living – Page 2 – Celia Whitler:Blog

Her name is Red

Her name is Red and she was a baby robin who fell out of our tree a couple of weeks ago. We fed her around the clock, so that she might be on her way toward her next adventure. It was really our son Zach’s idea, my husband Ron tried to talk him into putting her back into her nest, but Zach would have none of it. Zach had a point, the nest was high in the tree. When I got home, Ron was lowering the ladder and said it was gonna be hard to reach. But come on, a baby bird? I knew from the day old bunnies that we tried to rescue a few years ago. Wild animals are wild to keep alive, you have to feed the babies every 2 – 3 hours and they potty everywhere. I was like, great. We are already taking care of 4 frogs, 3 hermit crabs (thanks Mrs. Wetherholt, “sure, we’ll take them for the summer”), a hamster and a dog. Most days I’m just glad I know where my keys are. A bird? And who is gonna take care of this bird? “I will,” said Zach.

Max is ok with it, as long as he was not eating while the bird is being fed worms. We had some worms in the fridge for an upcoming fishing trip this week. Then we have been raiding the compost pile near our tree line for more worms and finally I got on the internet and found a nice mixture of dog food, applesauce, boiled eggs and peanut butter that we have been to squirting into her mouth a syringe that was used to give baby’s medicine. I got up a couple of times a night and as I am writing these thoughts I am about to fall asleep. But it is working. She is growing. Her wing just today began to fill out and she began to exercise her wings. She is so close. She just needs a little help to get there.

A few days later I went to a memorial service for a young musician / songwriter / artist, who took his own life this month. He played on my first CD in town. I saw him at Gamestop with his kids this past year. Max and Zach had a boy fest while Will and I talked about our favorite local artists and about friends we had in common. I mentioned a friend and he laughed and said, “don’t tell people you know him, really.” (You know who you are!) We finally spoke of writing. We never got to do that together. On May 5 William Owsley ended his life. At a memorial service I got a chance to meet his father and to tell him how much I loved his son’s playing and that we had bumped into each other and connected this past year. I talked about how I had seen that spark in his eyes and that I was sorry I wasn’t a better friend and that I couldn’t have been there that night to remind him of his spark. His father grabbed my hand and said, “you are so sweet. I was there that night and I missed it by 5 minutes. He forgot that spark.” I hugged his neck and thought of the loss his father must feel. Like that bird, Will needed help to get there. I guess we all do at times.

This morning my boys and I went to the house of someone in our town whose home received flood damage. I had been to there house the week of the flood. I had cut carpet, pulled nails, knocked down drywall and today I was painting their cinder block basement walls. I was there the last two days. I was one of only four others who came. The work wasn’t large and went fast, but I thought back to the week of the flood. I was with a classmates mom, when I got the word that this family needed more work. I called my friend and she said, “go help your friend.” We were texting and I texted back, “well she’s not really a friend, more of a new acquaintance. I just met them and they needed some help.” Then I arrived at the home. The mom greeted me in the front yard and introduced me to one of her neighbors. She said, “now, this friend Celia showed up and worked like a dog all day. She came because Porter’s Call (an organization I love) sent an email that simply said, ‘we need hands to help them.'” My boys were still in school, so I poured myself into that basement. I loved that I was the only girl working. I love power tools.

As I thought about it, I was a bit ashamed that I had said we weren’t friends and I revisited the conversation. The next day, I said you know I would have done it for anyone. The one who is near is your neighbor and the Bible says to love your neighbor as yourself. Today after we finished painting, the mom said, “just come up and hang out.” Our boys fell deep into a marathon of Mythbusters, while the she and her husband and I hung out in the kitchen, talking about their week. Her dad was arriving the next day with a buddy of his to work on the basement. I said, “would it help if your two boys were to come to my house to play? My crew would love it and your boys would not be in your way; besides we have a pool.” “Sold,” she said.

See, the thing about life that I keep learning is that it is ever new, it is everlasting, ever being born, ever dying. It is about taking a chance to just show up. It is a chance to say with your hands and feet that, someone cares and they will show up. I always think, what if none one shows up? What can I do to help them see the spark in their lives? I don’t want to miss it by 5 minutes. Don’t give up 5 minutes before your miracle is about to happen.

Back to my bird…. I had a thought today that my bird might get strong enough to fly and while I’m gone, meet with some bad circumstances and it would be over for the bird. There is no guaranty that all this and she might not make it. All I know is what I need to do. All I know is what is right for me and that giving feels right–helping that mom, feeding that bird, hugging that dad, taking a moment to go to our young friend Tanner’s house [BIG shout out to Tanner, it’s her 7th birthday today 7/8/10, visit http://www.tanner.celiamusic.net and leave her a birthday note] and play on her slip n slide that day before she goes back to the hospital (and it was gonna be a big one day tomorrow and gonna hurt). As she made my pb and j sandwich, I told her about Gone With the Wind and The last scene. how Scarlett says, “I’ll think about that tomorrow.” Tomorrow is another day. No matter how dark life seems, tomorrow is another day. Who knows, someone might show up eager to help. So I must believe. I must follow my heart. I must trust that when I am about to fly, someone will have helped me get stronger. Before I am about to spread my wings, I could worry my day away or put my faith in someone else, or something else. I could let go and know that the love that comes through me to help another, is not my own, is not so that I might boast, but so that I too may live. Because it is only in losing myself that I really find myself.

Here’s to flying. In life, may you all know little birds, the spark in your life, that you are loved, that you matter, that you have get possibilities, and that your wings are about to open and take off, any day day now.

Ok, I’ve almost fallen asleep twice. I’m off to bed, because I’ve gotta get up at 3 AM to worms and mush. What I have found is that helping others can be messy, hard, rewarding and there is no guaranty that it will work out the way I planned. I ‘m counting on turning out better.

