Someone Else's Shoes

When I was a little girl, I loved trying on my mother's clothes and shoes.  Of course, they never fit, but that didn't matter. It was all pretend.

It takes years to grow into someone else's shoes and sometimes it takes something drastic to make them fit. I wish it wasn't that way.

My father passed away on May 31, 2001 and in the midst of my grief, I stopped writing songs.  It wasn't on purpose and I'm not even sure I noticed at first.  But I just didn't have anything to say.  I was still writing by 'inspiration only' in those days.  Grief had stolen my inspiration and the songs went with it.  Fortunately, since then I've learned how to write by inspiration and perspiration thanks to writing songs for terminally ill children.  I couldn't wait for inspiration then, I had to write a song no matter what.

A year after my father died, I took my mother to visit his grave and when I stepped out of the car to walk over to the sacred spot,  I heard a distinct melody and lyric in my head:

"Now I understand, things I couldn't see before"

I went on to finish the song and it remains one of my favorites to this day.  It jump-started my songwriting and I entered another season of writing.  The song pretty much tells the story.

When I was a little girl

we would go and visit my grandpa's grave

almost every holiday we would stop and see

I would watch my mother kneel

say a word maybe shed a tear

I would wait so impatiently

I guess I couldn't see

But now I understand things I couldn't see before

feelings I could never know 'til they came to visit me

now I understand there are things I'll never know

'til I've walked a mile or two in someone else's shoes

Here I am I'm older now

I go and visit my daddy's grave

almost every time I'm near I stop and say hello

I share my heart and shed a tear

I'm feeling things I never felt before

I guess I see what my mother saw

and what it meant to her

Now I understand things I couldn't see before

feelings I could never know 'til they came to visit me

now I understand there are things I'll never know

'til I've walked a mile or two in someone else's shoes

It's amazing how I'm right back in that same spot of awareness again, but in a different set of circumstances.  

I was recently in an airport utilizing the handicap services they provide because I've been on crutches for weeks due to an ankle injury.  The skycaps had to keep reminding me to sit down in the wheelchair from the side, not try to hurl myself over the metal feet sticking out from the wheelchair.   After having to be reminded each time, I had a flashback to my mother and I on many excursions where I continually have to remind her to sit down in the car first and then swing her feet around after her.  It's easier than putting her feet in first.  We learned that in physical therapy when she fractured her hip.  But she always needs reminded and I have tried to be patient with her every time.  

Now the tables were turned, or perhaps it's better to say the wheelchair has turned, and I needed reminded of the same principle, each time.  She has the excuse of being 91 years old and lapsing in memory.  I have no idea what my excuse is.  

But the last time I needed reminded, I smiled.  I was so glad I have been patient with her. 

My graveside experience with writing "Someone Else's Shoes" came to my mind and once again I knew that it's always easier to extend mercy to others when you yourself have somehow stepped into their shoes, if even for just a moment.  

Buy "Someone Else's Shoes" here if you like.

Crutch, Crutch, Goose - a new game with my Mother

You've probably played the game "duck, duck, goose".  You know, the one where you sit in a circle and hope you are the one chosen to run around the circle—like a maniac. Next, you bop someone on the head and they continue the frenzy of activity.  Such excitement and anticipation in the air. At least, that's how it felt when I was a young girl.

As an adult, I still play a version of this game. First I sit and meditate quietly, or I vigorously ride my bike. Then BOP, an idea taps me on my head and I'm up and running around in circles.

Bop - "let's do a Christmas CD"
Bop - "let's learn to figure skate"
Bop - "let's put together a Christmas show"
Bop - "move your mother to the nursing center"

oops.....that "bop" wasn't my idea.  

But there I was...off and running (well, actually, I was hopping on crutches) to get her situated in her new room in the skilled nursing department at the retirement community where she lives. Being on crutches has slowed me down......a LOT! 

In the midst of all this hustle and bustle of moving my mother, it is so easy to lose sight of the positives.

Until last Saturday morning.

I had been planning a special picnic lunch for my mother.  I spent most of Friday afternoon making food preparations and creating the perfect scenario in my head.  

Early in the week I had promised her that I would take her out for lunch. Going out to eat would be a nice change from the institutional food and the atmosphere she has had to adjust to.  

But I began sensing that what she really needed was a touch of home. Memories are all she has left and they are fading too. Familiar things that would tie her to the past.  

So I started conjuring up this picnic idea in my head:

Sunshine.
Picnic table in the woods.
Home-made foods served on her Fiestaware.
A family heirloom tablecloth.
Root beer floats.

And then we got a call at 9:00 p.m. Friday night.  

