Tag Archives: encouragement

Collateral Damage

On Life, , , , , ,

Death danced outside our door again.

His fingers long and reach beyond

the body that they claim. 

When my husband got home last night, he shared about his day. It began with a roll-over of a van full of kids and ended with a ninety-year old man being struck and killed by a motorist.

He posed a question. “What do you call it when you do the right thing but pay a price anyway?”

Two young boys witnessed the old man breathe his last. Their mom had stopped to be a witness. A good Samaritan. Death’s fingers found their way into her minivan and touched her sons. A picture they will never forget. An horrific image.

Collateral damage.

I have often thought to myself, “And that’s the last post on PTSD. Because, seriously, how many more can I come up with?” And then something happens.

“Unintended damage, injuries, or deaths caused by an action…”

Oh yeah. That happens.

Unintended damage.

Death takes one life but touches a sea of others.

Collateral damage.

I’ve struggled to explain what PTSD is like. Or better, what living with someone who has PTSD is like. In order to convey the width of impact it has in our lives as a family I end up sounding dramatic. I start talking about death and destruction and people’s eyes glass over. Who wants to deal with that?

Exactly. Who wants to? But some of us still get to.

And then I back off a little and talk about the affects instead of the causes and I sound like a victim. Look what it’s done to our family? Whine.

So when these two words came out last night as my husband was reliving his day, a light bulb went off.

What do you call it when you do the right thing and pay for it anyway? He was talking about the woman. The good Samaritan. She stopped to help but paid a price. But as he was talking, I realized he could just as easily be talking about himself.

What do you call it when you serve the community and do your job well and you end up dealing with unintended injuries?

Collateral damage. 

May we learn to respond to life’s unintended injuries.

 

God, give me grace to accept with serenity

the things that cannot be changed,

Courage to change the things

which should be changed,

and the Wisdom to distinguish

the one from the other.

Living one day at a time,

Enjoying one moment at a time…

-ReinholdNiebuhr

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Donuts and Darth Vader

On Life, ,

We have found reason to celebrate a vast array of things.

The first Friday of June is National Donut Day.

May the fourth is officially Star Wars day. (If you don’t get it, say “May the fourth be with you” out loud.)

And this last Tuesday was September 11th. A National Day of Remembrance. I bet you could recall exactly where you were and what you were doing when you heard the news.

But what about September 15th? What significance does that day have you ask?

It’s National Tell a Police Officer Thank You Day!

My husband, a police officer, recently introduced our son to an old sitcom from the 60’s, “Adam-12.” As we watched an episode, LAPD officers stopped a woman for a traffic violation. As soon as the officers made contact with her, she began ranting about quotas and how the officers shouldn’t be harassing upstanding citizens. My husband looked at my son and informed him that not much has changed in 40 years. Imagine approaching a car and having no idea what awaits. A respectful young man. A snarky old lady. A wanted felon. A routine stop can go from compliant, to ranting, to shots fired in seconds.

I married into the law enforcement family and I still freak out when I see a car behind me with a light bar stretched across the top. My heart seizes and my foot floats off the gas pedal. I remind myself not to rear end the car in front of me as I wait to see if the blue lights are going to start spinning. No one wants to meet a uniform that way. We accuse them of speed traps and having to attain quotas. Maybe they are stopping us in order to take out their frustration over a fight they just had with their spouse or boss. They represent fines and increased insurance rates. An inconvenient visit to a cheesy Comedy Traffic School at best.

Did I mention September 15th is National Tell a Police Officer Thank You Day?

Thank you? Really?

But gratitude is always the fruit of correctly altered perspective.

What if you were in an accident and your car caught on fire? Who do you think would be there to pull you out? Who would risk their own safety to keep you alive? What if you were shot? Who would raise their hand to chase down the madman and submit him to justice? Who can leap a skyscraper in a single bound? Okay so maybe that’s going a bit far but you get the point right?

Maybe you haven’t needed to be pulled from a burning car or maybe you’ve never been shot or accosted by a criminal. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe if we didn’t have men and women willing to wear a uniform and risk their lives and listen to our snarky complaining, we would be the ones who would have to confront the evils of our society. They have families, dreams and goals. They are your neighbors. They simply wear a uniform and take the risk to be first on the scene.