~~~ Celia

Final update on the Red, the robin: After getting much stronger and filling out her feathers, we let her spend some time outdoors in and around a dogwood tree outside our window. Eventually a mother Robin who had a nest in the same tree, saw Red and her motherly skills kicked in. The mother brought her a single worm and fed her as we watched through the window. She continued feeding Red between feeding her own baby robins. Red spent nights indoors, but spent a couple of days outside with her new adoptive momma robin. After two or three days, we went out to bring her in for the night and she was gone. That was the goal, to return her to her life. Before we put her outside, we painted her claw-nails red so we’d recognize her and when we see a robin outside our window, we all look very closely at her claws.
(note: I wrote these thoughts over a period of about a month. They are in sequence, but the timing is loose.)

What is the most surprising thing about love?

What is the most surprising thing about love? It was a question posed in the last magazine, “Real Simple.” I love that magazine. I rarely take the time to read one, unless I am getting my hair done or sitting on an airplane, but it has become one of my favorite magazines. Its subtitle is “Life made easier:” Now who among us doesn’t need a little bit of that!

I enjoyed many of the responses included in the article to this question about love. Some of my favorites were: “It can come from someone you barely know. Stephanie, NC”, “It happens when you least expect it. Marianna, IL”, “How simple it can be. Robin, ID Everything, Courtney, MA.”

I asked Max, who is 9, how he would answer it. He said, “You never know what’s gonna happen.” Which I thought was a wonderful answer. Real Simple should have printed his! About 5 minutes later, as we were about to turn onto our street driving home from school, he asked if he could play outside with his friends after he finished writing his spelling words. I said, “yes, sure.” He chuckled and said “Mom, you are beautifully surprising!” I loved that answer for love. Love is beautifully surprising. I couldn’t keep from laughing.

Isn’t that it? Love is beautifully surprising. I am filled with it’s wonder at its depth, its diversity, its perseverance, its endurance and its sheer will. I have seen so many things happen in the name of love, both incredible and detrimental. I do revert to chapter 13 of I Corinthian’s as a guideline.

A couple of years ago while at elementary camp in Texas with our friends, we had the joy of experiencing camp worship, led by campers. One group did a skit as the message about the camp theme: “the fruits of the Spirit.” In the skit, someone would behave a certain way that was pretty much contrary to one of the fruits and an angel watching would speak to them and ask them a simple question: are you gonna be loving? …caring? when they got to the trait of kindness.. they said “kindful?” I loved it. Full of kindness, loveful–full of love. I loved that thought. It might not be a real word, but it made its point.

We have a choice to be full of something: envy, small minded things, hurts from the past that should have been forgiven long ago, mistakes we have made. We also have a choice to answer a different way maybe even to surprise ourselves. Some of our choice boils down simply to letting go. Letting go of ourselves, so that we can be open to love.

A few days ago I saw a man quietly holding a sign on the corner of our downtown main street that simply said, “Easter is all about Jesus.” As he held it, I was mindful of the funeral a friend asked me earlier that day to help plan. It was the service remembering a friend of hers named Dawn who had just died. During the last 18 months, Dawn has let go of everything. My friend, a mom of 4 boys, has had reinforcements from her dear parents and husband that enabled her to care for her friend Dawn who has been ill all year. Last week, her friend completed her battle and died silently in the night with my friend and another of their friends standing by. As my friend and I sat at one of our local coffeehouses and talked about her dear friend Dawn, I thought of the man with the sign. Dawn liked to say, “don’t postpone joy!” Don’t postpone joy. What a breathtaking way to live and what an inspiration. What an amazing sign to hold up in life.

I’m almost ashamed to reflect on some of the signs I have held up at different times in my life, “I don’t like the way I look. Life isn’t fair. I’m overwhelmed. I need a break. I’m lonely. I don’t know how to love you. I need to surrender.” The list goes on also with others like, “be yourself, enjoy the journey, we are never alone… whatever your name is-I love you, anything is possible” We all can make a difference. Love is beautifully surprising.

From the perspective of Holy Week, I think Jesus was beautifully surprising. He constantly served as a reminder to those around him. I can think of a couple of signs he carried, “I love you” and “love each other.” He did about everything he could to get that point across. He was willing to be used as an example. There are moments when I think of his willingness to go the distance, the ultimate sacrifice, all for love. I’d like to think I would do anything, for anyone. Jesus certainly sets that up with a living example. If I am willing to read the text from Matthew literally, when am I going to have a real chance to lay down my life for a friend? Maybe there are several ways to do that. Maybe it can show up in the laying down of my will or my desire to have the center of attention or my spending my time and money for others or my attention to what are the real priorities, or my discipline to say whatever comes to my mind when I am mad or hurt or my using my time wisely or thinking of others before myself or my constantly asking myself, “does this look like love, am I living love fully?” We have to be in constant evaluation of the signs we carry.

One has to come to grips with how we are loved even when our signs are wrong. Though my behavior never measures up to how I believe one who follows Jesus should live, I can sleep at night knowing that there is a God who loves me with all of my shortcomings, who measures how I love and live not by how many acts of kindness I do, but by what’s in my heart.

It’s winter and I’m feeling it.

All that comes with winter is here–the snow, the cold, the barren trees and days spent indoors watching endless movies while drinking hot chocolate. Paraphrasing Charles Dickens, “it [is] the best and it [is] the worst of times.” I love winter for so many reasons: Thanksgiving, gathering with loved ones and sharing a meal, Christmas-there is nothing as magical, the birth of Christ, presents, Christmas lights and the Christmas tree, which has always been a favorite part of the holiday for me. This year we bought a new nativity set – a Playmobil Christmas. It was so cute on our mantel. We got one for our friends Skyler and Bill Baskin-Ball, too. Skyler said he loves his as much as we love ours. There are some things about this season that are wonderful and timeless– the memories, the traditions and the spirit.

Holidays, I’ll be honest, are also hard for me. Both my parents have died and it always feels strange not to see them or to call them. I have felt that hole more this year than the past seven since they died. This year I have had a sense that I’m really doing this alone. Part of that sense is because I miss my dear friend, Skyler’s mom. Kathleen Baskin-Ball died last December 2nd, with several of us surrounding her with love. Through November and December I have been reliving those fresh anniversaries as I thought back to “a year ago today I was…”.

