is absolutely because, I am hanging on to something that it is time to let go of or cutting off something (perhaps giving up on something) before I have seen its growth, unintentionally or intentionally.

It is so hard to let something go, if is something we’re used to, something or someone we love, a coping pattern that has in reality outlived it’s usefulness or perhaps a relationship that has shifted that we weren’t ready to. It can be hard to stick with something that is slow – moving or seems to be bearing no fruit at all.

The brave middle is knowing when you have tried hard enough and when the trying is still worthwhile, even when it is slow, painful or feels non-existent. When to offer grace and when to establish boundaries. When to see growth as care and when to rest. Or, when to push a little further and when to say, “I’ve done all I can.”

This past summer, our hydrangeas bloomed! Pink, purple and blue flowers on just a few of the once shorn branches. I can honestly say that after 6 years of living here, those few flowering bulbs were SO worth the wait. That’s a bit like therapy, I think. Intense pain in the cleaning and changing, a two-steps forward, one back approach and slow cautious care.

I am so thankful to witness the profound growth that I do with each client, each hour. Sometimes, it is evident and profound, other hours, clients say the growth is slow and steady and still others feel like there is none, even as God himself is quietly and relentlessly working behind the scenes. I am astonished by the bravery, honesty and trust that are entrusted to me. Always, I am humbled in the ways God heals: hydrangeas and hearts.

Leaving: saturation, great gratitude and wonder…

November 21, 2023/0 Comments/in Uncategorized/by stacy@stacymcneely.com

Washington DC/Pennsylvania (Part 7)

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” AA Milne, as heard from Winnie the Pooh.

Have you ever been to a place that seeps into your being, because of both the place and the people and the experience with them? THAT was Washington for all of us, low expectations because we were just excited to go, the gift of time was the only expectation and then we could be blow away by the goodness. THAT WAS OUR WHOLE WEEK and THAT was also the hard goodbye. None of us will ever forget the blessings…and it was time to head home.

We packed up and left out of our beautiful condo in Alexandria in order to visit the Fred Rogers Institute on the campus of St Vincent’s College on the way home.

My family was more than grace-giving during this trip. I have wanted to visit the exhibit for years and as it turned out, they were closed on our way here. It was a given, amongst my kids and husband that we “go on the way back.” I could’ve begged or even “guilted” them a bit if need be, but here’s the thing…my sweet husband and kids were so excited to go, WITH ME. They explained how they KNEW how important is to me and they WANTED to share in that. I don’t know how it is with you and your spouse and kids, but that moment of “wanting to WITH ME,” blessed me beyond my wildest dreams. I didn’t have to drag them, guilt or beg them or feel guilty myself that my wanting to go was something to be endured. They gave me the gift of being excited with and for me….

Isn’t this so like Jesus?

In all the trillions of gifts he provides to each of us, he does so just BECAUSE HE LOVES US. I do not believe it is always the physical things, though I wonder if he loves our delight in some of those, much like I absolutely delight in my kids delight when we find a gift that truly blesses them and awakens THEIR delight. My friend Ross is a “car guy,” his words. I believe whole-heartedly, that God LOVES Ross’s interest and “love” for all things car related,” though God himself really has no need for “cars.” My friend Rachel, makes THE BEST chocolate cake! For others, it is a deep, deep love of animals, others sew; for still others perhaps reading, writing, crafting, hunting, antiquing, gardening, traveling, making music, hiking…the list could go forever. I believe, the joy I experience as a parent by delighting my kids in all sorts of ways, is in the image of our magnificent creator who can and DOES bless ALL of US in so, so many ways. I think he then just wants our loving hearts to pour back into HIM.

THAT is the picture my family gave to me as we sought out the hidden gem that is the Fred Rogers Institute. They were just WITH me in my joy, wonder and gratitude for the life and work of Mr. Rogers.

