Striving to be THE best!

Setup for failure

There is no possibility  every effort will be THE  best.

Striving always to give personal  best  promotes  satisfaction and confidence; nothing more can be given.

A determination   to  give all,  nurtures a positive attitude;  every performance is an  opportunity.

Individual  success contributes to a feeling of well-being.   Today is better than yesterday, tomorrow will be more productive than today.    Such anticipation  energizes!

Satisfaction in accomplishments  bolsters  feelings of  success,  it  contributes to finding happiness !

 “Well that is good, but I  could have……….”    

conveys the idea “it’s not whether you win or lose, all that matters is that you win”.

Two runners break time records crossing the finish line.

One breaks the tape two second ahead of the other.    He is declared  THE winner!

The second  breaks  the records as well , yet,  he is  viewed as THE  loser in this race.

                                       Such are the rules of the game!!  

When others  judge,  there are winners and losers!

   When personal best is the goal there is  no loser

 

The Mystery Plate

A misguided sense of concern may cause us to exclude a loved one from our life’s circumstances.    What a shame for them and for us.   Tracy Marr explalns why in this portion of a blog she allowed me to post several years ago.   I think it bears repeating

GOD RESTORES–THE MYSTERY PLATE

We have all heard the expressions, “he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth’, “this is the hand you’ve been dealt” “Just wipe the slate clean and start over”, “you sure wear a lot of hats” “you carry the world on your shoulders” And the famous “you have too much on your plate”.

Today I have been pondering the mysterious plate. When did each of us receive this plate?

We all, at some point in life, have been told we have “too much on our plate”; we ALL have a plate.

Do we receive it at birth? As a teen? When we hit 21?

Well, I have surmised we each receive our mystery plate at birth.

Where we keep this plate is beyond me; our hands are full with the cards we have been dealt, our mouth is full with the silver spoon (or our foot), the many hats that cover our head;  we carry the “weight of the world on our shoulders”.

All I know is,  some how we carry it with us,  we add to it;  sometimes portions are put on our plate that we did not ask for– lets say divorce of our parents; the death of a family member, or abuse. Someone comes along and drops a portion into our plate.

A spouse and children do not count as a spot on our plate; they are part of the life we live, BUT they can add to spaces on our plate, if we let them, with worry, stress, anger, resentment, pride, jealousy, greed, drug addiction, alcoholism– just to name a few.

If some one we love has problems we can choose to take on their problems, thus adding a portion to our plate.

Then there is work, financial worry, retirement, the broke down car…every thing you can think of, one can add to this plate and often does .

Here is the thing I am not so sure about.  We all get the same kind of plate, but I think when I say plate, 99% of us think of a round object; well, forever, plates were round.

Some may get a silver sturdy plate, some a plate made of china,  corelle or  paper (yea! the paper platers don’t get much of a chance, those things don’t hold up well at all!)

Bear with me I am really going some where with this plate…

What brought this thought to my mind today was, last night was the final straw in 2 years worth of statements, as I found out about different things happening to friends or family who once would have called me right away to ask for prayer or talk ; no longer do I hear it “thru the grapevine”.

I used to be the go to girl, people would call me all the time for advice, for prayer, to talk to about their problems; I enjoyed helping others clean off spots on their plate; I have noticed that people don’t do that any more.

If some one does by chance start to tell me about something that isn’t going right in their life, they will suddenly stop and say, ” Why am I telling you this, like you don’t have “enough on your plate already”!

Let me tell you a little about my birth plate.  It had dents, scratches and cracks from 46 years of crud that started VERY early in  life.

The beginning portions on my plate were placed there by others, over which I had no control.   I was much to young.

But as I grew older,  I added my own crud to the plate, anger, rage, low self-esteem, feeling unworthy, drinking, drugs, bad financial habits and poor choices in relationships, jobs that drove me crazy— the list goes on.

My plate WAS maxed.

I did begin to learn to remove many of those things on my plate when I gave my life to Christ in my late 20’s (I mean really gave it to him not just said the words). But as I said that plate was all kinds of jacked up!

On June 12, 2008 it shattered into a million pieces! 46 years of wear and tear and my plate could not hold up to what was going to be the beginning of a new life.