At her memorial service there was an celebration of all we loved about Kathleen and a sense of gratitude for all she had given to each of us. I think of her especially this season–she celebrated and loved Christmas. My sons knew why I kept going back and forth to Dallas for her treatments and our visits. My son Zach and I were talking about death. He said, “I’m not scared of death; the living’s just so good!” I love that. It’s a reminder that they are both parts of our lives–life and death, good and bad, back to back, hand in hand.

I am also aware of our turning the calendar page. I have been reflecting on all that 2009 has been and all it hasn’t been, on all of my hopes. There is a longing for loved ones that I will not hold again in this life and a thankfulness for those still within my reach. I stand at the crossroads of hope for a New Year and acceptance that some my 2009 resolutions are still on my 2010 list. I’ll be honest, Zach is right, the living is good, but living faithfully is also hard work. Daily, hourly, second by second, I am working on believing things unseen, trusting that God is still working on me, surrendering, being real and present in the moment and being myself. It means remaining on the lookout for ways to bring the kingdom–helping others, growing and becoming the person I am meant to be.

A friend of mine spent Thanksgiving with me this year and she brought me a Paperwhite [narcissus papyraceus] Bulb Kit. It has sat on my counter for a month and a half. Today I planted them. I was shocked to read that it takes five to six weeks for them to bloom. The first two are spent in the dark, crazy. I love the smell of paperwhites and I love their delicate budding flower. Now I learn that I have to wait 6 weeks. I’m thinking if I had silk or plastic ones, I’d be looking at them now; but they wouldn’t feel like paperwhites, smell like paper whites and they wouldn’t BE paperwhites. It takes time to make a real one; but I know it will be worth it (if I don’t kill them first). I’m going to do my best, Angie!

Beginning with the Christmas story, Zach and I progressed our theological conversation to the topic of the Trinity. We talked about the creation story. Specifically, about how in Gen. 1:26, 3:22, 11:7, God is referred to as us. We talked about how the Trinity-God who creates, Jesus and the Holy Spirit existed from the beginning. Zach said, “well yea,” then they said, imitating their dialogue, “one of us should go down there and look like them …soooo… they sent Jesus as a baby… cool huh?” It was funny to have my 8 year old remind me about what I already know–God is here, Christ is here, the Holy Spirit is here. Like bulbs under the soil, something is already at work, Though I can’t always see it, I have faith.

Winter is a reminder of that for me. Our faith is more than what we see. It is deeper than we can give words to. It has more potential than it appears. I need to keep telling myself that there is us. Winter somehow brings out this thought that we are isolated, that we are alone, that we are facing all of this by ourselves. But that is farthest from the truth; our lives are a wonderful mix. Just like this past year-fullness, growth, dormancy, listening, fulfilling, celebrating, grieving, standing still, flying by, fully aware and totally unknown. I am all of these and more and I see what I am not-wholeness. I may never get there on this side of the Jordan, but I can keep reaching.

January is also a wonderful reminder of do-overs. I’ve been cleaning out for the last few months. It started a need for an empty guest bedroom for Thanksgiving. A friend in my bunco group said, “don’t let your friend open any of your closets, she’ll be killed by all the stuff that falls out!” I started with the guest room closet and slowly made my way around the whole house. It feels good to put your hands on everything in your life and say goodbye to a portion of it. Think of it, how few times in our lives do we do that–ask ourselves, “what do I need to keep and what do I need to let go of? What needs order and balance in my life?” Whew, it has been a journey! In cleaning out the office, I went through papers, lots of papers, and I once again remembered my friend Kathleen. Someone recently told me their favorite part of her memorial service was when I went to sing the song I wrote for her “One Wish” and I realized that I had sang the second verse first and we were going a little too fast. I stopped and said on the mic, “Kathleen was all about do-overs and second chances,” and we started the song again. To be honest I hadn’t really thought much about my saying that until I found an event brochure for an event I sang at called Perkins School of Youth Ministry. In a faculty bio piece about my friend Kathleen, she was described as someone who “believes in offering second chances and has learned from ‘the least of these’.” I just wept when I read that. I had never really read what was said about all my friends who taught during the years of my leadership at that event, but were they right.

January is that second chance time for me. It is crazy that right in the middle of winter, there is this opportunity for new birth, for changes in our lives–a time for second chances, for some do-overs. We all could learn from the least of these. The Bible reminds us again and again–from a little child, from a despised tax collector, from a prostitute, to a lost sheep, to a stutterer, to a young boy with a slingshot. I keep thinking I need to be perfect–whatever that means. I keep looking in the wrong direction, at the wrong things to be my judge of success and setting the wrong goals for myself. Many times I gaze at people to be my models, when I know people and things have nothing to do with goals–mine at least. This new year I am faced with new opportunities, new risks, new chances, new stories to sing, new challenges, new songs to be written and new mistakes to be made. We all have fresh chances to learn how to love and forgive.

The last day I spend with Kathleen, she taught me one of her wonderful life lessons. As I helped her with a sip of water, she turned to me and said, “whatever your name is, I love you.” I smiled at her, as she said thank you. She was someone who had always been larger than life to me, she oozed talent, grace, creativity, integrity, strength and unconditional love. She was for me an overwhelming symbol of hope and strength–her cup really did run over, and some of it got on all of us. In that moment, she became the thing she had preached about all these years–that God was speaking through the least of these. She was in need and for a second, I saw the living Christ, Emmanuel, God with us. I got why Jesus was born and why in life the biggest gifts aren’t wrapped at all. I got that in winter buried deep beneath the soil, the seeds of new life are really there, waiting for what’s next. It didn’t matter at all whether or not she remembered what my name was that day. I was reminded whose I am, who I am and what I am–I am me and I am God’s. I am becoming more and more who I am suppose to be. I am strong and weak, beloved, lovable and capable of giving love.

I am strongest when I care for others, when I’m a servant. Focusing on that reality this winter will help me the most. I am both–full and empty. When I give, I realize how much I really have.

Peace to all of you this New Year, friends…
May you and all of your paperwhites bloom this year!

Always yours…

Celia Anne

When did I quit skipping?

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I used to skip all the time. Next to running, it was my favorite mode of transportation. Whether I was singing, whistling, or humming; wherever I went, whoever I was with, all the while I was skipping.

