Jesus Archives - Page 2 of 4

Tag Archive for: Jesus

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!

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!

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

So much light, holiness, color and wonder….

November 5, 2023/4 Comments/in Uncategorized/by Stacy

Washington Highlights (part 5)

I did not intend to write this much detail about our trip; honestly, I feel a bit self-indulgent. To write and share at least 5 parts, I wonder if people really want to hear about the details or if this is just another authentic part of the blog, vacation memories for the last few weeks, another topic another time. I wonder if I can possibly convey it well enough because, well…our trip just was, magical. (and it WAS NOT my beloved Disney this time, if you can believe it… 🙂

Our third day in the city found us on the now familiar Metro. I will readily admit that my parents led the charge in becoming familiar with both the Metro and the public bus system. They are braver and more familiar with this in their 70’s after a few trips to England than hubby and I will ever be, probably. It was our first time using the Metro and I was immensely thankful for their adventurous spirit and ease in “just finding our way.”

This time, we’d all decided to go see the National Cathedral, something that we and the kids had only seen on TV. I am also always curious about old church buildings for many reasons, so this was a natural draw. We got a little turned around in terms of getting there, but as always, my family was so supportive and tough. After an almost 2 mile walk (or roll for me) from the Metro stop, we arrived at the National Cathedral. We had wandered past beautiful homes, landscape and overall scenery on the walk, but staring at the cathedral itself felt somewhat ethereal.

The official name of Washington National Cathedral is the Cathedral Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. We stood gaping at the towering columns, sharp, steep spires and steeples; a mix textures, including stone, shimmering glass of every color, windows of many shapes and sizes. There is an actual Darth Vader head hidden up there, no joke!

The bubbling sounds of a fountain mixed with the awe we were experiencing even before we set foot through the massive, dark wooden doors. We wandered into a courtyard, the fountain whimsical to our sweet youngest who exudes her own whimsy, always. I have said it many times, but I had a hard time taking it all it all in. I felt like I couldn’t find any words, which for me, is quite a thing….

We entered through the solid doors and were instantly awash with colors, all around. The whole rainbow rested everywhere, our faces, clothing, the floor and the many pews in front of us, the instant we arrived. We must have looked a bit overwhelmed, even in all the color. A docent walked swiftly to our group of 7, encouraging us to join the guided tour just a few feet away.

“The West Rose seeks to sing its own hymn of praise to the universe,” designer for creation Rose, Rowan, LeCompte said, “for all it’s impressive size in the cathedral that must be a tiny song indeed when we pause to consider the infinite grandeur of the cosmos, this unimaginably vast created and creating mysterious miracle.”

Upon arriving, the Nave completely took our breath away. You could FEEL the spirit of the Lord here. I could not believe the splendor….

Another knowledgeable and joyful docent was explaining the details of his beloved cathedral with the warmest of smiles and eyes. He was telling of the many chapels within the cathedral (9 total!), years of history, intentionality and how everything leads back to the Word, God’s love and Jesus’s sacrifice. To really explain it all would take days on my blog….so a few photo highlights and thoughts will have to suffice until you go experience it firsthand. (YES, GO! You will NOT be sorry!) Before our trip, my understanding was limited to “the church the presidents go to before inauguration and where they hold state funerals” and that was all. Now, having stood in the middle of this holy, beautiful ground, I am infinitely more curious about the life of the cathedral, more of Jesus and how this place points back to him, always.

The miracles of Jesus, located in Saint John’s chapel. Absolutely stunning to me…

Known as the *space window*, it is one of the most popular windows at the cathedral. It holds a lunar sample from the Apollo 11 mission. A quote from the Bible – Job 22:12 – runs along the base of the window: “Is not God in the height of heaven?”

As we ventured through the cathedral, we were privileged enough to see the places where Abraham Lincoln, Helen, Keller, and and Anne Sullivan have been interred, amongst many others. It was holy ground indeed.

The docent showed us this beautiful pulpit where, during many state funerals, memorials, tributes, and eulogies have been delivered, as well as very famous sermons. I had chills when he recalled Martin Luther King, standing in this very pulpit the day before he was killed.

As always, all good things come to an end. After listening to an impromptu organ concert for a few minutes, it was time for us to go. On the way out, we stopped by a very unique fundraiser for the Cathedral, a Lego brick building of the cathedral itself. You could make a donation and add a few bricks. it was incredible! My Lego loving boy was thrilled.