There was no putting that plate back together.

I was graciously handed a new life plate, a unique plate, not round or square, or triangular, a plate that was so completely different, this plate has no lip around it, made for gently sliding things off.

This plate did come with a few portions on it but it wasn’t full and it still isn’t.

See, this plate brings with it some real eye openers.

Like hey! there is no hate on this plate ,  I DON’T have to scoop it on!

There is no resentment, no anger, no crazy employers, no low self esteem, no feelings of unworthiness, (drugs, drinking and bad money habits were taken off my plate back in my early 20’s); there is a lot of room on this plate!

I as a 46 year old woman get to choose what I want on this plate.

Yes, this new life with TBI can give me reason to scoop my plate HIGH with all kinds of crud, if I want to; OR I can keep praising God for the wonderful gifts, the peace, the new found joy, the freedom from my old plate.

I know this is making no sense, it almost sounds as if I am rejoicing in TBI.

No, what I am rejoicing in is the fact that I HAVE ROOM on my plate.

Do you hear me friends and family?

Don’t leave me out of your lives because you think it will add more stress; don’t not tell me your sorrows because you think I have enough to cry over; don’t keep from me when you get hurt because you think your pain isn’t “as bad as mine”.

I want you to tell me about YOU!

I want to pray for YOU, WITH you I want to be a part of your life and help you.

God has gifted me with a plate so unique, I still do not know how or where I carry this plate; I still wear many hats; I often stick my foot in my mouth; my hands are  busy helping my son or being raised to the Son.

From age 46 to 48 I have learned there is a Well, called God;  I can easily slide stuff I don’t want off this plate into His hands.

There is room for you friends and family.

In some bizarre way, TBI has freed me of so many things; I now understand how absolutely unimportant they are;  I refuse to scoop them onto this new plate.

Every so often something would like to take up residence on this plate; I gently tip it sideways till whatever it is slips off.

I know what I want on my plate.

I see things through a different heart and different eyes now;  I am saving room for you….I won’t let you live on my plate or take on your worries and pain, forever;  but I will let you use a spot;  help you unload some of your stuff.   I will try to help ease your pain; give you good advice; pray with you; then I will gently tip it to the side to let it slide off into the hands of the Master Crafter.

Why the plate? Yesterday I found out my mother, YES MY OWN MOM, who lives barely 5 miles from me, fell at 3am in the morning, hitting her nightstand,  cutting her head open to the point she has 30 stitches and 2 very very black eyes.

No one bothered to call me!

When I called to find out why, the answer….the statement I have heard from friends or family when they haven’t told me something important yet painful… over and over for 2 years now.. Because I felt you had “enough on your  plate”.

TBI is not ON my plate, it is a new way of life.  A life we are facing head on and getting through.

So when you think, ” well lets not burden Tracy with our woes, remember this….my plate is only 2 years old there isn’t much on it. Come on over,  borrow a spot if yours has gotten too full.

           

I Love You, But You Must Go

Love means different things to different people.

From the outset, let us understand that love, as it is being defined, does not equate the satisfying of sexual desires.  Sexual expression satisfies a passionate physical need which may not be, even remotely, associated with true love.

Real love is an emotion that unites, creating a desire to share an intimate spiritual bond. Separated lovers feel an anxious desire to communicate, a longing for the time when once more, physical presence is a shared reality.

Genuine affection is unselfishness personified.   Fulfilling the needs of the loved one is uppermost in the lover’s heart; that unselfish giving will result in mutual joy and satisfaction is secondary.

The love of a mother for a child is the first, foremost evidence that humans are capable of this degree of devotion.

Bonds forged, even before birth, fill the Mother with awe.

That she is capable of such unselfish raw emotion and the recognition of a willingness to sacrifice herself for her child opens a new world to her.

Now she understands the wisdom in the loving words of her own mother: “Now, you will truly understand how much I love you.”

Never has unselfish giving to a person so selfish, demanding, and utterly dependent on her brought such pleasure or sense of accomplishment.

The lesson will not be lost. A child begins to realize satisfying his caregiver’s needs contributes to his own pleasure and satisfaction.

Independence distances him from his parents.