Then one day I just stopped and I can’t remember when or why.

I didn’t skip because my world was ok. My world was ok because I skipped. I was living in a river of joy and I knew that for this one moment, I could choose to skip. I could choose to celebrate. I could enjoy what was right in front of me. I found delight in skipping alone, but more so when I skipped with others. I remember holding hands with girlfriends during recess, heading to class, to the bus, in the neighborhood, at the library, to the ice cream shop, at church. Everywhere was a skipping zone. I couldn’t have cared less what others thought of me. Why they weren’t skipping, never crossed my mind. Nor did I concern myself with what they thought of my gleeful steps. Part of what I remember is that it was just part of my nature. There are days that my memory of skipping is like a memory of another life, because it seems so long ago.

Do you have any of those kind of childhood memories?

In Brenning Manning’s book, The Importance of Being Foolish” [associates link] he says, ” to become a little child again (as Jesus encouraged we must) is to recapture a sense of surprise, wonder and vast delight in all of reality.

So when did I quit skipping? When did a nap become a guilty pleasure – or dreaming become something only children and the foolish do? I would love to think that I am over what people think and especially what people think of me. I profess to be and yet I dare not skip, lest someone will talk, or stare, or giggle, or whisper, or smirk, or even gossip.

Enough already! Let the skipping begin!

Today I saw a little girl dressed in a black sweater with a pink heart on the front, white tights with a pink skirt and purple rain boots. She was skipping with her mother. But her mother wasn’t skipping… at first. She was walking while her daughter skipped. The mother was being pulled by the little girl’s sheer will. Every once in a while the mom would speed up or have to slow down to keep pace. Then finally the mom gave in and she began to skip as well. They smoothly rounded the corner of the building and out of my sight. The best part of watching the two of them was the whole time the girl was yelling at the top of her 3 year old lungs, “Yea! Yea! Yea!”

What is it in your life that makes you yell yea! When was the last time you lost yourself in joy, you let go? How can you and I get back there?

In Terry Hershey’s book The Power of Pause: Becoming More by Doing Less [associates link] he writes, “We live in a world that urges us to admire and pursue whatever is faster, whatever is newer, and whatever is bigger – the underlying idea being that we should be living a different life, not the one we’re living now. We are wired to be present. We are built to honor the senses. We are created to be attentive, or literally just be. But somewhere along the way, life chokes the music and poetry out of us.” Terry is always a wonderful reminder for me of what is important.

Maybe we could live in the present- unburdened by regret over the past or anxiety about the future. But it means letting go of control — control over things that we cannot change and taking responsibility to change those we can. For every year that passes, I can better appreciate the power of the simple wisdom of the serenity prayer, “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; The courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.”

Living that prayer in a daily framework helps me to live in the present moment, allows me to embrace what is before me and maybe even frees me to skip along the way.

We can also be grateful for what we have — the hands we hold, the gifts we have in our lives, the lessons learned along the way (even the hard ones).

I love that the little girl did not care if her mother skipped. She continued to travel in her chosen way and let her mom walk at her pace. All the while she wooed her to share in a moment of joy. She put into words her thankfulness-“yea!” We can too — in a whispered prayer, when I tell a friend, “I like you and I love you,” when I accept and embrace others unconditionally and I realize the gift they are in my life. I can tell you how loved you are by my baking my aunt Rosemary’s Mac and Cheese and dropping it off one afternoon. That’s one way I say yea! I can write a note to a mom that I was brief with in the hall one day. I can tell her honestly, “I was distracted that day–you tried to talk to me and I had other things on my mind. It’s not my best self and yes there is a time we can get together and grab a moment to get to know each other over lunch or coffee.” To be honest, it’s hard to send notes like that one. But I can tell you of the joy that followed in a simple email from that mom that said, “thanks for your note, it meant a lot and I look forward to getting to know you as well.”

All of these things I do, except some days I don’t. Like the good Dr. Seuss in his great book of wisdom, “Oh, the Places You’ll Go!” [associates link] – “You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed. You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead. Wherever you fly, you’ll be the best of the best. Wherever you go, you will top all the rest. Except when you don’t, because, sometimes you won’t. I’m sorry to say so but sadly it’s true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.”

Some days I get it. I realize the biggest in life are ironically the small things. We can throw our arms around today with a warm embrace, knowing peace, and pain, presence and distraction, love and fear. We can trust that we are enough, that today is enough and that tomorrow will be enough.

A few years ago my friend Jessica, who was in college at the time, let me look at a journal she kept as a youth. (shout out to Jess who moved to L.A. to work with a non-profit urban ministry – last month she came to hear me sing at California Lutheran College and hug my neck). I lead several retreats for her youth group and we had had many conversations about life, loss, faith and faithfulness. One quote in her journal caught my eye “Life is a vapor and we must understand that tomorrow isn’t a promise, it’s a gift.” I quickly said, “I love that. Who said it?” She smiled and said, “look at the bottom of the page.” At the bottom of the artwork under the quote were these words, “Celia Whitler – 4/26/06”

Ok, so I need to be reminded about what I believe is true and about the way I want to live my life. So today friends, today, I’m gonna laugh a little more. I’m gonna let my boys talk me into one more game before bed. I’m gonna sit with a little longer with a friend while a couple of cups of coffee steam in front of us. I’m gonna watch the trees turning fall colors. I might even permit myself to break into a skip! Join me.

I’ll close with these words from Mother Teresa

“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.
Life is beauty, admire it.
Life is bliss, taste it.
Life is a dream, realize it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is a promise, fulfill it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.”

Why I love quiet moments

There are times when words are not needed. I tend to live my life thinking the opposite. I use words all the time: writing songs, telling stories, leading retreats, parenting my children, small talk with a friend over coffee. But there have been moments when I have seen the power of silence at work in my life and I am humbled and awed by it.