In the book Jewels of Light, the Stained Glass of the Washington National Cathedral, Elody R Crimi writes, “a blend of visual and emotional sensations are integral to the experience of stained glass.” Rowan LeCompote, the cathedrals for most stained glass artist, compares glass to music.” Like music, stained glass, can stimulate the imagination, it can lift the heart, it can enchant.”

When I was growing up, the church I attended had rows of Stained Glass windows along each side of the church. I used to look at them, taking in the colors, artistry and beauty for the whole church service. Sometimes, I was concentrating more on the details in those windows than I was concentrating on our pastor and his preaching. I was indeed enchanted by them, and I hadn’t remembered that until a bit later on our trip. The enchantment with these is next level. They each tell vivid, detailed, both heartbreaking and redeeming stories. They combined the values of Christ and the history of our country to bind present and future together with the backdrop of the stunning cathedral.

The cathedral was a gift of artistry, architecture, wonder, and pure holiness. I had no idea that that trip to the Cathedral would become one of my very favorite memories of our time together. I breathed gratitude, awe, pleading for many we love and awareness of the God-breathed gifts.

And again – the reminders that God is everywhere and saturates everything.

Thankful, prayerful and hopeful.

Both/and

Xoxo

Job 22:12

The White House and Ford’s Theater: both saturated in history, color and dedication.

October 29, 2023/2 Comments/in Uncategorized/by Stacy

Washington DC highlights, (Part 4).

If you’ve been to DC, you know what I’m talking about when I say the city itself could be a study in saturation. From the people, sounds, colors and everything in and outside – Washington for us was a week full of blessing, rich pictures of God’s delight, sovereignty and presence.

The next stop on our tour of tours brought us back to the White House, this time in the daylight! My Mom and Dad had done some incredible legwork securing tours of the Capitol and White House through our Congressman’s office and we were all blessed. It was a gift to have these opportunities and it did not go unnoticed.

Though we took a small detour through the White House visitor’s center, we did indeed find our way to the real visitors entrance at the actual White House. The path IN and security required was nothing short of a very well -oiled machine. Each member of the secret service who checked our credentials could not have been more respectful. I sat in my wheelchair, waiting for the uncomfortable looks, or looking away, or talking to me like I am a child that sometimes happens. It is a real thing when I am in the chair. It did not happen this time, for which I was very grateful.

A model of the White House in the Visitor’s Center.

When we eventually made our way through multiple security checkpoints and walked through the doors to the White House, I could hardly take it all in; part museum, part office and partly home to the Biden’s, currently. We slowly wandered through the East Colonnade, gazing at framed pictures of various First Families throughout our nations’ history, including their beloved pets. To our happy surprise, a week after returned from DC, one of the questions on Jeopardy was about a pet racoon who had lived in the White House and we knew the right answer, because of our visit! (See photo below!)

We were a tad bit jealous of the presidential movie theater, imagining our own many movie nights. There were beautiful sculptures, paintings and gifts given to various family members. It was surreal to move through the hallways, seeing sights from movies and tv, as we moved along the long hallway. I gazed out the window, reminded of TV shows that have used the White House as a central character, how we all are fascinated by the mystery of power and elegance here. (Any Scandal fans?)

We moved on, seeing historic rooms, furniture, dishes and so much more. As my husband pushed me slowly along the hallways, I made eye-contact with another dad who was pushing his son in a red stroller/wheelchair. His smile and dedication to his boy, (who I instantly recognized as another CP warrior,) was sweet and tender. As we approached a room filled with books, Matt and I joked about going to put a copy of the The Forgotten Five by my friend Lisa McMann on the table where about 30 other books were displayed. (The Secret Service may not have been so respectful if we actually tried this! You’ll just have to go buy one to read, well worth it, I promise!)

I put my hands on the wheels to slow down and motioned the dad and his precious boy ahead of us. The dad gave me a wink and a silent, thank you and it was another sweet, “CP warriors unite” moments. I had seen quite a few warriors on the trip, something not lost on me at all. 1 in 350 people are diagnosed with cerebral palsy. It is a truly rare incidence for me to run into anyone with CP, let alone a few in the same space. The night before on our dusk tour, I had seen another tour guide with CP, as well as Dre.

We came to the end of the hallway, finding a marble staircase, which others in the tour began climbing to the second floor. Before we had a chance to ask where an elevator was, one of the many people who took such pride in their roles here, motioned us his direction. We waited while he walked the man and his son behind a set of screens behind him. Another man came down the stairs and encouraged us to follow him, asking us to refrain from taking photos while we followed him to the elevator. He explained some of the history of the White House, as the location of the elevator is not in a “public” part of the White House. We were able to see a few behind the scenes portions of the White House including one of the beautiful kitchens, where we were given a smile and exuberant “Hello!” in French from one of the chefs as well as some of the original stonework from the White House at the time of the first fire in 1814.