Wise parents recognize relaxing control, encouraging independence can be emotionally painful; it is a loving unselfish act to nurture the need for separation that becomes apparent as the baby becomes a child, then an adolescent.

To youths not allowed gradual freedom, demanded independence becomes a jolting experience.

The love of parent for child is the only love that has separation as its goal.

How sad when that separation comes as a result of the child’s dissatisfaction with his parents, their values and their goals.  “I can do better than they did!”   In too many cases that is not true!

The question may forever haunt each: “You’re mine and I love you, but why?”

When, gradually, the coiled spring of dependence is released; a confident, disciplined, caring young adult can go into the world determined to make it a better place.

This separation is not an expression of rebellion; it is a desire to satisfy a restlessness, to be apart of something bigger, to make things better.

They are separated by distance, but that desire to share an intimate spiritual bond, the longing to communicate, anticipating the time when once more, physical presence can be a shared reality is still there.

For parent, for child, the sentiment is the same: “I love you—I am proud of you–I miss you.”

Life Has An Expiration Date

(This beautiful story was shared in an e-mail.  Thank you Gary Millwood. I wish I knew where it originated.)

What do you think? C lick on the title, then scroll down to comment box to let me know

 

The Rain

It was a busy morning, about 8:30, when an elderly gentleman in his 80’s arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He said he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am.

I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him.

I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound.

On exam, it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.

While taking care of his wound, I asked him if he had another doctor’s appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.

I inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer’s Disease.

As we talked, I asked if she would be upset if he was a bit late.

He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised, and asked him, ‘And you still go every morning, even though she doesn’t know who you are?’

He smiled as he patted my hand and said, ‘She doesn’t know me, but I still know who she is.’

I had to hold back tears as he left, I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought, ‘That is the kind of love I want in my life.’

True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be.

With all the jokes and fun that are in e-mails, sometimes there is one that comes along that has an important message..

This one I thought I could share with you.

The happiest people don’t necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the best of everything they have.

I hope you share this with someone you care about.

I just did.

‘Life isn’t about how to survive the storm, But how to dance in the rain.’

We are all getting Older Tomorrow may be our turn. Enjoy life now-it has an expiration date!

What I Learned From My Dad

Please comment on this post. Click title for comment box, scroll down

Few post have affected me the way this one did the first time I read it.    I felt a sickening  in the stomach.  That any child should have to endure this kind of life is unthinkable to me.  Yet, here is a person who not only endured, she refused to allowed the horror to  kill her spirit.  It is sad, hard to read, but so important.   Thank you Roseanne  Lasatar for having the courage to share.

Posted on December 5, 2010 by Roseanne Lasater

My Dad died recently and I’ve been contemplating his life and my relationship with him. In particular thinking about what I learned from being his kid. Dads are important role models for kids and mine was no exception.  Like most kids, I started life looking up to him and memorizing his every word and deed.

But quickly I learned to be very careful around my Dad. He was a dangerous man, especially if you were a little person. He yelled and he hit and most of the time was in a foul mood. At two, I hid under my bed when I heard him arriving home from work. This is probably my earliest memory. My brother and sister and I were always in trouble. We didn’t have to do anything. We were in trouble because we were alive. Our being alive was my father’s biggest complaint in life. All his troubles were due to this central fact. It was his view that we should not be alive and sometimes he seemed determined to correct this problem.

There are many stories I could tell to illustrate, but that’s not the topic of this blog. I mention it so that it will make sense when I say that my Dad was my role model for how NOT to live, how NOT to treat others.

He was a master of selfishness. “Take with both hands,” he advised us and “always get even.” “Don’t give anybody anything.” And one of my favorites, “It’s as easy to love a rich man as a poor one.” He was a fount of wisdom, my Dad.

It is fortunate for me that I didn’t believe him. I always knew he was dead wrong. Apparently this showed on my face, which he interpreted as “You think you’re smarter than me.” Naturally these words were a prelude to blows.

At the time, I denied it. But in retrospect, the truth is I did come to think I was smarter than him, though that didn’t seem like much. He was an angry, self-centered sex addict who beat his children and wife and was given to frquent fits of rage.