They were excited with me as we found the building, tucked into a corner of a small college in Pennsylvaina. We entered on the bottom floor, a quiet, quiet, space that left us wondering for just a minute if we were indeed in the right place. While I took a quick potty break, my family began exploring…

“Mama, come here!” I heard my youngest daughter squeal/whisper. I rounded the corner toward her voice. S stood on her tip-toes, hugging a dinosaur that was painted in great detail, with all things, Mr. Rogers neighborhood. A lump caught in my throat as I looked at Trolley, King Friday XIII, Queen Sarah, Henrietta Pussycat, X the Owl, Lady Elaine Fairchilde, Daniel Tiger, and Grandpere. Each was depicted in beautiful detail along with Fred Rogers. I have watched and read everything I can and had previously seen this dinosaur somewhere on YouTube. It was the first of many sights sights on display here at the Institute that was better when seen in person.

“Mom, come here!” My oldest daughter called from behind another wall. I hugged the youngest who still held tight to the dino’s neck, then made my way to my sweet oldest. She smiled broadly at me, pointing to a plexiglass window in the wall below the words, “Mr. Rogers archive.” I peered in the window and drew in another breath. There, was THE castle from the land of make-believe! It was surrounded by other props, pictures, boxes labeled, “Fan mail,” other boxes with what looked to be clothing and accolades, including a huge framed “Forever stamp” of Mr. Rogers and King Friday XIII that was released by the USPS in March 2018. It was especially poignant because Mr. Rogers answered as many fan letters as he could and his wife said that he would love knowing there was a stamp made in his honor.

I stood at that window, looking around at Mr. Rogers legacy, so much more to come…I thought about the people committed to his belief, work and calling. How many had touched these very items, spent time with this man who just exuded good. How fitting and beautiful that God would allow that legacy to continue, here, on a small college campus…

We made our way to the second floor…

“Mom, look!” My son pointed across the stairway, where a huge picture of a smiling Mr. Rogers and another of my favorite quotes, welcoming visitors into the story of legacy.

I melted, a lot; for many reasons.

Mr. Rogers is NOT an idol to me…he is NOT Jesus. He was NOT perfect in his earthly life. He WAS driven to provide hope, truth and kindness to all. He laughed, worked, played, prayed and lived how I know the same Jesus desires me to attempt to live to. My admiration has everything to do with a connection to my own values about life, relationships, authenticity, empathy and how we treat ourselves and others. Talk less, care more. Listen, always. Be Yourself, feel your feelings. Let your life and value of others speak about who and how Jesus is.

To be here after so much study, full gratitude for this example of a life well-lived was SUCH a gift. And to be so loved by my gift of a family brought me to tears. But the best? The best moment was this: my nearly adult child, hugging me before I got to the entrance. She could see I was a bit overwhelmed, looking around, trying to take pictures and slowly take it all in. NOT, a both/and, I’m afraid.

“Mama, go wander, I will get the pictures.” She squeezed me tight.

Tears, already just below the surface, sprang to my eyes for an entirely different reason. “Babe, are you sure?” She squeezed me again and shook her head. “I will get it all, Mom. You just go look around.” She began taking pictures methodically with her phone. I stood for a moment, trying to figure out how I’d been given the gift of being “theirs.” Then smiling, I peered into a glass case and began to read letters, diplomas and accolades given to Mr. Rogers.

Pictures, memories, facts; guests of the show, props and then, the puppets! They looked so well loved and used. They were so familiar to me, both from my own growing up and from the many books, videos and documentaries I’ve watched. Lady Elaine Fairchilde, who is said to have borne a striking resemblance to his real-life sister, Nancy Crozier. Daniel who was in reality, Fred’s alter-ego, the closest personality in all the puppets to Fred’s own. Daniel, who is now, in new ways, teaching new generations of kids, parents and adults about feelings too. King Friday represented Fred’s authoritarian side, his sons even commented how if there was an issue at home, it was King Friday who spoke with the kids. Queen Sara was Joanne Rogers and the rest, all characters of Fred’s mind, all to teach children (and adults, secondarily) how to feel, cope, adapt, communicate and regulate.