Isn’t that reason enough to say thank you?

So how are you going to say thank you? Sept 15th is National Tell a Police Officer Thank You Day! Pass it on!

 

 

D is for…

On Life, , , ,

Most pictures say a thousand words. But this picture screams one simple word.

“Dauntless.”

I was drawn to this picture. There was something about it. So I bought it. My husband and I had stopped for food and a break a couple hours into a routine nine hour road trip. After hour 13, the routine faded into torture. Our eyes crossed or threatened to shut completely and exhaustion permeated the air like a heavy fog. We wanted to quit, but we weren’t where we needed to be yet. We weren’t home. So we kept our behinds in our seats and we kept driving.

When we finally got home we kissed the ground and then pulled the picture out of the car. As tired as we were, the irony was not lost. We had just lived a dauntless moment.

Stalwart Resolute. Indomitable.

We still joke about that trip and the picture. But as soon as I thought about my journey with PTSD and how I would put it into an acronym, I knew.

D is for dauntless.

It’s one thing to convey an emotion at a pivotal point in the journey. It’s another thing all together to impart a word such as dauntless. I’ve rewritten this post about five times now. As I try to describe what dauntless looks like, it keeps coming up grey and lifeless. Much like the painting. D is for drudgery. Just keep getting in the boat. Day after day.

But I wasn’t drawn to the picture because it evoked a feeling of drudgery. From the first moment I saw that photo, I felt hope. The picture doesn’t show each man bravely taking their place in the boat. It shows them in open water. Moving. Embarking on an adventure. Unshrinking to the challenges that may lie ahead.

The whole point of my last post was choosing to get in the boat. Dauntless has to mean something more. And I think back to the road trip. What about that trip demonstrates dauntless? Was it the drudgery of driving? And then I see it. Yes, there was drudgery involved. But dauntless is overcoming the drudgery in light of the port of call. We fought fatigue and committed to driving for the comfort of home. We looked forward to sleeping in our own bed. We were traveling toward a destination.

D is for dauntless.

I’m staying in the boat. I’m all in. That’s “S.” But more than that. I’m looking forward. I’m resolutely believing that good days are ahead. That an adventure awaits.

It is challenging to believe that the sun will ever shine again after days of endless rain and the darkest of nights. But dauntless means indomitable hope. Stalwart expectation. It’s not just repeating the vows and the commitments. It’s remembering what you believed in those moments. I fell in love with my husband because of who he is. Through the course of the ups and downs of PTSD, I fight to remain unshrinking. To remember the man I married. To boldly love my husband as he is. And to be audacious in my belief that an adventure awaits.

D is for dauntless.

That’s what dauntless looks like to me. What does dauntless look like to you?

Hope

On Faith, On Life, , ,

Can you spot the flowers?

 

To conclude our mission trip to Mexico we had a time of sharing. Highlights. Challenges.

One of my teammates shared the profound. She was struck by the amount of hope demonstrated in unexpected ways. At first glance, all that could be seen was poverty. But as the days progressed, her perspective changed. In the midst of destitution and dirt, hope sprang up. The smiles of children, the wash hanging on the line outside, the bright pink and yellow houses. The tiny patches of flowers in unexpected places.

Small evidences of hope. 

As she was sharing, my perspective was challenged as well. I, who have much in terms of possessions, struggle with hope. It’s not that I don’t believe everything will work out. I do. There is an undercurrent of faith, a confidence that a sovereign God is at work. But faith is not hope. I believe God will work all things out but what do I do in the interim? Do I hope? Do I look expectantly at the good that He has promised? Or do I merely exist. Drawn through life on the tide of faith, never hoping or anticipating that good is close. That God is close and He is good.

Anticipation.

My internal dialogue has resembled a grey donkey with a similar grey disposition. “It’s raining again. It always does.” Downcast head and monotone voice. A cuddly donkey burdened by life and void of hope. I’m a lot like Eeyore. Not being like Eeyore takes practice. And it has occurred to me how I am out of practice.