My father hated me, a fact he made abundantly clear in both word and deed. He also loved me, an emotion he expressed indirectly through inappropriate discussion of his sex life and sexual overtures, up to and including showing me pornography and telling me he wanted to rape me. Well, you get the general idea.

He harmed me in myriad ways physically,  emotionally and spiritually. Somehow he didn’t break me, though it was his declared intention, but I spent many years recovering from the bruises from his relentless blows.

As a young emancipated adult, I once predicted he would die all alone. And that’s pretty much how it went. Although my stepmom lasted almost to the end. But a year before he died, even she had to leave, like the rest of us, in self-defense.

He’d been on house arrest for several years due to sexually offending his female neighbors, all of them. She had to stay home and make sure he didn’t go out or talk to anyone.

A few years ago, I called on his birthday and asked what special thing he had planned to celebrate.  He said my stepmom was going to give him a blow job.

First she left him with a caregiver and didn’t check on him for ten months. When she did, he was filthy and so was the house. She called all of us, but none of us wanted to take on the job of caring for him, so she put him in a nursing home. He lasted three days before he’d sexually offended, and assaulted several other residents and they called the police to have him removed. Back and forth from the psych ward to the nursing home a few times. Then he had a seizure and died.

Problem solved.

Looking back, one thing that always amazed me was his stubborn insistence right to the end that he was right. Women wanted to be touched; all people are preoccupied with sex; you can tell children are sexually aroused because their crotches are warm; all brown-skinned women are prostitutes,  etc. He insisted we were lying when we said no to that kind of attention. He, alone among the throng of humanity who complained about his behavior and treatment of them, was being honest.

He had no friends.

So what did I learn from my father? Something about the folly of being right.

Roseanne Lasater is” stillwalkn”

Facebook–The Root of All Evil ?

At a recent family reunion I was somewhat taken aback when I asked assembled family remembers, “”How many of you are on Facebook?”  A goodly number of the younger  cousins smiled, nodded and raised their hands.

Then the shocker!   A  relative in his  mid-fifties  loudly declared, “No! Facebook is bad.  There is no way I would be on that thing!   It gets people in all kinds of trouble.”

Asked if he had ever checked  Facebook out, he  chastised us  with the proclamation, ” I certainly have not;  I have  heard of all the bad things that go on THAT website!

Personally, I  spend too much time on that particular social net work site;   nothing particularly evil that I see.  His “authoritative” declaration got me  thinking–and investigating.   Came up with some interesting statistics ; drew a couple completely unsubstantiated conclusions.   (Do you see a family flaw being demonstrated by both my informant, and me,  in this matter?)

• We  endured the bully as children .   The internet and the proliferation of social sites, like Facebook, undeniably have elevated the problem to  a level of real concern.
• A sad fact of American life is  about half of all marriages will end in divorce.  Facebook  is being cited as the instrument of destruction in one out of every five marriage endings according to one UK study.
• Googling the negative affects of social networking sites brings up a lot of citations from the United Kingdom.   This one in the MAIL (online) headlines: “Social websites harm children’s brains: Chilling warning to parents from top neuroscientist (by David Derbyshire).
• On the website, Rumblings (promising incites and outlooks on……….. social media)  Larry Ross discusses the very real danger to Facebook users:  scammers using readily available information accessible  on social network sites.   He suggest ways to avoid being bilked.

Geez!  Reading the information presented in just these four instances makes me wonder.    Am I choosing to associate myself with an instrument of intrinsic evil?

The classic gun argument can apply to social networks like Facebook.    “Guns do not kill people, people kill people.”

ANY argument can be proved with statistics, it is said.   Enter the arena of the Facebook value  fight.

If academic research and conclusions thrill you, you will find 26 pages of  affirmation of the value of social networks from 3 associate professors from  the Department of Telecommunication, Information Studies, and Media   Michigan State University  fascinating reading.   For  those less inclined to study documentation, let’s just say “It’s a good thing, this social networking  craze.”

So much for “statistics”.   Let me tell you what I think of Facebook.   (Like I am an authority and you really care what I think, right!)