Some evenings when everyone is asleep.. (well except – my faithful dog, Lilly ) … the silence of the house slowly winds down and seeps into our home. The air in the house becomes filled with something in a way that noises cannot imitate. As I walk into each room picking up toys, turning off tvs and lights, locking exterior doors and letting Lilly out one last time while sneaking a glimpse at the stars; nothing needs to be said. In that ritual of becoming quiet I hear the most sometimes. I hear peace. I hear the sound of the fridge humming, our hamster running on her wheel in her cage, a child breathing in a soft rhythm, the dryer gently rolling clothes over and over again and I hear my own body slow to a pace that allows for sleep. Many evenings I read.

I just finished reading “Our Town” by Thornton Wilder. What I loved about his play is how Wilder reminds us of what lasts in life… of small joys of the unspoken, the blessing of life on earth. One of my favorite lines is, “You’ve got to love life to have life and you’ve got to have life to love life. Wilder himself said the play was an attempt to find a value above all price for the smallest events in our daily life. Today after a walk with a friend we sat on a curb for just a second, looked at the sky and breathed.

I am reminded of Max’s recount of his teacher telling his class ” look over your notes at night.. the last thing you go to bed thinking about will be what is retained.” Wow, if I took that to heart… how would my days … my dreams… my actions… the words I used be different the next day. When I think about the best lessons I have learned.. no words were needed… grace, forgiveness, love, hope, endurance… peace.

So here’s to quiet moments. May we trust we are where we are suppose to be, doing what we are suppose to be doing. As my son Max prayed a few months ago, “God, help everyone have a reason to live.” May you and I know our reason to live and may we hear it loudly in the quiet moments, how loved we are, how precious and unique we are and may we not need words to believe it.

Psalms 19:1-4

The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.
Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge.
There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard;
yet their voice goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world.

Legacy: what are you and I doing that lasts?

begnaud-edit The painting in this photo was given to me as a gift on the evening of Thursday March 19, 1981 by the painter. It was painted for me by my dear friend, Don Begnaud. Real flowers would not have lasted this long, but this bouquet brightens my home still today and I have been forever changed by the love of the painter.

Recently, on Wednesday July 29, 2009, our family’s travel schedule through Louisiana took us from New Orleans to Shreveport and we passed through Lafayette where I went to high school. We decided to drive through Taco Sisters, a new restaurant started by a high school friend of mine. As we entered town and drove through familiar territory, I felt a nudge to call my friend Don Begnaud. I try listen to those nudges and I asked Ron and the boys if we could stop by for a visit. I called the old phone number I had and Begnaud answered. (We often called him by his last name; not Mr. Begnaud, just Begnaud.) He was delighted that I called and I was delighted that he answered. I hadn’t spoken with him or seen him in since we had dinner together at Don’s Seafood in Lafayette in the spring of 1991.

Don updated me on his life, “Celia, I’ve got cancer and they just sent me home. There is nothing else they can do.”

“Don,” I said, “I’m so sorry, could I come by after lunch?”

“Please come by,” he said quickly.

As I hung up the phone, I told Ron that I’d rather drop in before lunch.
When we arrived, Don’s sister Olga answered the door and Don stood from a chair in the living room. The look on his face said it all. He was as delighted as I was to see an old friend. For the next hour we talked of art and of people we had seen and kept up with.

My son Zach asked about “Hello Dolly.” (that was our senior play) and Don said, “Your mom was Dolly.” Zach quickly asked Don, “were you Hello?” That was priceless. We had a great laugh together and Don really had a great laugh.

We talked about nothing and we talked about everything, everyday joys and summertime. We talked about my sons’ Max and Zach’s bed hair, and about their not wanting to cut it all summer. We talked about Ron and about our marriage of 21 years. We talked about my singing, writing, and painting and about our lives in Nashville. He talked about his family — his sisters, nieces, nephews, and about his art. I talked about how beautifully he viewed and captured life in his paintings.

I gave him copies of music I had recorded and books I had written. At the end of our visit we all held hands as we sat in a circle–Don and me and Olga and Ron and Max and Zach, and we had a prayer.

As my family filed out of the house, I sat near my good friend, hugged him one last time and told I loved him and he told me he loved me, too. He told me how glad he was that I had stopped by. Then I said, “now Begnaud, if I don’t see you again, we’ll meet in heaven by the buffet.” With his signature laugh he said, “indeed, indeed.”

As I write this, I am sitting, having just read his obituary. He died only a week after our visit. I regretted not keeping in touch with him through the years and I regretted not singing for him on that last visit, but I cannot imagine improving on our bon voyage conversation.

I am so very grateful for the opportunity to have loved Don Begnaud and for the opportunity to have been loved by him.

Begnaud was larger than life, and that fit with his love for theater, especially of musical theater. I met Don when I was only 17. He was cast as the leading man in Hello Dolly and I was Dolly as a high school senior. I enjoyed the way the whole cast fit together. As I think about it, that experience was magical for me. I believe it might have been the first Lafayette High performance that Don was recruited for. Don taught English and I still thank God that I never had him as a student (I knew many who had him and I so enjoyed our working relationship. Being his student might have changed things for us.) Prior to the musical, I remember only knowing of him. I knew where his classroom was. I knew that many of my friends loved him as a teacher. When our school choir director, Mary Jane Jones, said he would be part of the cast and the leading man in Dolly, Horace Vandergelder, I remember thinking that we were all in for a treat.

As we began rehearsals, I found him to be charming and professional. He sang great, knew his lines and reminded me of mine when I forgot them. He was kind, caring and a joy to be around.

Many times that spring and the summer following my senior year, I found myself dropping by his home. He was the kind of person you just wanted to be around. He laughed often and out loud. Our performances were for us a piece of heaven. We always talked about how magic happens. Looking back, I know now what the magic was. It was about our being together. There is something that happens in life. I think it is a glimpse of God’s kingdom, on earth as it is in heaven. When communion happens. You look around at the people in the room, at those in your circle and you are filled with joy, with love and it bursts forth. It surrounds you and you are captured by it. Hello Dolly was one of those experiences. I found it in our director, Mary Jane Jones who brought out the best in all of us and believed we could be better than we thought we could. I found it in the cast and crew, many who were friends or who became friends. We worked as a team as we cheered for each other and we knew we were a part of something special and timeless. Don Begnaud was a large part of that gift for me personally.