Once we got off the elevator, we walked into the “Red Room,” beautiful lush wallpaper and many historical antiques, centuries old and in beautiful condition. The “Green Room” was similar, gorgeous in color, pristine architecture and antiques. We next went into a ballroom, a formal dining room, then came out into a long hallway that displayed many portraits of former Presidents and First Ladies.

As long as I can remember, I have been fascinated by the Presidents. We had gone to Cape Canaveral and Boston when I was young, both of which awakened my interest in President John F. Kennedy. I know there are many rumors about his life and sad realities related to JFK’s death, but in my youth, his charisma, youth and tragic death had always made me want to learn more about him and his seemingly fairy-tale family. As we made our way down the hallway, we came to the portrait I’ve looked at so many times.

To see all the history, the rich tapestry of tradition, belief, hard work and trust in God was an unforgettable experience. I was so thankful to share it with the kids, my parents and other fellow visitors. (Americans and those from other nations.)

All too soon, our time at the White House was coming to a close. My husband and I waited to get our picture under the Presidential Seal, the same one we’ve seen in countless press conferences and speeches. As we left the elegant, gleaming furniture and priceless works of art, I thought about how quickly time passes…all that these walls have experienced, lost, rebuilt, changed and changed again. I thought about the time in our family, how quickly are kids are growing and how much we too have experienced.

And then…how absolute and unchangeable God is. All the ideals our country began with, trusting God was at the forefront. While much has changed, God has not. HE is the holy of holies, the beginning and the end. While His Word tells that the “flowers wither and grass fades,” (and all other things,) “the word of the Lord lives forever.” (Isaiah 40:8). As much as this city and our country honor tradition and history, unless it is all built on the truth of God, this too, will fade. My brain has been reflecting so much on all the things we’ve taught, built and put our absolute faith in.

Our next visit was to The Ford’s Theater and the Petersen House, where President Lincoln died. It was a somber visit, almost as though you could still feel the heaviness of the President’s death. We all crammed into a re-created version of the bedroom where President Lincoln fought for life. Again, I was struck with the reality of change that can happen in an instant, to individual families of entire nations; or anything in between.

A replica of the bed President Lincoln died in at The Petersen House

The National Park ranger stationed at the Petersen House took great care in telling about the events of history in the most authentic and honoring way. I wondered how much that becomes a part of you if your job is to share the details of such an important time in history. It was clear, the level of pride and honor it was, with the ranger we spoke with. She talked with great reverence about President Lincoln, his impact and his tragic death. It was a personable re-counting, gratitude for our president’s sacrifice and pride in her own post here. We left feeling like we had personally come to know the President and his life a bit more than what we’ve read.

From the painstaking reconstruction of the bedroom where the president fought for his life, the detailed museum filled with endless details about the President, his family and his presidency, and the honor throughout, we were completely saturated by it all. At The White House, history, color, details and meticulous care ; we were in awe. And the dedication given to it all was a beautiful representation of sacrifice on many levels.

I am grateful for every good and perfect gift, the skills and gifts of those who live and work in our Capitol, striving for the best of our country and her people. (Yes, I choose to believe this is the best hope of most who work in the political arena…)

I am grateful for the architects, builders, dreamers and the many others who’ve built, designed and created and so much in Washington and around the world. Isn’t there so much to see, every where we go? I am amazed, by it all.

I am grateful for the opportunities and freedoms that we take for granted here in United States. These days in DC reminded and encouraged me to appreciate it all, every single day.

Most, I am thankful for the sovereignty, hope and reason to trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. Because of him, I (we) truly have nothing to fear.

Both/And

Isaiah 40:8

Xoxo

October 16 or “someday.”

October 19, 2023/1 Comment/in Uncategorized/by Stacy

Have you ever had a someday? What I mean is, have you ever said to yourself, “someday, I will be ready for that role. Someday, I will pursue that dream or be prepared enough to take on that challenge. Someday, my _______ will be right, and then I will be happy. Someday, when I meet______ I will be happy (or get into the right college, live in the right city, etc.)” Can you relate?