It is addictive!  If you just want to chat,browse, post, or play games..there’s something for everyone.  Wonder what long-lost friends, classmates, old heart-throb have mellowed into over the years?    Chances are good you will eventually be able to reconnect using this new means of communication.

Which sort’a brings me back to the gun analogy.

The negative things happening as a result of use of Facebook  involve…. yep!… people and their humanness (or inhumane behavior)

Children being influenced in less than a positive way…. where is the parental oversight?  We asked the same question about video game and arcades..same answers applied..do we never learn?  Stupid question.

Marriage problems exposed…..I bet there were problems long before Facebook……..don’t try to convince me the infidelity, mistrust, spying, failure to resist temptation,etc didn’t come as part of the baggage when you signed on to Facebook

Those out to rob us, without  our being aware?  Social networks are simply ANOTHER place it can happen.  In this age of electronic technology where information can be taken from plastic cards crammed in billfold in our pockets we must take reasonable precautions.

It boils down to  simple principles.

• Befriend those I know (or know about).  Should  posts or chats  head in an undesirable direction,  the delete  or block buttons take one simple click to put that person outside my circle again!
• Realize I present an image mutual friends see in my post.   Grouchy, pessimistic, positive and up building, judgmental, an idiot, an airhead,  or someone with a little common sense…it all shows in my post.
• I have an opportunity to inform, inspire, educate through my postings.   Take it!!    One of the finest example I know is the owner/publisher of our  small town newspaper, Saluda Standard-Sentinel.   Ralph  Shealy regularly post photos from the distant  past of people and activities around Saluda honoring our history, connecting those of us who shared childhood experiences, but have long gone from the small town we love.
• Post only comments I am willing to make in my friend’s presence. The old adage applies, “If I can’t say something nice, I won’t say anything at all.”  On the occasion that I feel I must be negative I will do it with a private message, then only the 2 of us know about it.

Is Facebook  bad?   Does it  get  people in all kinds of trouble?   No, do not blame Facebook for human hurtfulness, ignorance, stupidity, and selfishness blame the PEOPLE who use it the wrong way!

Storybook Pages Of My Mind

“Yesterday was a glorious day for a drive.
Cranked up the classical music; flipped the storybook pages of my mind, seeing sword fights,
fanciful runs through the woods and peasant lovers.”

This Facebook entry by my daughter Debbie intrigued me.  Flipping through the storybook pages of my mind!  It has been a long time since I did that.

As hard as it is for this generation to comprehend there was a time  when every story and lyric was not accompanied by video interpretation.   We were free to put our own interpretation to the words and notes; and Oh! how our imaginations could soar!

My fondest memories of childhood are the adventures I enjoyed with  people I met through the printed page.

How they looked, how they felt, was limited only by my imagination.   They were as real to me as any persons I knew.  Some were my friends, others I did not like.

They lived far more adventurous  lives than I.

There was no TV, video,or immediately available movie to suggest what might have been.

The printed page took me beyond the confines of the isolation of rural South Carolina into a larger world where people lived and experienced  much of the same things I might.  I knew I was not alone.

Two examples of my early friends come to mind.

First, there  is Johnny Tremain.

This Revolutionary War character is so real to me.  I can feel his exaggerated pride and arrogance; his humiliation due his own actions and his intense determination to be a meaningful part of  a solution dispite the handicap of  his  fused fingers.

Reading the notes  on this book by Esther Forbes, I wonder how the character  could be so memorable  to a  kid  with such limited experience.

In the pages of the storybook in my mind, do I see myself, and perhaps the person I hope to become?   One can only speculate;  sixty years later, Johnny Tremain remains a friend; as real today as he was then.

Jody Baxter, his family and  neighbors,  are people  I remember well.

Jody lives in Florida, but I can  identify with his longing for the companionship of a pet; his parents remind me  of my own in their struggles against nature, disease, disaster and less than sympathetic neighbors.

The circumstances of my own life  are surely exaggerated by immature, childish, understanding of our circumstances, but if my friends the Baxters can face adversity and not let it destroy their basic goodness, I know we can as well.  Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings  in her novel The Yearling shows  there is hope.

I probably watched the movie on TV, but it is not those faces that I  remember as  the Baxters.   The portraits of my friends  are  the ones drawn on the storybook pages of my mind as I struggle along side Jody as he grows into manhood.