She had fallen in her bathroom, hit her head on the tile floor and would be heading to the ER.  

We arrived before she did. 

She had a massive goose egg on her forehead and I gasped when I saw it, trying not to let her see my reaction.

I held her hand at one point to help her lift her arms for the nurse and saw the skin drape down over her bones like a wet dish rag.  She's only 95 pounds and I'm convinced most of that is just bone. 

It was a long night.

She wondered about our lunch plans.  Could we still go through with them?  

"Let's just take it one step at a time", I said.

Saturday came and it was sunny, but there was a very blustery wind that came with the sunshine so I wasn't sure we could go to the park as originally planned.  Plus, I had no idea what kind of shape she'd be in from falling the night before.

I made the root beer floats ahead of time, put them in the freezer so they'd last in the cooler, packed the blue Fiestaware and cheery tablecloth. 

Would she even remember the cloth I wondered? 

Next, I packed chicken salad, fresh kale salad with fresh strawberries, avocado, almonds, feta cheese and homemade honey-lemon poppy seed dressing and drove the 30 minutes to the retirement home.

When I arrived, a nurse carried all the food in for me and suggested a little sunroom at the end of the hall.  It was obvious my mother wasn't up for an outdoor picnic.

I stepped into her room and gasped again.  

I don't have children so I don't know what it's like to watch your child suffer from bruises and ailments, but I do know the feeling of seeing your aging mother becoming more frail by the week and I shivered at the sight of her black and blue face.  

A child always has the hope of growing up and getting stronger.  At 91, it's a very different scenario when they are bruised or ailing.  It seems to only weaken them.  You take a deep breath every time you see the incoming call from the nursing center.  Is this going to be it you ask yourself?

I could see we had about two options.  Let her lay in bed and have the picnic lunch in her room or try to get her up and sit in the sunroom.  She seemed interested in the sunroom so I went to get it ready.

We hobbled out to the room together, she with her frail body clinging to the walker for support and me with my injured ankle and grieving heart.


When we sat down at that table, however, it was as if we entered another world.  She recognized the tablecloth immediately.  We talked of gardening, cooking, where the tablecloth came from, though she doesn't remember, and how she had walked by this sunroom many times never dreaming she would end up here.

I realized, as we ate, that it was the first time in weeks that we had been able to do anything 'normal' together.  The past few weeks had been focused on parting with her furniture, signing papers, releasing her old room, filling out more papers, getting used to a very small room, new staff and procedures. It had taken its toll on both of us in different ways.  

Now, we sat at a table together, sipping root beer floats, eating from her plates (that I inherited from her) on her tablecloth and enjoying home-grown food.

Every time she sipped the root beer float she would say "this is delicious!".  I would remind her that this was the treat she served everyone who came to visit her in her cottage.  She would put scoops of ice cream in a glass and cover it with root beer, then put it in the freezer.  When unexpected visitors came, she would simply remove the glass from the freezer, put a straw in it (the kind that flexes near the top) and serve it with some pretzels. I don't know of anyone who didn't love those root beer floats.  But she has no recollection of this tradition.  I sighed.  How can she not remember that?  It was one of her trademarks.

At one point, we ate in silence and suddenly she slid her hand across the tablecloth.  "This is a connection to the past", she said.  Gulp.  Lump in my throat.  She can't remember the root beer floats but she can remember the tablecloth?  Memory is so unpredictable.

It isn't the most ideal stage of life for her right now and I shed many hidden tears over it.  But on this day, there was no running around in circles like maniacs playing duck, duck, goose.   We just sat and enjoyed memories together.  Me on my crutches and her with her goose egg bump on her head.   It's making lemonade out of lemons they usually say, but we had root beer floats instead.

Thanks to her goose egg bruise and my crutches, we made do in our new situation and created a new game...."crutch, crutch, goose".

With or without the crutches and goose egg - we will do this again!

Invisible Crutches

Still no skating.....

Still on crutches.....

Living on the edge is much more fun when it's an edge you chose.  Crutches are not my choice, but they are necessary right now; at least the ones you can see me walking with.

A crutch is anything that serves as a temporary and often inappropriate support, supplement, or substitute; a prop.

A crutch doesn't always have to be a piece of wood or metal that props you up...it can be the invisible kind....

food

friends

chocolate

sleeping

comfort

sunshine

noise

music

clothes

feelings

dishonesty

perfectionism

silence

For instance, if I choose to be silent for the better of mankind, then that is not a crutch.  It is a wise choice.  However, if I choose to be silent as 'revenge' or a sort of 'attack' or to 'prove a point' - that isn't a healthy choice. It's a bad crutch.