The things that were larger than life about Don were his presence, his friendship, his smile, his sincere delight in others, his words of encouragement… his spirit. I learned through my experience in Dolly that there are people who find joy in making others look good. Don was one of those people.

Our first performance was a matinee. As is the tradition, many well wishers sent flowers or cards to cast members. When I arrived at the auditorium for our first evening performance the next day, I met Don waiting in the parking lot for me. He handed me a package. It was wrapped simply in brown paper and masking tape. I opened it with the glee of a child to find a beautiful painting of flowers and a butterfly that he had painted for me. He said simply, “I hope you like it.” (There’s a photo of that painting at the top of this post. The real painting is about 12″ x 16″ and it still rests in the frame that Don chose as its home.) Today it brightens my home, and I look at that painting everday. I have often thought of Don and of his lasting gesture of love that day. He knew that I’d lose a card, the flowers and photos would fade and be lost in attics, we’d all grow older and move on from that night.

Don was first and foremost a teacher. I still have his painting and have carried it with me this far along with some other gifts that I learned from him.

Here are some that I have know to be true because of my teacher and my friend Begnaud:

Life is precious. Savor it.
Love is a genuine, unconditional, selfless gift. Give thanks for it.
Joy is at hand for each of us. Embrace it.
No stage is too small or too big, not to step onto it.
Be who you are. Leave it all on the stage or give it all, embrace it all, be completely in that moment.
No fake smile will work. Work at just seeing something to smile about. You don’t have to try so hard to be real. Indubitably was one of his favorite words and he used it frequently. Don was indubitably genuine. I believed that he was Horace (his character), because he believed. He lived into it, he embraced it, he found a way to put his heart and his life into that story.
Be wonderful. Don was full of wonder and delight, be it art, music, theater or acting. He was filled with the wonder of others. He wanted to know how you were, to hear your story. He listened as intently as if he were hearing a beautiful aria for the first time.
Be about helping others with their lives. On opening night there was this one scene that I could never get the sequence of the dialogue. I practiced it a thousand times. I wrote notes on props and then I forgot it. Don didn’t miss a beat, he covered for it and made me look good. The second night, he did the same thing, though we both got tickled and almost broke character, the audience loved it.
Sometimes it is not gonna come out perfectly, but it still might be better than we planned.
Realize that any magic that happens really has little to do with you. It is all about giving, for the pure love of giving.

So be you a teacher, singer, actor, stay-at-home mom, preacher, doctor, lawyer, importer, painter, choral director or whatever you are; do it with joy and with love and trust that nothing will be wasted.

Don taught me some great life lessons. When I think of that last visit, what I will remember is his smile. Though I knew him to be in pain, sleepy from the drugs and weary from the fight; he still had energy to muster joy, share his love for me and to live in the moment on his terms. I want to be like that. I want to be about things that last, kind of like his beautiful painting in my home that I walk by every day. When it’s all said and done, love will be the the thing that matters. Faith, hope and love abide, but the greatest of these, really, really, really is love and that lesson (in painting and in example) for me is indubitably Begnaud’s legacy.

Rest in peace, friend. I’ll see you at the buffet!
I love you, Celia

Donald Ray Begnaud
(May 24, 1938 – August 5, 2009)
Here are a couple of links: Tributes | Obituary

TEARS

Summer rain… It was sunny when I left the house the other morning. It looked so good that I even grabbed my costly sunglasses as Jesse the dancing outlaw would say. Ok, I got them from the Dollar General for $6 bucks but they make me look hot! I saw the clouds roll in but the sun was still breaking forth so I didn’t think anything of it. Not much later, it was pouring.

I don’t know how emotion comes over you… sometimes I feel them roll in like those rain clouds or like an unexpected guest who just shows up unannounced. But I have cried at least once a day for past four days, not a continuous cry, but the last 4 days I have cried for a myriad of different reasons. I have had my feelngs hurt. I mean like smashed and stepped on, the kind of moments when someone on the other line sounds mean and you want to be mean in return, but instead you get nicer, but you still cry about it. I cried over frustration, when things didn’t go my way. Before I knew it I was raising my voice and I just wanted to scream, but I thought better of it so it shows up in the form of tears. I quickly poured myself a hot bath and softened my spirit with some eucalyptus sea salts and a little quiet time. I cried when a friend was so sweet, loving, kind and encouraging and it just made me cry, which made her feel like she might have said something wrong. I was in a coffee shop and quickly grabbed those faithful sunglasses. I felt like a movie star, well like a crying movie star. Glasses do not make tears stop. People continued about their day and I wondered if they saw me and thought, “that poor women” or maybe they thought, “I bet that feels good. I could use a good cry about now.”

What is it about life that makes us tear up? Maybe it’s just life. I have cried over loss, joy, fear, embarrassment, anger, all of them, at once, at times and I think it’s part of living. Sometimes the sun shines on a rainy day. There are those moments when all is well and those when we forgot a second ago all was well. When I cry over the death of my dad or my friend Kathleen, I am thankful for those tears and memories. I picture myself, long after my death, being remembered by someone who loved me. I hope they might be laughing over something we did together or something they witnessed and before they know it, tears are mixed with joy. That’s when you know you’ve loved and been loved.

So, I guess I will be ok with the rain and with the tears in my life. I’ll embrace my tears. Cherish them.. feel them and know that where we are is where we are supposed to be. Now I’m not talking about depression or avoiding life, or about always going to a dark place for a long time. I am talking about the healthy balance that tears bring. I have had moments in these last four days where I have… laughed with a friend, sat alone and had a time to reflect on my day, read in bed while everyone was asleep in the house, walked in the woods as a soft rain fell and been grateful for all the good that comes my way and those there to sit with me when I’m going through the valley, when I’m crying behind my sunglasses.

Some days you just cry and maybe that’s ok.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

P.S. When it rained that day, the windows were down in the back seat of my car. Rain in the back of your car is not so nostalgic.

video devotional

Aug 20, 2009

Let me know what you think!