Wonder how many, today, can listen to music (classical or otherwise)  and as Debbie describes:   flip the storybook pages of the mind, see sword fights, fanciful runs through the woods and peasant lovers?  Probably not many, especially of the younger generation.

Music video has robbed us of that opportunity.   Few see meaning beyond the often meaningless interpretation of the lyrics  presented in the  accompanying video.   No more does “each listener puts his own meaning to the words”.

Gone are the days when students are told “Each poem or song has it own meaning, there is no right or wrong interpretation.”

Well, we almost believe that, except the wise student knows  he must interpret the meaning of poetry  as the teacher  understands  its meaning  if he expects an answer to  be marked as correct on a test.

A good example of music that has  different meaning to different people ( and generations) is The “William Tell Overture“, the instrumental introduction to the opera William Tell by Gioachino Rossini.

Few of us recognize that title, but the music has meaning to us all, but in different interpretations.  The original is classic!

To my generation in the  40’s and 50’s it was recognized as the introduction to  the Lone Ranger series. Spell binding adventure, almost as good as watching Dad shoot an apple off son’s head!

Rossini would probably turn in his grave if he knew how his masterpiece is abused now as an vehicle for comedic interpretations such as “The Mom Song“.   It is fun!

Today this galloping refrain encourages many students to hurry down the hallways to the next class, as it  blares over the sound systems at centers of education.  Hurry! Hurry! Don’t be late!!

Ah, what is written on the pages in our mind if we would only open them!  What pictures, what stories, what fantasies!

We can run into trouble when we share those pages with others.  When I put a worldly interpretation to Debbie’s comment with this observation:

“MY!MY! What the……..sword fights, peasant lovers
running through the woods.  I thought you would have your mind
concentrating on less worldly things!!”

Her reply brings me back to the reality of the generational difference:

“Hahaha Dad! I know you were teasing. 😀
It actually kind of icks me out to know that you are human and probably have romantic
thoughts from time to time too.  Ugh…threw up in my mouth a little…”

Well, Darlin’, many pages  in my mind  are kinda’  faded, yellowed, and torn; I can still read a few of the scripts.

There are  even a few entries about chasing somebody through someplace, I just forgot where.

I did not write why.

Now I have forgotten!

Burned Biscuits

This material by an unknown author was passed on to me by a friend on Facebook.   The author says “feel free to pass this  along to someone who has enriched your life”     I take this as permission to re-post here, my readers have certainly enriched my life, and  this is well worth thinking about.

——————————-

When I was a kid, my Mom liked to make breakfast food for
dinner every now and then. I remember one night in particular
when she had made breakfast after a long, hard day at work.
On that evening so long ago, my Mom placed a plate of eggs,
sausage and extremely burned biscuits in front of my dad. I
remember waiting to see if anyone noticed! Yet all my dad
did was reach for his biscuit, smile at my Mom and ask me
how my day was at school. I don’t remember what I told him
that night, but I do remember watching him smear butter and
jelly on that biscuit and eat every bite!

When I got up from the table that evening, I remember
hearing my Mom apologize to my dad for burning the
biscuits. And I’ll never forget what he said: “Honey, I love
burned biscuits.”

Later that night, I went to kiss my Dad good night and I asked
him if he really liked his biscuits burned. He wrapped me in
his arms and said, “Your Mom put in a hard day at work today
and she’s really tired. And besides – a little burned biscuit
never hurt anyone!”

Life is full of imperfect things and imperfect people. I’m not
the best at hardly anything, and I forget birthdays and
anniversaries just like everyone else. But what I’ve learned
over the years is that learning to accept each other’s faults –
and choosing to celebrate each others differences – is one of
the most important keys to creating a healthy, growing, and
lasting relationship.

That’s my prayer for you today. That you will learn to take the
good, the bad, and the ugly parts of your life and lay them at
the feet of God. Because in the end, He’s the only One who
will be able to give you a relationship where a burnt biscuit
isn’t a deal-breaker!

We could extend this to any relationship. In fact,
understanding is the base of any relationship, be it a
husband-wife or parent-child or friendship!