October 16 is the realization of my own “someday,” one that continues to become more and more a part of my present and my future, but realized, because of my past. It is both the continued work of my own and that of helping others with theirs. And it is a visible portion of my path that feels like it has been influenced by so many: family, friends, mentors, pastors, professors, friends, therapists and in a very real and tangible way, the stories from clients and their very bravery that has influenced my path to someday most of all.

There were many, many poignant moments in my relationship with Jesus, but the path, the day Jesus whispered to me in Graves Hall, the first day in a social work class with Dr. Jim Piers, that THIS was his plan for me. I wasn’t at all sure what it meant, but I knew HE led me to THIS. I graduated from Hope with my B.A. in social work, ready (and not ready) to care for others, one of the very few things that felt natural to me. I applied a few different jobs, but it was the one in a grassroots relational ministry with teens that changed me for good. In the seven years of ministry, I had co-workers who taught me more than I had learned in some classes, met many unforgettable families, brave students and learned about trauma in ways that only God could understand and redeem.

I had, at the encouragement of a dear friend, applied to graduate school in the Spring, 2000. I was shocked when I received a quick acceptance, having struggled for as long as I could remember with my own value and confidence. Another dear friend was killed the week after I began, putting me on a path of learning so much about grief, trauma and perseverance.

The 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center happened almost one year later, the same day I began my first internship at our local Hospice organization. Our small and mighty teen ministry suffered the same as many non-profits that year. Our fearless fund – raiser, Prett, believed with 100% of his being, what our ministry was doing: loving and supporting kids in this community in the name of Jesus. But with the state of the world in 2001 and Prett’s declining health, God began to bring the season of ministry in my life to a close. And as much as I could not understand it then, the path led to a deep love and respect for counseling, (that I didn’t know yet) a life-changing supervisor and further experiences with such beautiful patients that it still touches my heart.

Then there was a plan for a 2nd internship that somehow seemed to be what I wanted, what I said I wanted, but did not FEEL right. 3 weeks before I was to begin, our little ministry closed for good. I needed a part-time job in which to survive while I finished this last year of grad school. I got a call from a friend, saying that her supervisor in a local counseling center wanted to interview me…

As only God could, my life changed in that one afternoon, a whole different path, one that had been whispering so quietly that I hadn’t even been aware of it. I began that fall with an internship and a JOB in that counseling center, scared, fulfilled and RIGHT. I had informed the first placement of the sudden change. As I turned toward this counseling path, I knew God was indeed, behind, beside and before me. I knew both that HE was leading, even though my confidence suffered a deep wounds from another professional who made me an impending job offer, then denied the promises of “hiring me when I finished grad school,” as graduation loomed. The mixed messages from a respected person in the counseling field sent me reeling into self doubt and insecurity.

God paved and redeemed my path with supervisors who helped me re-learn trust myself clinically, co-workers who became the dearest of friends, skills that I still, many years later, still rely on daily. I met my husband that year, and two months after my graduation, I married him – the easiest yes I’ve ever said. At that, I began marriage AND a counseling career, a life that felt nearly too good to be true. I loved who I was becoming as a clinician and I stayed there for the next 8 years, during the birth of our first daughter, and close to giving birth to our son. I had worked primarily with court-ordered clients, some of the hardest work I’ve ever done. I learned some unhealthy patterns, witnessed those who were unaware and unhealthy as well.

I had logged all my hours for licensure, passed my test and was finally hoping to see clients who came by choice. It was a long wait. I was tired, very pregnant and ready to spend time with our precious kids. I was home with our 2 year old and infant, happily enjoying motherhood when my dear supervisor from Hospice called. I went back for the next 3 1/2 years, until I came pregnant with our youngest daughter. I was again home with our babes, happier than ever. Our oldest went to kindergarten that year and the time I was home with them was worth EVERYTHING to me.

And yet, that deep desire, the deep longing to help and counsel remained an ember for me….

Over the summer of 2013, I encountered an acquaintance who was suddenly thrust into grief and tragedy. I heard God so gently remind me to return to counseling, to help and trust. I just needed a place…

I returned to the same organization and spent the next two years growing, through both positive and negative experiences, again, cultivating my skills as a therapist. I had been doing my own work for the last few years, a firm believer that a therapist can only go with clients as far as their able to become aware of themselves. And as I sat in her office one day, we talked about “my someday – my hope and desire to be in private practice.” She gently asked, “when is that?”

“I need to know more,” I said, not really knowing what that meant.

Over the next few weeks and months, she asked gentle, yet pointed questions about “someday,” and helped me understand that someday could be now. I had so many questions, hopes and wonder. Could I, really?