I turned, the trolley behind me. I vividly remember the twinkle of the Trolley’s bells, the entrance of the Land of Make-Believe and scenes with the puppets. I remember the stop light, a video of the Crayola Factory, the aquarium. I remember the songs, the sweaters and shoes….

Mostly, I remember the tone of Mr. Rogers voice, the peace in his eyes and smile and how I felt like he spoke right to me. That was long before I came upon the documentary on a snowy Sunday (see previous post, 143). The impressions he left on so many of were just that way, a feeling, a sense that he cared. It is why, though so many will tease, mock or question his goodness, many, many more around the world recall a similar feeling to my own – acceptance and love. If you KNOW he loved the Lord, then you can connect the feeling to Jesus. But I believe many who may not know Jesus personally may have experienced HIS love and grace through Mr. Rogers own demeanor.

As I looked closely at the Trolley, I noticed my youngest, sitting “crisscross, applesauce” in front of a tv that was playing an episode of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. She was entranced! She told me later about ‘getting shots – learning about “being brave” from that episode. It was a joy to see her face, becoming familiar with his beloved Neighborhood. As I turned back to Trolley, my eyes settled on another clear plexiglass box with 4 sweaters in it, red, cream, green and purple. Another pair of his blue Sperry shoes sat on the floor of the box, just below the hand-knitted sweaters.

In my work with complex bereavement, items of clothing may take on extra meaning following a loss, whether complex or singular loss. Many times, a memorable piece of clothing becomes a transitional object and/or treasured representation of our loved one: a flannel shirt that Grandpa wore consistently, a shirt from Dad or Mom, a sweatshirt from a friend or sibling or even the shorts from a cousin that remind us of a loving free spirit. I have had the privilege of hearing and feeling the stories and the fabrics that belonged to a loved one that was made into a quilt, pillow or even teddy bear. It is powerful to hold, touch or even see the clothes that belonged to one so dear to us.

Though I never had the opportunity to meet Mr. Rogers in person, seeing those sweaters, this time VERY up close, felt like a visceral reminder of his life and personhood. I am sure I am not the only one who put my hand up to the box, whispered a prayer of thankfulness and nearly “felt” those beautiful sweaters.

Mr. Rogers, in his Lifetime Achievement Award speech (1997)

“All of us have special ones who have loved us into being.

Would you just take along with me 10 seconds to think of the people who have helped you become who you are — those who have cared about you and wanted what was best for you in life?

Ten seconds of silence.

I’ll watch the time.”

I wonder who that is for you…

I wonder when you think of the person you admire, or the ones who have wanted all the good for you, who comes to mind?

When I had soaked up every photo, fact and memory possible, I rounded up my sweet family for a few photos, thanked them profusely and we wandered back to the car. On the way out, two women wearing Mr. Rogers Institute t-shirts emerged from the office. My body contracted as we made eye-contact and I was immediately frustrated. It was as if the representation of Fred in these women turned me a bit tongue-tied. I tried to thank them for their work, explain what it meant to me, but really felt embarrassed and red-faced at my reaction. We said goodbye, I tried to whisper kind words to myself and then went on a hunt to find the campus bookstore, thinking their must be some memorabilia there that I needed.

Daughter and I went in, emerged with another book, a wooden version of Trolley and full hearts. I couldn’t ask for one bit more….

The ride home was bittersweet, filled with recalling experiences that were already memories, silly jokes, moments of surprise, some sad, some poignant and beautiful, all drenched and dripping with thankfulness.

I will hold it all dearly, trying to ever be aware of the world God has made that is so much more than my little corner. I will stretch, remember, advocate and attempt to see with the lens of awe how many people, both historically, in the present and the future who God has created and loves. I will look with wonder, humor and joy at architecture, entertainment. And I will hold with reverence the ways that honor, dedication and perseverance comes from the Lord himself. I hope to appreciate both nature and created things, the things I can’t comprehend and the things that just fill me because JESUS LOVES ME.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” James 1:17

Until next time, DC, Pennsylvania and Virginia. We can’t come back soon enough….