“Don’t put the key to your happiness in someone else’s pocket
– keep it in your own.”

So please pass me a biscuit, and yes, the burned one will do
just fine. And feel free to pass this along to someone who has
enriched your life if you like. There is not a curse on you to
get hemorrhoids if you don’t.

Be kinder than necessary because everyone you meet is
fighting some kind of battle. Without the tests we would have
no testimonies.

Author Unknown

————————————————-

God Restores: No Tears From Jared

Tracy Marr:a new way of life.

On June 28, 2008 her son, Jared,  was seriously injured in an automobile accident; he lay in a coma for almost a month; other complications manifest themselves.  On July 4, 2008 she was summoned to the hospital to face yet another heart wrenching decision.

Jared could have surgery to remove  hemorrhage damage, which would leave him in a vegetative state for the rest of his life; let things go, he would most likely die in 30-60 days.

What would I like to do? I will wait on God to restore him!

The story of her fight is an incredible  accounting  of a Mother’s determination, and a woman’s  faith;  facing towering mounds of  bureaucratic  red tape, ignoring walls of medical skepticism, she has sought out alternative treatment, which combined with accepted medical practices have produced  miracles.

Today, Tracy and Jared begin a new chapter in this amazing story.  She shares her feelings as she contemplates what is to come.

—————————————————————————–

From the heart of Tracy Marr

We are moving into a new phase of recovery. Today is Jared’s last day of Physical Therapy; Wednesday is his last ( Neurofeedback) NFB.

Mike ask me “What are you going to do now?”

What am I going to do?

For the first time in over 2 years, I have no clear direction. I will wait on the Lord. He, I am confident, has a plan, at the moment I am not clued in. What I do know is, I am no longer afraid. I am not afraid Jared will not get needed therapy or that he will not reach his full potential.

I have learned everything happens in God’s time, not ours. I knew this prior to Jared’s accident; now I have experienced it; my faith is stronger than ever.

For now, we will get on with life.

Jared is very stable. He needs to fine tune many aspects everyday life; that can only happen when he is allowed to live in  an everyday fashion,.  We could not go for therapy 5 days a week and expect our life to be as we knew it before June 12, 2008.

Jared Marr: I'm no quitter

We will have that opportunity now.

I have found no clear cut pattern for cognitive strengthening for the every day details, What I have noticed, over and over, in my research is “post it notes” “recorders” “alarms”; “write down everything that needs to be done each day all day”.

In this crazy hectic life we have been living, to make sure Jared is recovering, there has been no time to sit down, have him write notes, set alarms for pills or appointments, to write out lists of things he will do each day and at what time. (I am to busy keeping 3 calendars going so I can remember where we are supposed to be and when!) Now we will have time to do just that.

Jared will learn to figure what his days consist of, instead of my telling him.

It is time to loosen the apron strings to see what this boy can really do with out mom telling him every hour, every day. It’s the only way his mind is going to start “getting it”.

It is bittersweet sitting in the rehab room today as Mike takes Jared on several long walks, alone.

I looked at the different pieces of equipment, remembering when Jared used them.
Jared commented about the platform walker ”I remember having to use one of those.”

Mike and I reminisce, remembering when Jared did this or that and how excited we were.

Jared was allowed two weeks of inpatient therapy; December 8, 2008 the time was used.

Mike said to Jared, “Well, Buddy, this is it.”

Up to this point, Jared had shown no emotion; now he began to cry. “Mike doesn’t want to help me, anymore.”

Mike says “To this day I hear those words so clearly; it was a shock to realize Jared knew, or felt back then, some one was letting him go.”

We had to convince him nobody was giving up; he needed to be more alert; then he could come back as an out patient.

World here I come. Jared 7/31/10

A year and a half later we stand in awe of the progress Jared has made.

Mike walks him today, explaining they would have one more visit together and it is done. He asks Jared how he feels about that.

Jared tells him, “It’s ok, I don’t need you anymore.”

Mike knows Jared is comfortable; he understands he is capable of doing all of the things he has learned.

There are no tears from Jared today, just a smile and a strength that outlasted his mother.

Yes, there were tears from me, as there are tonight. Not tears of fear, not tears of wondering, these are tears of joy.