And then, on October 16, 2015, I welcomed my first client in my private practice. It was the most wonderful, natural moment for me, the someday that was indeed, now.

8 years later, I am humbled, blessed and have learned more from clients than I believe I teach them. I am grateful for this career with each and every hour that I spend, hearing stories, difficult and heart-wrenching tragedy, trauma and the joy of growth and change.

“I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not harm you; plans for hope and a future.” Jerimiah 29:11

Thank you, my Jesus, for knowing every single step of my and all of our pathways. Thank you for never giving up. I would not be anywhere without you or your sovereignty. Your truth and provision, the fact that NOTHING is random to you. Your intentionality, all – giving for our good.

Thank you to clients and those who have trusted me with your precious truths – referring friends and loved ones so that I may witness so many journeys. I am nothing but thankful and pray that this someday is now for many years to come.

Both/And

Jeremiah 29:11

xoxo

Startle reflex, PSA’s and awareness.

October 5, 2023/1 Comment/in Uncategorized/by Stacy

“Jeez, Stacy, you are uptight!”

“Nervous much?”

Laughter ensued from my friends. I was thankful that the movie theater we sat in was dark and they could not see my quickly heated, tomato red cheeks. Even though I knew in THEIR minds, this was “just teasing,” I HATED how my body was “tense and jumpy” when there was a loud bang, scream, crash or any other surprise reason that my body would startle. I HATED IT…the lack of control I felt, how my body seemed so much more reactive than ANYONE else I knew and how in high school, this became such a point of teasing, so much more than I had experienced in middle and elementary school.

I began to feel immense shame and embarrassment about a part of myself that I did not know at all was a normal part of having cerebral palsy. I was hard on myself for not managing the “jumping,” reactivity, hard on myself when friends began to startle me on purpose because I couldn’t just “have fun with it.” It hurt. Beyond that, however, I just didn’t understand my own body mechanics that were so out of my control.

I don’t think I knew how to even talk about that, the embarrassment at people’s comments, how I would hope that movies did not have jump scares, or the tension I felt when music indicated something was coming. I don’t think I asked my parents how to help because I just wanted it to all go away and assumed it was just a “me thing.”

I have said many times over the course of my life, that I just did not SEE others like me. Cerebral palsy affects more than 17,000,000 people world wide, is the most common lifelong disability and no two people with cerebral palsy are alike. (From the Cerebral Palsy Foundation). For these and many other reasons, it is exceedingly difficult to process and understand the unique challenges that each of us with CP face, individually and collectively. Another contributing factor to that complexity is the reality that as kids with cerebral palsy age, services and support are less and it is even harder find connection to others who are similar. My physiatrist (Dr. Rush, Grand River Rehab) told me this week that he normally refers adults with CP out of state for orthopedic work, such as knee or hip replacement because of the innovations being done in places other than here. I don’t say that to throw shade at Michigan, but rather, it is a statement on the lack of resources and connections here, in my home state as an adult.

I have been allowed an incredible journey of awareness, understanding and self acceptance. Therapy, a support system like none other and first and foremost, a path that I can see was nothing less than God’s presence and provision have all provided some chosen, some mandated processing and accepting both my own worth and limitations. As I have aged and social media has emerged and evolved, I have experienced many people who bravely share themselves, challenges and their victories through various accounts and stories. Especially in the last few years, I sense understanding and comradery as my feeds include more and more brave CP warriors.

There is Colbie, whose friends and family regularly celebrates her strength and achievements, defying expectations. There is sweet Peter, who consistently defies the odds, smiles and communicates though he is non-verbal. There is Stephanie, an authentic woman, fitness professional, and advocate. She regularly discusses her needs, her frustrations and even depression related to CP, as well as her tremendous, spirit. Rachel is both fearless in sharing the realities of being an adult with cerebral palsy, unabashedly displaying the challenges and the normalcy she experiences, hourly. Joseph regularly shares his own fitness and life journey and again, the nuances of what it means to engage the world as a healthy person with CP. It was in watching a TiKToK of his, that I again had another a-ha moment: He described, “walking across the room carrying his cup of coffee with CP for the first time without spilling it. I have battled my own “sloppiness,” for years, thinking again, that it was only me, that could not carry my tea without spilling it on my shirt, the floor or both. It was bittersweet to watch Joseph because of the struggle AND the validation.

There are many others…this tribe of warriors, including their families. I would also include my own. Having lived with cerebral palsy for my half century of years, I am so proud. I am proud of us, those who did not ask for this set of circumstances and who show grit, “normalcy” and inclusion. I am amazed by rockstar support systems, and continually improving adaption options. I am thankful that though the world, globally, has a long way to go in regards to valuing ALL life and experience, we’ve also all come SO FAR.