Both/And

xoxo

One last time: the sparkle, white marble and more endless saturation from The Smithsonian, Arlington and Alexandria.

November 15, 2023/1 Comment/in Uncategorized/by stacy@stacymcneely.com

(Washington, part 6)

After our day at the National Cathedral…Nana and Papa went back to the condo and we went back to the Dr. King Memorial. E needed to visit during the day. (To be true, so did I.)

How many times have I said, “I’ll never forget,” while writing about Washington DC? (Either too many or not enough, perhaps!)

As we wandered through the National Mall, alongside the reflecting pool, my heart nearly burst. It was a perfect fall day, about 75 degrees with the kind of breeze that ALWAYS, ALWAYS speaks of Jesus to me.

The city was alive, as we wandered through all the monuments, one last time. I couldn’t imagine how fun it would be if this were our regular biking route as the whole city seemed to be out and active. There was a volleyball tournament on the lawn beside the Washington Monument, runners, bikers and roller bladers who breezed past, greeting and encouraging one another. My son got some encouragement of his own after his backflip in front of the Washington Monument!

We finished our stroll at Dr. King’s monument and it was a whole different kind of breathtaking in the light of dusk. Both daughter and I couldn’t speak (until a crew of middle schoolers descended loudly and happily.)Then we exited quickly to the gift shop!

My husband has long arms for taking selfies for which I am always glad. A woman walked up just after he’d taken this one and asked if she could take one for us…I so appreciate the thought.

The best memories with this girl…I love every minute.

The next morning, we were all excited to head to the Smithsonian. We had decided to visit the Museum of American History and then decide what was next.

I will start by saying how fantastic all the museums are in Washington. I’ve never seen anything like it. I imagine you could look at something different every day for a year and not begin to see it all.

As is our custom, my daughter and I darted into the gift shop upon arrival. We emerged with Mr. Rogers socks and a baseball hat, both quickly becoming treasured memories. Then we took an elevator upstairs…as the doors opened, we were greeted with the sounds of Whitney Houston singing the Star Spangled Banner and the sounds of moments, performances, impactful moments and memories that, as you walked further in to the display, you may be able to see or even touch! We crowded around the Jumbo-tron when a snippet of Hamilton appeared, instantly singing along. My parents and I winced, watching Greg Louganis hit his head on video from the 1988 Olympics. As we reminisced about our Olympic memories, I turned, a red sparkle glinting at me…

As I turned from the movie at the entrance of the Entertainment Nation (Nación del espectáculo,”), my eyes fell on a plexiglass case: inside which, sat the authentic Ruby Red Slippers…

Growing up, The Wizard of Oz was always shown on TV, one time each year. It was family tradition to pop popcorn (along with a huge treat, our OWN can of Coke.) I had a love/hate relationship with this movie, at least as a little kid…did that witch scare anyone else? Maybe it was just me. I would pull the white Afghan my grandma made over my head and watch through the threads as the Wicked Witch of the West’s cackling, ominous voice filled the screen and speakers. As I’ve grown, it is a sweet memory with my sister and parents, similar to The Sound of Music!

To SEE these shoes in person that were so much a part of my growing up was simply, breathtaking…

We wandered, a trip through time, chronicling the world of entertainment, unable to really take it all in. From Indiana Jones’ famous fedora, Oprah’s gold plated microphone, Muhammad Ali’s Robe and original clothing from Hamilton, we all had a grand time!

Captain America’s shield…one of our favorite Marvel superheroes.

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee…”

It will come as no surprise, however, when I tell you that the moment I laid eyes on Mr. Rogers red sweater and blue sneakers, right next to Elmo, Oscar the Grouch and Rosita, was my favorite of that day… amazing! To stand just feet from the sweater his mother knitted for him, the worn blue tennis shoes he intentionally changed into to signal to his audience the shift from work to play, real to make-believe was surreal. Sesame Street too holds a special place in our hearts. My kids each have a favorite character, as do I. I have sweet, sweet memories of many episodes.