Today I went for another laser treatment on my ankle.  Imagine lying facedown on the bed in a dark room while the assistant runs a warm metal thing over your ankle.  The laser beam restores energy and nutrients back into your cells they say.  Hopefully this works!

While you are laying there, it's tempting to lay your head down and take a nap.  But the girl who gives me the laser treatment is a bit chatty.  She wants to know what my day holds for me.  She probably can't see me sigh.  I don't want to talk today.  I just want to be left alone.

I have a decision to make.  Do I really tell her what's on my plate or do I make it short and sweet? 

There are actually some very monumental things on my plate, but I don't want to talk about it.

* A first time meeting with those who care for my Mother in her new room.   An emotional event.

* A brainstorming meeting tonight about my upcoming Christmas show.  A joyous event.

She wouldn't know what I'm talking about on either count, so I'm sure she'd ask more questions. Why bother to start.  I've already been prone to tears for the past few weeks since I've had to move my Mother and I don't want to turn on that faucet in front of a stranger so I just resort to crutches.  I don't say anything.

But I know that isn't fair to her, so I go for the short and bland, after I sigh again, inwardly. 

"Meetings," I say, with my head half down in the pillow.  "My day consists of meetings".  I knew that wasn't a great answer for an inquiring mind, but it would have to do. 

My invisible crutches are functioning well it would seem.

I'd like to be rid of both kinds of crutches.

My mother's elephants

Last week was a whirlwind.  'Been living on the edge of crutches and insanity instead of ice skate blades.  

My mother had to move to the nursing section of the retirement home where she lives.  I have achilles tendonitis and have to be on crutches another 2 weeks so I tried to move her while hobbling around.  

While helping her downsize yet again, I had to make a lot of decisions about what to keep and what to let go of.  

I came upon these 2 elephants and I couldn't resist writing a blog about them.

Last year at this time I was blogging about "The Elephant Diet" and conquering demons and aspiring to our dreams by eating the 'big' elephants in our lives ONE bite at a time.  

I smiled as I picked them up and ran my hands over their smooth surfaces.

I have a Christmas CD, I am planning the big show I had dreamt of last year, I am learning to figure skate (though I'm on break right now) and all this one bite at a time.  I'm helping my mother move, and doing it one step at a time (or one crutch hop at a time).  That's how we accomplish great things.

"If you had started doing anything two weeks ago, by today you would have been two weeks better at it.” ― John Mayer (guitarist and songwriter). Don't wait until you have everything as you want it to start on your dreams.  Just start.

The elephants in the picture belong to my mother.  She's had them since I was a little girl. She has overcome so many elephants in her life that it's hard to even list them all - death of her first husband and two sons and dealing with many illnesses that still affect her to this day.  I found some letters she started to her children on big yellow legal pads (though she never finished them or distributed them) and I saw reflections of a life of determination, heartbreak and desire to live completely surrendered to God's touch in her life, even when it meant suffering.

I looked at the two elephants and realized that all these hurdles in her life have led to this point in time. She's still here and still trying to conquer temptation to be discouraged. She still has more obstacles to overcome - bless her heart.  Life just doesn't quit throwing things at her that are hard.  But she keeps pressing on.

I think I'll keep these elephants. I can't remember where they came from exactly, but I sure am learning more about perseverance and faith from my mother - the one who made a home for them originally, way before I ever started a blog or knew what an elephant was.

A Christmas show is on the way! Buy tickets here. (another elephant gone).

Getting hurt, while trying not to get hurt.

I've made it almost a week using crutches.  I'm a bit envious of the guy in the photo who is skating with a crutch.  Obviously he doesn't really need it.  Maybe he has it just in case he does get hurt.

The very first day I skated with my new pair of skates my coach warned me to be careful of the toe picks.  "They are much sharper than the rental pair you wore".

Wouldn't you know, he was right.  I accidentally dug my toe pick into the ice way too deep and I went face forward down to the ice.  I put my arms out in front of me to stop the fall and I've suffered with muscle pain in my arm because of it ever since that day in January.

I hurt myself while trying NOT to get hurt.  Dah!

Now, here I am on crutches so that my foot can heal.  But the first day I used the crutches I had new pain.   I moaned and groaned that night as I got into bed. My shoulders, neck, back and wrists hurt so bad from the crutches I didn't even notice the ankle problem (my cats were not happy about the metal robot-like legs pounding through the house either).

Have you ever tried so hard to keep yourself from getting hurt that you end up hurting.....yourself?

A long time ago I worked at an office where my boss was emphatic about answering the office phone after the very first ring.  If he heard the phone ring more than once, he was on my case about it.  I was new in town and very young.  I internalized my anxiety day after day over this.  I tried hard to get the phone every time it rang, but sometimes I just couldn't get to it until it was too late, especially if I was taking another call at the time. The second ring signaled a lecture from my boss (he wasn't a dictator...he just knew how he wanted things to be.)