Inspiritation

Where do you find inspiration? I woke up pondering this question this morning. When I do that, I am always listening throughout the day because without a doubt I know God is trying to show me something and I should be on the look out.

Last month, my family visited Chicago to attend a surprise party for friend turning 50 — woo hoo! While in Chicago we visited a Saturday evening service at Willow Creek, a church where our friends had served on staff. The music was amazing. The waterfalls outside the windows were soothing. Hearing Bill Hybels speak about the fishing derby with children and adults for special needs was moving. But what really stirred my spirit was what happened during the sermon time, one of the pastors spoke with Catherine Rhor about the ministry with prisoners she founded in the Houston, Texas area. Right out of college she pursued a high powered job making a great money on Wall Street. Yet she kept asking herself if there was more to life. Finally she surrendered to God and prayed the prayer, “Lord Bring it!” Wow, I thought. I’m not sure I’ve prayed those exact words. I thought if you do pray those prayer, you had better be prepared for your world to be turned upside down. Following a mission trip to an orphanage for children with HIV she embraced those hurting and in need and begin to feel her life change. She was invited to speak at an all-male prison in Houston and with that acceptance came an incredible shift in her life. “Lord, bring it” brought on a new way of looking at life and a new passion she had not experienced on Wall Street. It brought compassion for others and helping them through tough times, believing everyone can make a difference simply given to tools and encouragement to do so. After one trip to the prison she began to lead classes with young men to encourage them to follow their passions and dreams and equip them for business once paroled. She finally quit her job, moved to Houston and founded a program the “Prison Entrepeneurship Program” – PEP. She said today the prayer, Lord, give us our daily bread has taken on new meaning. At the end of her interview, 3 graduates from her program spoke. One had been paroled only the day before. To say it was inspiring was an understatement. As we heard their stories and heard about the changes in their lives, the room felt lifted by the hope that was alive in their presence. We cheered as they talked about the work they were doing. I thought, as they spoke of their future, how refreshing it must be to be these three men, standing before this congregation. They seemed fearless, yet I’m sure have been in much scarier situations. They spoke with poise, grace and a confidence in themselves and in a God who always believed in who they were and in what they could achieve. I met Catherine afterwards and said, “I’d be willing to come speak or sing for your guys. Please know I’m willing and able and would love to come.” She smiled with such love and said, “You’ve said it now! When can you come?”

Inspiration — it moves me to action; it moves me to surrender; it moves me to let go of control; it moves me to look around and see what I can do today, where I am, right now.

Years ago I sang in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I have always been inspired by art and was quite a follower of Georgia O’Keeffe’s painting. While I was off on Sunday afternoon I made a visit to her museum to mainly see one of my favorite paintings of her in a series called, “Above the Clouds”. I had a book at home and was drawn to that series and to her interpretation. She said she looked out of a window of an airplane and simply painted what she saw. As I entered the room where one of her paintings of clouds was on display, I sat against the wall of the back of the room, stunned. I had no idea that it would be HUGE. It is the size of two rooms. It was grand in front of me and I was taken by my misjudgement of its size from my coffee table book back home. It was so much better in person. In front of me I saw Georgia’s vision. She wanted it to inspire. I believe that’s why she painted it so big.

What inspires you? When have you been inspired? Where do you gather inspiration? Normally for me, it’s from the everyday things — a picture of clouds, a late-night family swim under the stars, Max having a food drive with his birthday party, or my flowers that grow in spite of my neglect. Sometimes it sneaks up on me, like that morning when I heard the PEP graduates speak of their dreams and desires for the future or when I stood in the presence of that magnificent painting.

While writing this note, I spoke with our dear friends Beth and John Page whose 5-year-old daughter Tanner has bravely been battling leukemia for the last couple of weeks. (You can read about their battle here or visit her Facebook page.) — I went to the hospital and sang for Tanner and despite how badly she must have felt, she still mustered up a smile for “Over the Rainbow”. She and I talked about what kind of hat she might like to wear when she loses her hair. Now that kind of attitude inspires me. It reminds me that everyday we are faced with a decision to choose to surrender ourselves and to trust that wherever we find ourselves — we can do it with grace. Her mom and I recently went to the movies. She let me pry her out of the house. I knew she was tired and a friend of mine suggested I see if she could use some girlfriend time. She and I laughed that at the snack counter as we ordered the couples’ combo – it was a great deal!

Much of the evening she shared how Tanner has handled this with grace. I think of the 5-year-old who should be riding her bike, eating ice cream, catching fireflies. She was planning on taking swimming lessons in our pool this summer. She was having slumb-overs. (A slumb-over is where you cross the street to a friend’s house in the neighborhood with your pjs and a sleeping bag in tow. You have a bath, enjoy a snack, watch a movie at a friend’s house and then when it’s time to go to bed, you cross the street to go back home to her house for the night—I love the idea!) Now Tanner is faced with not only this disease, but with treatment and the side-effects of treatment–feeling terrible, missing out on a ton of fun kid stuff this summer, feeling different, and cares about her future. Her mom says the word that she’s surprised to use, but fits best is grace. Wow! Ok I’m inspired. Tanner has taught me, but also her mom and dad, Beth and John, our dear friends, have bravely, wearily and courageously walked each step of this with such grace. Daily in small ways they have moved me to be more grateful and more thoughtful of others. One of the best parts is that they have been transparent and honest in their response. There are things in life we don’t understand and can’t change, but we can choose how we each respond. We can choose hope each day. We can choose to live hope and grace today. We can celebrate today, to enjoy and to savor each tiny moment (I love the day they shared that Tanner was feeling good, so they had a picnic upstairs in her room.)

We have this moment and we can look for inspiration right here, in front of us. These moments of potential inspiration are the real deal. Like Catherine, Georgia and Tanner, there are those around us who would remind us that life is bigger than we are. Life is filled with inspiration, everywhere. It is more, we are more than where we find ourselves, than our circumstance or what we are going through. Our lives are a blank canvas, so paint away friends, make chocolate covered strawberries for a friend, have a picnic, order the couples combo and don’t be afraid to pray, “Lord, Bring it” and then to be on the lookout to be inspired!