Almost as good as a visit with Mr. Rogers and Sesame…ALMOST.

As our kids walked, wandered, oh’d and ahhh’d, the curious truth was this: they were seeing things from US history they had never considered. Much like learning about history in the Capitol building, White House and all over DC, here they were learning too. It just looked and felt different than a few days ago.

Susan Stamberg, (special correspondent for NPR) wrote in a June interview this year, “Race, fairness, ideals, death and fears – all touched on by things we bought, heard, saw, laughed at, loved over the decades – “Entertainment Nation” in regards to the nearly 1 year old reimagined permanent exhibit.” It was incredible how the exhibit showcased US history, political and entertainment connections; history and the life-changing impacts on the world.

As we pried ourselves from one exhibit to the next (simply called, The First Ladies) we walked into an exhibit bright with color, history, change and challenge. Taken from the Smithsonian website, “The First Ladies explores the unofficial but important position of first lady and the ways that different women have shaped the role to make their own contributions to the presidential administrations and the nation. The exhibition features more than two dozen gowns from the Smithsonian’s almost 100-year old First Ladies Collection, including those worn by Frances Cleveland, Lou Hoover, Jacqueline Kennedy, Laura Bush, and Michelle Obama. A section titled “Changing Times, Changing First Ladies” highlights the roles played by Dolley Madison, Mary Lincoln, Edith Roosevelt, and Lady Bird Johnson and their contributions to their husband’s administrations. The First Ladies encourages visitors to consider the changing role played by the first lady and American women over the past 200 years.”

Dishes, dresses, perspectives and causes that have changed the lives of so many Americans. My favorite part? A never-before seen Mr. Rogers dress worn by—- JUST KIDDING!

My genuine favorite part of this, our last day, was how are kids were making connections to many parts of history, choices, personal needs and choices. Our daughters gaped at the stunning gowns that again, we’d only seen on TV. They both recognized Dr. Jill Biden’s gown and coat, which impressed hubby and I both. It is thrilling to witness the connections they make as they grow to the world they will inherit. I pray we can continue to teach them to love, cultivate and care well.

There were discussions about costs, resources and choices (“Why did they spend the money to replace dishes EVERY time someone new came to office? That feels wasteful,” “Wow, it all changed between ____ and ______! Why?” and the comments continued….

When we were finally ready to visit another exhibit, we found ourselves wandering across the hallway and I knew the minute we entered that my heart was about to break.

“The Price of Freedom: Americans at War surveys the history of America’s military from the French and Indian Wars to the present day, exploring ways in which wars have been defining episodes in American history. The exhibition extends far beyond a survey of battles to present the link between military conflict and American political leadership, social values, technological innovation, and personal sacrifice. The heart of the story is the impact of war on citizen soldiers, their families, and communities.” Smithsonian Museum of American History website.

As my daughter pushed my wheelchair through this particular exhibit, we quietly whispered to one another…so difficult to see in so many ways the massive costs so many wars and conflicts have had on Americans and other soldiers, their families and the Earth itself. I am sure it is no surprise, if you’ve been reading along, that I am a lover of peace, justice and mercy. It was much like the Holocaust Museum in my mind, not wanting to avoid and acutely aware of the pain and loss on realistic display. By the time we finished going through the exhibit, my heart was heavy and my brain full – there was so much to take in.

We decided together that we were “museumed out” for the day and though we had just been through a really tough exhibit, we all wanted to visit Arlington National Cemetery before we began the trip home the next morning.

My dad is a veteran and has long discussed the discipline, sacrifice and selflessness of those who serve in the many branches of military of the United States of America. He and my mom both have a beautiful, timeless respect for those who have served and the families who wait for them at home. They are both role models in so many ways.