Expectation.

Faith is believing that God is who He says He is and that He will do what He said He will do. And hope, hope is the excited anticipation of seeing just how He will do it. Faith is the soil. It is the foundation. The solid earth we build our lives upon. And maybe hope is the tiny garden of flowers so lovingly tended outside the house that has a dirt floor and no roof. Or maybe hope is the bright blue house surrounded by wreckage, need and hardship.

Hope.

So today, I pledge to practice hope. To build my life on the foundation of faith. To believe in a God mighty and capable. But also, to take a moment to tend to my garden. The tiny patch of beautiful flowers. To anticipate. To marvel at the creative ways God will bring about His plan. To hope in the unexpected.

Badges? Badges? We don’t need no stinkin’ badges!

On Life, , , ,

I am so jealous of the Girl Scouts. And not for the reasons you might think. Sure they have the “Thin Mints” and the “Samoas” and the “Lemonades.” All pure genius. But those aren’t covet inducing.

I see the Girl Scouts and the thing I want most is the vest. Think about it. Haven’t you done some stuff that is badge worthy? Reached a mileage goal in running, or a weight goal or an anniversary?

My vest would be a color other than kelly green (this is my daydream so I get to pick) and I would wear my badges proudly. It sounds ridiculous but we do it everyday. At the end of the day, my to-do list is examined. How many badges did I earn today? Laundry, grocery shopping, bills, chauffeuring, and on and on. The number of badges earned is compared to the number of badges missed and an opinion is formed. Good day? Not so good day? Horrible day?

On those days where the accomplishment column is on the empty side, my self-worth swirls around the porcelain bowl that still needs cleaning. And always on those days, I seem to come face to face with the vests of those around me. Their vests are laden with badges! How in the world can I keep up? They have badges I’ve never even thought of!

But the rebel in me, that part that wants to rage against the machine longs to be free. I wish to walk into my yard and burn the vest. And then shout from the hill behind my house…

“Badges? Badges? We don’t need no stinkin’ badges!!”

Imagine a day where the only goal is to live. Live every moment until you fall into bed without thought of to-do lists and badges. (Cue orchestra.) To fall asleep simply remembering the moments that made you laugh or cry. (Music builds to crescendo.)

Who’s with me? (Applause and screaming.)

Say it with me…

We don’t need no stinkin’ badges!

 

 

If you give a mouse a cookie…

On Faith, ,

You know that cute little children’s book? A simple act of giving a mouse a cookie turns into something way bigger and unexpected. I’ve never given a mouse a cookie. It makes an adorable children’s book but frankly, I have no intention of willingly giving a mouse anything except a bit of “d-CON.”

But it makes me think…what would I do? What if I gave God permission?

It’s a beautiful afternoon. Sitting beside a quiet brook and listening to the birds chirp. Communing with God. All is right with the world. In a moment of rapture, you tell God that He can have His way. You give Him permission to orchestrate your life as He sees fit.

Something occurs in that enchanted moment. Unseen and relatively unnoticed. A covenant is made. Not a contract signed with ink but a contract signed by the blood of the Lamb on the flesh of your own heart.

I have needed to be reminded lately, that I indeed gave God permission. My peaceful has been replaced by chaos. The world is upside down and inside out. The wheels have fallen off the bus and I can’t even find them to reattach them. “What is going on?” I wonder, often out loud like a crazy person.

And then I hear this…

“You do not want to leave too, do you?” Jesus asked the Twelve. (John 6:67 NIV)

In other words, “When things don’t happen like you think they should, are you out?”

The world stops. A question has been asked and it demands an answer.

Am I out? But He has never disappointed. Over and over He has taken the broken trinkets and  baubles I seem to keep collecting. He takes the heartache and confusion that seem pointless. And then, He uses them to create something I could have never imagined. He incorporates every part into something that has value. A piece of art that proclaims with abandon that He alone is God. That He alone creates and He alone redeems.

I stop looking for the bus wheels and I give Him permission again. Well said Peter.

Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.” (John 6:68-69)