This went on for months until I got so sick in my stomach I ended up in the ER with a stomach ulcer.  I didn't put the two together until years later when this kind of pattern would repeat itself.

I was afraid to speak up and tell him that sometimes it was impossible to do what he demanded.  When my body finally said "I can't take this anymore, I'm hurting", I told a friend of mine who also worked at the office.  She told my boss and from then on he wasn't quite so demanding.

If the current Frances could talk to the 22 year old Frances back then, I would tell her that in stuffing her feelings and fears in order not to get hurt, she would only end up hurting herself more.

I sure miss skating, but I guess there are lessons I can learn even when I'm not on the ice.  This is a good lesson to learn.

How about you?  Are you hurting yourself more by putting up walls so...you....don't get hurt?

Be Careful

I don't know what I did to injure my foot, but I can't undo it.

I tried to be careful.

My ankle seems to show no improvement.

I can't jog, jump rope or skate.

Even walking (without support of a shoe with a heel) is painful.

I've had to stop skating and give up coaching sessions.

Yesterday I went to the doctor.  Achilles Tendonitis...he thinks.  Never had it before and don't want it again.

No activity for 2 weeks.  I tried to heal things my own way for the past 2 weeks and it hasn't worked, so I figure I better try to be obedient.

I'm learning how to do life with crutches.

I have had to readjust my attitude over and over through this time.  It's the only thing I can control!

This season reveals that there is something even more dangerous looming that I must be careful of.  As much as I wish my ankle would straighten up, I'm more concerned about how I handle this.

For many of us women, (and maybe men too?) our feelings are wrapped up in how we feel about ourselves.  You know the cycle, when you think you're losing weight and eating well and getting in your exercise routine, you feel great about everything.  When that all comes to a grinding halt, you can start to feel awful and it's a quick decline into discouragement and even binge eating.

I've found myself fighting that decline since I can't exercise.  I then start to want to eat more because I think I feel 'better' when I eat.  That inevitably leads to weight gain, which leads to more eating because I feel discouraged.

I've been here before.  I have broken the pattern in the past.  But although I am frustrated about the ankle, I'm more concerned about my heart through all this.

So yes, I certainly have tried to be careful with my body, but now I must be careful with my heart.

"Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it".  Proverbs 4:23

Isn't it that way for all of us?  Not WHAT circumstances we face, but HOW we face them?

“Many times we are our worst enemy. If we could learn to conquer ourselves, then we will have a much easier time overcoming the obstacles that are in front of us.” ― Stephan Labossiere

I Fell

At least once a week I take a good tumble on the ice.  I'm learning to just get back up and keep going.  I wish I would never fall.

A few weeks ago I "fell", but it wasn't on the ice.  

It was right after a long night of rehearsing with the band the eve before the big SOAR conference where I led worship.  Ruth Graham was to be one of the keynote speakers at a mega church in Lancaster, PA.  I was excited to have the band with me.

We worked hard for a couple of hours and worked up quite an appetite.  I decided to treat them all to dinner.  Between the band and their wives, there were 6 of us.  

The waitress finally took our order.  Before she left our table however, she began talking non-stop to the drummer something about peppers and how she liked her meat cooked.  I found myself getting a bit 'edgy' as she continued to chat.  (At least go and put our order in before you continue this long conversation I thought to myself.  Then come back and yak all you want.)

You must understand that because I get up at 4:00 a.m. to work in my skating time during the week, I am usually heading to bed around 9:00 p.m. I'm really tired by the end of the day and when you combine that with hunger, exhaustion and non-stop talking by someone you don't know on a late Friday night, that is a perfect set up for a fall. I was now way past my bed time.

I looked her straight in the eye, found a spot when she stopped to take a breath and asked her to please go put our order in.  "I'm hungry", I said.

She quickly said "I'm sorry" and turned and walked away.  I reflected on how good it felt to finally be learning to speak up instead of holding everything in.  But before I could finish my thought, the band gave me a stern rebuke and told me I was rude.  

I fell.

They were right.

In fact, the bass player pointed out that it was the drummer who started that conversation, not the waitress.  

The next time she came back to the table, I apologized for my rudeness.  Fortunately, she accepted my apology but I still felt ashamed of myself.  I needed her forgiveness and I needed to forgive myself. It's not that I shouldn't learn to speak up, I just need to make sure it's at the right time in the right way.

I was grateful the band was there to put things into perspective.  

Like I said, I wish I would never fall.