Another Metro trip and a whole other experience of awe-inspiring. We made our way to the trams and began our trip through the the perfectly cared for grounds, paths and more than 400,000 gravestones. Made of either Georgia or Vermont marble, the headstones weigh 250 lbs., are 4 inches deep, 13 inches wide and 42 inches tall. The precision placement of so many headstones, the honor and respect in this as well as the pride and respect of the those who work here was not lost on me in my work involving bereavement and loss.

We were able to visit the final resting place of President Kennedy and his family members, see the headstone of Ruth Bader Ginsberg and then made our way to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

I cannot imagine the commitment this requires, but seeing the precision and dedication of these selfless sentinels was both breathtaking and sobering: knowing that 365 days/year, whatever circumstances come, they are volunteering here, honoring the fallen. This made my complaints or struggles disappear.

From Arlington National Cemetery Literature: “Soldiers who volunteer to become Tomb Guards must undergo a strict selection process and intensive training. Each element of the Tomb Guard’s routine has meaning. The Guard marches 21 steps down the black mat behind the Tomb, turns and faces east for 21 seconds, turns and faces north for 21 seconds, and then takes 21 steps down the mat. Next, the Guard executes a sharp “shoulder-arms” movement to place his/her weapon on the shoulder closest to the visitors, signifying that he or she stands between the Tomb and any possible threat. The number 21 symbolizes the highest symbolic military honor that can be bestowed: the 21-gun salute.”

I sat mesmerized by the absolute dedication in every way. Though we stood outside, the space around us was so silent during The Changing of the Guard, you could hear a pin drop as we stared across the 639 acres of tribute, honor and solitude for so many who’ve given their lives for our freedoms. These too were moments I will never forget.

We rode the Metro back to the condo together, soaking in time, our own thoughts and hearts full of gratitude for it all. We are still processing so much, asking questions and reliving the moments of complete awe.

E and I shopped for a last time in sweet Old Town, Alexandria – found her one of a kind homecoming dress, eliciting lovely words from women in the store, munched on homemade chocolate chip cookies, visited bookstores, jewelry and a beautiful stationary store. One of the most interesting stores, (the only one of its’ kind in the US – according to its’ owner) was Ms. Moxie’s Moon Shop, a period positive store with a mission to inform and facilitate health for girls and women. It was refreshing to hear the knowledgeable owner and her colleague genuinely believe in removing shame and frustration around the subjects of woman and reproductive health.

All across our travels were these moments of wonder and saturation, from the monumental to the small, yet so significant: friendly, caring people EVERYWHERE, architecture, historical detail, laughter and TIME TOGETHER, honor, color, remembrance, joy, commitment and perseverance. From sparkling jewelry at Tiffany, the Rotunda at the Capitol, Cascading light in all directions in the National Cathedral and magnificent memories on the National Mall, it was an plethora of riches. The best, best blessing to our family was the GIFT of time with my parents and each other. I can’t say it enough….

I hope to appreciate the people who bless our lives ALWAYS, before I long for things. I pray to ALWAYS find Jesus in EVERYTHING, ALWAYS. I long to live in GRATITUDE, ALL OF MY DAYS, especially the hard ones. AND, I STRIVE to be overcome with AWE, for all that God has extravagantly given. Saturated, INDEED….

One last installment to go…it is a pretty special one. Thank you for reading, hearing and sharing in our stories. It means so much…

Both/And

xoxo

1 It is good to praise the Lord and make music to your name, O Most High,2 proclaiming your love in the morning and your faithfulness at night,

For you make me glad by your deeds, Lord; I sing for joy at what your hands have done.5 How great are your works, Lord, how profound your thoughts!

¹It is good to praise the Lord
and make music to your name, O Most High,
²proclaiming your love in the morning
and your faithfulness at night,

For you make me glad by your deeds, Lord;
I sing for joy at what your hands have done.
⁵How great are your works, Lord,
how profound your thoughts!