Did you know that an athlete who was born with CP WON (yes, you read that right…) WON American Ninja Warrior this season? (Sorry for anyone that watches…I am just so excited that I added this spoiler in!) https://youtu.be/zb6rgRFI3Jg?si=MSWSsRmjnlE7AdrP

Justin Gallegos became the first ever professional athlete with cerebral palsy to sign with Nike in 2018. https://youtu.be/x4KC0nUmY4Y?si=bkLSvUEAhyfPju2K We have come so very far.

Yesterday, I was scrolling a bit while drinking my tea. The Cerebral Palsy Foundation regularly posts fantastic content that is informative for both those with and those without CP. But as I scrolled, my eyes fell on a graphic they’d posted just a few hours earlier that was another big moment for me. (See below).

It stunned me for a minute because though I have learned over time about my own startle reflex, that same one I took a lot of grief for in middle, high school and even currently sometimes, this was new to me. I know how to deflect it or give a quick comeback to whomever is teasing. But still, STILL…after all this time that I’ve lived with CP, I hadn’t thought about others’ startle reflex. Granted, I still don’t see “ALOT of OTHERS” with CP around me, but still…it hadn’t occurred to me. We ALL startle easily and have not control over it.

I felt newly informed as I scrolled, but more importantly, I felt so cared for, along with the other warriors around me. I felt advocated for as this graphic was informing US on a global scale, “be aware of people around you with CP AND, know that the STARTLE is a normal thing.” Absolutely, the most wonderful blessing!

There are many times that my “normal with CP” requires much thought and planning to do seemingly “normal” things that the average person without CP may not have to think twice about. One of the pools in our conference does not have railings to get up to the bleachers. It is impossible for me to make that climb solo without the rail. Other times, the parking lot, even handicapped spots are miles away from an entrance and even further from our actual destination at events. It is tiring sometimes to explain my particular challenges or needs and sometimes easier just to suck it up and manage a situation at a significant cost to my comfort or needs because honestly, I could be explaining things all. day. long. This got me thinking about how others might experience this as well….

My friend Aria told me recently how “people don’t always know how someone with kidney disease has to monitor their water intake.” In her words, “I couldn’t even freely drink water when I was I was thirsty during dialysis. Too much could really hurt or even potentially kill me. I couldn’t take showers without much physical and emotional exhaustion because I had to be so careful with my catheter. If I got it wet and water got in my bloodstream, it could have also been dangerous for me.” It is in her brave sharing that I value my ability to drink water, not take mundane things for granted, like showering. (Yes, I did share this story with a few teens I know who don’t always value of, ahem…TAKING a shower.)

I wonder…is there anything you would share about a particular battle that most people wouldn’t be aware of? I am so grateful for awareness and though there are difficulties with how we treat each other in the world sometimes, there is also so much that is good, possible and beautiful.

The graphic felt so holy to me and here is why: everyone you or I encounter is fighting some kind of battle. That is not a cliché,’ but instead, an absolute truth. The more we can become aware of each of each other, the more we value how God has created us each individually, the gifts and the challenges this side of heaven. I think we all want to be seen, represented and seek connection with people who get us. Look at this video. If this doesn’t prove how meaningful it is to see and experience someone we can relate to in our own joys and challenges, I am not sure what does. https://fb.watch/nxg7wgDlNn/?mibextid=v7YzmG

Yesterday was World CP day, October 6. I celebrate each and every warrior who lives with CP. If I had the ability, I would make a DAY to honor each and every struggle around the world. I am in awe of each, and every one of us, challenging, battling and victorious related to whatever our struggles are. And on this and every other day, may awareness, celebration and love lead the way to acceptance, value and seeing one another as God himself does: made in HIS magnificent image.

Both/And

Psalm 139

xoxo

Saturated…(part 1)

October 1, 2023/0 Comments/in Uncategorized/by Stacy

Though we had been planning for well over a year, our recent vacation to Washington DC snuck up on us because, well, September is September. Maybe it’s just me, but September seems to be right up there with May and December, the two busiest months of the year, at least in our house: purchasing school supplies, attending open houses, shopping for clothes, ordering athletic gear, learning new schedules, rediscovering school year routines and so much more. The summer wrapped up and fall began at freight-train speed.