Mike Alaniz - he shared our vision

Jared has defied expectations.

I shed tears knowing, I will miss the comfort of a man who let me know weekly that I was on the right track with Jared and doing the right things.

I wish, I really wish, those who are suppose to know would stop telling TBI patient’s parents, “There is a 2 year window“

That message is so emotionally, physically and spiritually exhausting. “If you don’t get it all in 2 years you won’t get it” is soooo far from the truth.

The brain keeps healing while the caregiver gets burnt out, stressed out, depressed, questioning, “What else can I do?

I knew my son is an over achiever; told to work with him at the first grade level “because that’s where he is” I worked with him at the 5th grade level, Jared would never have tried had I done otherwise, that has never been my kid. He pushes himself hard;  he does what is expected  without giving up.

Every TBI patient is different, yet the same in many ways. He must relearn so many things, some times everything. Each will learn in a different way and at different times. It is about knowing your loved one and working at a pace that challenges but does not  stress.

I will investigate the “spring” (January) semester of college. Jared is enrolled in a couple of classes; he wants to do them online. I am hoping to do one at the college, he needs the association with his peers; he has to learn not to depend on mom.

I am making plans with the understanding, things can change at any given moment. Some new therapy could come along, who knows? God is not finished , Jared is not finished and I am not finished yet.

We are just turning the page starting a new chapter in this journey. I hope this one is as interesting  as the last chapters have been.

This journey certainly keeps me on the edge of my seat wondering what will happen next and giving Glory to God when it does.

Thank you for continuing to journey with us, in prayer, in word and in deed. It means so very much to both Jared and me . I am sure the rest of my kids appreciate your helping me stay somewhat ( I will use that term loosely) sane, as well.

A Blessed Life: Small Miracles

Tanya-Marie Pocino Cockrell– writes in a  warm, personal way in her blog, Another Melancholy Child, about what she calls her small miracles affecting her family, personal challenges and life .

She has graciously consented to allow me to share her thoughts. I  present her guest articles under the banner  “A Blessed Life”

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Small Miracles

Okay, so it may not seem like much to most people. It may seem almost laughable to those people who tell fat people to “just not eat so much” and think it’s good sound advice. To me, however, tonight was a small miracle.

My husband and I had been squirreling away some cash so we could take our four children to the fair. They rarely get to do something like that because it costs so much to take a family of six anywhere other than taco bell. But we went. The children had that light in their eyes. You with kids know what light I’m talking about. It’s that light of unreserved Joy that only a child who thinks the world is a magical place can get. I saw it at times tonight in each of my children. When my 7 year old girl got a necklace with a vial of “fairy dust” tucked into the protective arms of a fairy for the incredible price of only one dollar! when her 13 year old sister helped her “fly” because of it. When my 9 year old son realized he had the money (each child got 10 dollars to spend) to go in the “hamster ball”. (it’s a blow up plastic ball that is about 5 feet around and they roll around inside it on the water). When my 8 year old got to “win” a giant blow up guitar (everyone is a winner!). I love it. It was magical.

Those weren’t my small miracles though. It was simply this. I was at a fair. There was cotton candy. There was something called a “deep fried milky way”. That’s my favorite candy bar. I’m a sugar addict. All I had was a diet coke. ALL I HAD WAS A DIET COKE! and here’s the real miracle. I didn’t realize until we were halfway back to the minivan that I hadn’t had anything else.

In the past I’d be consumed with what I would eat at the fair, and I’d be miserable and depressed if I left a fair without the largest bag of cotton candy they sell. When Joshua, my husband, told me about the deep fried milky way and said “why don’t you just have it? the fair only comes once a year”, I was like “bingo… I just got validated. I can go for it” and yet, somehow, someway, by some small miracle, I got out of that fair consuming only a diet coke. I don’t even know how it happened.

I actually didn’t consume ENOUGH calories today. I had left all these calories for the fair and then I didn’t eat them. wow, now that is a dilemma I am NOT used to.

Yes Lord, Small miracles. Thank you. Sometimes it’s just grace, pure and simple. It wasn’t my willpower. It wasn’t my plan. It was just Grace, with a capital G.