Mothers’ Day 2009

As I think about the upcoming Mothers’ Day, I am mindful of what Max says when I ask him to kiss me goodnight. I tell me he loves me and say something sweet. His something sweet is the same every time and it said with the spirit of “I want you to give me something!” Moms and dads out there know the tone! He says, “You are the best mom ever!” I kiss him, tell him I love him and say something sweet back like, “You’re the best Max ever!”

Honestly, there are days when I don’t feel like the best mom ever. In concert, when I set up the song “Most of All You Were There” (It is found on our new lullabies CD and in my new gift book for women “One Wish For You” It is about our son Zach at school a few months ago. Ron and I got our trays and sat with Zach and his first grade class. Two girls immediately begun to talk to Ron and urgently want his attention, “Zach’s dad, Zach’s dad.” As Ron turned around, they said, “Zach’s dad, Zach is so gross, he’s sticks his finger up his nose.” About that time Zach interrupted quietly, “Dad, Dad.” As Ron turned around Zach said, “Dad, you know those girls you were just talking to? They bug me all the time. If I want them to leave me alone, all I have to do is stick my finger up my nose!”

Ok, I am not condoning this practice (no cards and letters, please. I have talked to him about this behavior and if you have been to one of my concerts with your children and I have told this story, I apologize.) I’m just saying no matter of talking to him is gonna keep his finger out of his nose!

As I think about Mothers day and about what makes a good/best mom, here are a few thoughts:

If I am any good at being a mom, it is because of all the best moms I am around and that have learned from. I try to pay attention. I think of one mom I babysat for. Her 5-year daughter showed her a picture that she had drawn at school. The mom gently said, “I bet that picture makes you feel so proud and happy. I am delighted to see what you have created, tell me about it.” And then the mom listened intently to the explanation. I also remember the daughter who told me that her mom stood at the front door everyday before the daughter left for school and told her, “You are amazing!” The daughter told me that everyday she walked out of my door believing that I was amazing and capable of whatever I would encounter. Another friend told me that when her son lost his temper one day and began to yell and cry, he said “what’s really wrong is that I miss dad and I’m so sad he died.” She sat down and said, “me, too” and they had a long cry together.
I guess I have been a student all my life and will always be. When it comes to becoming the best mom I can be. The best mom’s encourage, apologize, empathize, aren’t afraid to say, “I’m sorry,” aren’t scared to say, “I didn’t do that so well,…I’m gonna get better,” handle the most joyous times with humility and most challenging moments with grace. One of my favorite compliments was received while having dinner with the President of our alma mater, Centenary College of Louisiana, Dr. Kenneth Schwab and other members of the faculty and my family. Our best behavior would have been very appropriate and we even had a family talk about it prior to the event. It was one of those events that a sitter would’ve been great for, but it was an opportunity for my sons to be exposed to an event that was good for them. It was after I spoke at the President’s day convocation to the student body a few years ago. While we had dinner in the cafeteria, my boys were quite busy and entertaining. Zach played his armpit during the dessert, as I tried to silence him while keeping my composure. My aunt Dinah came up to me and whispered in my ear, “Celia, I can tell not only how much you love the boys, but you all really like each other.” I feared I would be judged as my friends and my aunts, yet I was embraced with such a sweet compliment that made the lunch feel right at home.
If I am becoming my best mom, it is because of others who parent along side me. One reason is because I am raising my boys with a best dad. Ron Whitler makes me a better mom simply because he is an incredible dad. I am more than blessed. Most days I feel my life is a dream. I am constantly receiving these outlandish moments — they are gifts. Daily in small ways, he gives over and over all he has. We are partners in this and I am thankful everyday that we are walking this earth together and that Max and Zach know and are known by their father. He is slow to anger and quick to compassion. He is fun, caring and can still swing from a rope swing into a river with the best of ‘em–he did it last week.
I truly feel we cannot do it alone. Even when we feel as if we are working alone. There are those who help, who fill in, who nurture, who parent alongside us–dads, grandparents, neighbors, doctors, teachers, Sunday school volunteers, counselors, coaches, aunts, uncles, cousins, church members, babysitters and friends. They all make me better as a mother. They quilted my journey as a child. I have often thought of ways my mother did the best she could and about how many others filled in the gaps. I am counting on that with my own sons. There are so many ways I am going to fall short and so many wonderful mothering my two will receive from other people. Thank goodness I do not have to do this alone and I believe our children are better when we raise them together. When I had Max, we traveled so much and there were so many who held him as I sang. I always thought he wasn’t just mine and I still feel that way. I so wanted to share him with the world and for all of us to love him. I think of those children without mothers, even those times I have been in the park and seen a child be mean to another beyond the sight of an adult. I have gently stepped in and said a word. I am counting on you to do the same with my sons.
Each night I pray that God would make me more loving. I have so many days when I know that I am not my best. I have lost my temper before 8 am. I have said the mean thing, when I knew self control was a better option. I have forgotten the class tee shirt for the field trip. ok that happened two days ago, it was the right color, so it was 2 sizes too small because it was little brothers from last year. Instead of sharing shame, Max, when I saw it was the wrong one shared grace. “Mom, no worries,” he quickly said, “and I’ll wear it on field day, too. It was the right color, who cares if it doesn’t have an eagle [mascot] on it.”
I am much harder on myself than anyone else is on me about my performance as a mother. I know if the super Nanny came to my house today, it would be a two hour show! So I am on my knees saying a prayer that one friend shared with me a couple of years ago, “Lord, you got me in this mess, so you are going to have to get me out.” I continue to go study the fruits of the Spirit — Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. I also revisit the love chapter: I Corinthians, Chapter 13. I guess I would say that I am the best at trying, the best at looking for ways to improve. Maybe that needs to be on a plaque that I can look at each day. I have always joked that I heard the first 30 years are the hardest for a mom, but I know that isn’t true. When I delivered those two boys I played U2 and BB King’s version of When Love Came to Town in the delivery room and I believe it is true. Love did come into my life as it never had before.

I just tucked love into bed for the night with their favorite blankets, bear and dog… nite nite … mommy loves you!

God could not be everywhere and therefore He made mothers.
Jewish proverb