3 weeks later, we blinked and realized our long-awaited and once rescheduled vacation to Washington DC was upon on us in a few short days! We all packed in a rush between informing school the kids would be gone, taking senior pictures, swim practices, meets and inevitable high school drama. In what felt like a discombobulated hurricane, we pulled out of our driveway at dawn, some of us with already nervous traveling stomachs, others a bit buzzed with an awaiting adventure and another nearly sleeping before we uttered traveling prayers and left our own street. We were armed with Whoppers, combos, Hydro flasks full of water, iced tea and kombucha; DVD’s for the ride, Air pods fully charged and audiobooks downloaded and ready.

The idea for the trip was from my parents, with my parents. Our kids ages made for the perfect time to soak up all kinds of American History in our country’s capital. I hadn’t been there since I was little and the rest of my crew? Never. I could feel my parents excitement as we caravanned through Michigan, then Ohio, stopping at a familiar antique mall because my mom has had a lifelong love of antiquing, which is both her hobby and business.

As I wandered with my oldest daughter, I felt like I was coming home – many antiques that had been in my childhood home, many more that whispered from my heritage. My grandparents, my mom and her sister all curated multiple business ventures and expertise about antiques. They each honed the ability to see great value in what someone else may have deemed, “used junk.”

I am a bit ashamed to admit it, I don’t always understand the love and skill my mom has in this area. I definitely do not enjoy the hunt involved with antiquing as mom does. But as we wandered this time, I found myself a bit awestruck by the history, the memories and joy in so many “vintage” items throughout the huge space. The kids found sweet treasures, a tiny windmill, various Mickey Mouse items, a Marvel character my daughter “HAD TO buy for brother,” a tiny Wade White House once included in boxes of Red Rose Tea. I felt like I was discovering something different while wandering this antique mall, finding comfort in the smells, beauty in so many colors of china and the sight of an old suitcase just like the one my Grandma carried when she came to visit.

As it turns out, that feeling on this first stop on our journey would be recurring many times over during our weeks vacation, not necessarily with antiques but rather the slow, deliberate pace, the saturation of small, bright and beautiful details that so often get overlooked and the pure joy of just being. While I intended to write about our travels while on vacation, I was so busy being present that I never found the right moments.

A day or two after we got home, I was listening to a daily Bible reading app when I heard the host say, “We know God is everywhere, but he can certainly turn up the saturation when he wants to.” -Tara Leigh Coble, The Bible Recap.

YES!! Like many of the ideas I write about, I listened to that quote over and over, turning it over in my mind like my trusty Rubik’s cube. When I thought about the word, “saturated,” I immediately thought about my kid’s wet towels on the pool deck or how my youngest likes to run through the rain, fully clothed. I thought about color, how my friends John and Jeannine load the color onto screens when creating t-shirts. But I felt like there must be a bigger definition, especially when I think about this quote.

“Saturation is the process or state that occurs when a place or thing is filled completely with people or things, so that no more can be added.” Oxford English Dictionary

YES. Every moment of our vacation was saturated – filling us in ways that no more could be added. So much laughter, learning, poignant experiences, history, God-breathed interactions. Let me try to explain….a bit at a time.

Other than a few rest stops, we made our way through the rest of Ohio and into Pennsylvania. Our next stop was in downtown Pittsburg. My family members were honoring my long-held dream of seeing the Mr. Rogers memorial statue that sits next to the Allegheny River at a former Manchester Bridge pier near Heinz Field. But as my hubby drove through increasingly busy traffic like a professional driver on a closed course, we found ourselves in the middle of traffic and happy people all around us. We were swiftly, smack in what seemed to be, the biggest baseball game of the year: The Pirates v The Yankees at PNC park.

The game started in 15 minutes as our phones directed us closer to the 10’10” statue. There was not a parking space to be found, ANYWHERE. Still, my sweet hubby circled, searching for just one spot to park.

“Mama, there it is! Mr. Rogers!” My daughter certainly knew how to get my attention.

As we drove past, I caught the shortest glimpse of the back of Mr. Rogers head. And still, no option in which to park. After trying for a long half hour, my husband squeezed my hand, “We’ll come back tomorrow morning, babe.” I nodded, touched by the effort and slightly concerned I wouldn’t get to see it the next day either, as we made our way back out of town.

Our hotel for the night was about 30 minutes away and we were all hungry. A late night pizza party, a long late talk for my son and I, late in the night as my hubby snored. We had been awestruck by the sheer magnitude of the baseball and football stadiums, the beauty of the city- so many things we would not forget already on this first day of travel.

The next morning found us heading back to Pittsburg like we were now ALL professional drivers, on a closed course.

As we suddenly rounded the corner, there sat my friend Fred, the sun shining on the larger than life statue.

“Dad, it’s closed!” My son said from the back while we drove past again. The park next to the statue was filled with people and again, parking seemed sparse. My heart skipped as I heard his comment, craned my neck in order to see the statue, look for parking and not rush to anticipating disappointment.

Parking space finally secured, we made a short walk to the statue I have waited so long to see. As we walked up, Mr. Rogers voice, calm and reassuring, was saying “It’s you I like.” The sound system was state of the art, as it broadcast 29 different Mr. Rogers sayings and songs, outdoors. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve guessed I was in the very room with dear Fred. LITERALLY. I listened, then glanced toward the statue. The gates behind Fred’s back read CLOSED, there was scaffolding sitting between the statue and the gate and black and yellow caution tape blocking any path to the statue itself.

I stood there, listening to Mr. Rogers familiar voice and feeling crestfallen as the statue sat just out of my view. My family was quiet, disappointed for me.

“Come on, babe.” My husband took my hand, lifted the tape and smiled at me. My youngest daughter, a sweet, sensitive rule-follower, was instantly concerned. “Daddy, don’t get in trouble! I can’t watch!” She covered her eyes while we walked around the corner to the statue.

There overlooking the river in an amazing tribute, sat a huge, heartwarming memorial to one who still teaches so many how important they are.

Saturated, indeed. The care of my love, kids and parents to make sure I could see it in person, their understanding of it’s importance to me and their sweet treasured words about “how you are just like him, Mama.” The overlook at the river, the fountain, these photos and the sound of Fred’s voice was icing on the cake. I couldn’t not feel the very presence of Jesus in those moments, how he tried so hard to love a world like Jesus did, the natural beauty all around, the sheer creative talent of Robert Berks and the gifts of Cordelia May and her Foundation.

The other side…the “and” with this experience?

I think some have a really difficult time with experiencing beauty and the ways God turns up the saturation.

I gave a beautiful classmate of my kids a compliment after church this morning and it seemed she wanted to crawl in a hole. As Julia Roberts said in Pretty Woman, “The Bad Things Are Easier To Believe. You Ever Noticed That?” In the world this side of heaven, I believe it is much more common to hear, say and experience the harder side of humanity than the good. It can be bullying someone who is kind and good, because maybe the “bully” had never experienced that kind of good and therefore, needs to bring the good down to their level.

Or perhaps, good, for who hasn’t experienced it, is not understood, comprehendible or not attainable so why should anyone else get to either?

Perhaps in those situations, “the saturation” of God’s beauty, goodness and grace is just TOO much to take in and apply to our own humanity.

I think this was also true for Mr. Rogers. When viewing the documentary, there was a section on people’s doubt, or flat out mockery of his kind and beautiful purpose. From SNL skits featuring Eddie Murphy, rumors about “tattoos under his sweaters” and far-fetched stories about “Fred being a Navy Seal.” The hardest for me about were about his motives with children, those who would taint the goodness of his calling into something perverse.

Needless to say, there will always be those who have greater difficulty with “good,’ than with mean, unkind or even cruel.

As I stood looking at the statue, I noticed something dark brown in the corner of Fred’s mouth. My husband is 6’4, therefore higher than my own 5’3″ frame.

“Someone put a cigar in his mouth,” my hubby said, as he continued to squint upwards at Fred’s distinguishable face. Sure enough, there it was, though it was now broken off and could be seen as a “cavity” in the corner of the statues teeth. I was sad, but not surprised that someone had wanted to impact the good of the statue. Not that cigar smoking is bad, mind you. It is just…. for a tv icon, one who promoted, physical, emotional and spiritual health, the inserted cigar felt like, (no pun intended) making Mr. Roger’s goodness, the literal butt of the joke.

All in all, people will always be people, people have been wounded for thousands of years and God is the best redeemer. God does indeed saturate, but always allows us to CHOOSE if we want to come to him and revel in ALL of his colorful, holy goodness.

I am so thankful for our trip, for perspective, for legacy and truth, history and God’s very presence in the world. This adventure was just the beginning of feeling God everywhere, and being in awe how HE saturates.

I pray he turns up the saturation, revealing more of who HE is, no matter where you are in the world. I pray you see and hear him in ALL things and that the beautiful examples of God’s own heart are many, saturated in fantastic, vivid colors.

Both/And

Ezekiel 38:23

xoxo