Careers

While many people in my world were entering the work force and beginning the careers, I was entering the career of motherhood. I had some jobs that I liked but were they careers in the normal sense of the word? They were not.

I worked in the oil and gas business right out of college, met the man I would marry. I started working at the natural history museum which led to publishing a paper of them on their type specimens, the specimens that named the species.

I asked my dad what he thought I should be. He said he always thought I would be a great mom. Not to toot my own horn, but toot, toot, I was/am a really good mom. My kids even nominated me as a mom of the year, so it’s official because of the certificate.

Disclaimer: any mistakes I made as a mom were made so that my children didn’t make the same mistakes with their children.

One constant was writing. I always wanted to be a writer. I wrote through the diapers and loose teeth, rodeos and broken bones, scrapes, stitches, and bruises, rattlesnakes and relationship venom, unimaginable love and tear-producing laughter. I wrote and rewrote stories, filing them away for later, when there would be more time. I’ve moved those blue-sky colored files countless times.

A career according to Merriam-Webster is: a profession for which one trains and which is undertaken as a permanent calling

A profession as defined by Merriam-Webster:

• 1: the act of taking the vows of a religious community
• 2: an act of openly declaring or publicly. claiming a belief, faith, or opinion :PROTESTATION
• 3: an avowed religious faith
• 4a: a calling requiring specializedknowledge and often long and intensive academic preparationb: a principal calling, vocation, or employmentc: the whole body of personsengaged in a calling

Recently, it was suggested I speak to a career counsellor. I quickly, quietly, burst into tears. Though writing has been my career. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, though one person asked what could I possibly have to write about?

If we do the things for which we are “called”, then the financial security will follow right?Merriam-Webster doesn’t mention anything financial gain, security, or success. The bible doesn’t mention anything about financial success, except to say that you can’t serve two masters. Money has become the master of many. While it isn’t a master, per se, it does come in handy.

This must be where the trust part comes in.

It turns out, where I’m moving is much more expensive than where I left so I’ve been spreading my resume out like manure, hoping something will take root. I really only want something part-time (I think) so I can still work on the writing part of my life. The part that isn’t clear is what I’m potentially qualified for after having a career as a mom/writer that has never paid well. Of course, I can do anything, or so I thought, before finding out I didn’t get a part-time retail gig because of my availability due to mom travel, which I wouldn’t change ever.

Many in my world are talking about retirement. I don’t see myself as retired but it is harder to get a job-job, especially after having had my own businesses, it’s sort of difficult to work for someone else, especially at my age. Let’s face it, most of the workforce is quite a bit younger, hipper, and more tech savvy.

I could go back to school but in what? Wouldn’t I just be throwing money away? When the divorce was happening, I went to teacher school to become a teacher, but I didn’t pass the test because I was still in the midst of my motherhood career. I was having a hard time concentrating on studying while navigating a divorce, trying to sell one house, find another, pack up and keep the kids in order.

Should I have found another career when raising children? Maybe, but that’s all in the past. I want to remain in the present.

Recently, I was in Montana to picking my stuff that I can’t live without so will spend thousands to move it to Colorado, so I can spend more thousands to rent a place near my youngest. The chickens and the mountain view should ease the financial pain.

As I crossed the Montana state line, i realized that I may not be done with Montana completely, mostly because spring is one of the most beautiful times to be there.

A song from my playlist came on and it if I had heard it before, I had forgotten. It was just the song I needed to hear and after playing it again, I listened to the words more carefully, started crying again, and turned it up to the point where the pups covered their ears.

Every verse was what I’ve been preaching for some time, so without further ado.

Free at Last by Roaman:

Beyond matter and mind no longer led by the blind 

I found that everything I needed was to look inside 

past the fast-speed pace of this Human race 

in the place where Love lays, embrace its grace 

and now, I want to feel the Sun on my face 

as I praise the Most High, feeling more than alive 

so free yourSelf from the chains of material ways and give Love

and don’t worry about tomorrow, think about the sorrow 

you feel when you forget it’s just a body that you borrow 

time to wake up cause the dream won’t last 

nothing ever happens in the future or past 

take a vow to come back to the Now where the fire is burning, 

life’s unfolding keep on holding on, brother stay strong 

sister don’t cry keep your head high

(chorus) 

I say AHO!

I was lost but now I’m home 

I was blind but now I see 

I was captive now I’m free 

Hallelujah I said AHO! 

I was lost but now I’m home 

I was blind but now I see 

I was captive now I’m free 

I’m free at last

beyond longing and grief no longer wrapped in belief 

I took a peak behind the veil and now I sigh in relief

for I can see with my eyes closed, Light glows 

when you got Love everything flows 

so don’t idenfity yourSelf with the voice in your head 

you’re far beyond the limitations that are driving you mad 

you gotta realize the Self open up the door and let go

so don’t worry about tomorrow think about the sorrow

you feel when you forget it’s just a body that you borrow 

time to wake up cause the dream won’t last 

nothing ever happens in the future or past 

take a vow to come back to the Now where the fire is burning

life’s unfolding keep on holding on, brother stay strong 

sister don’t cry keep your head high

(chorus) 

I say AHO!

I was lost but now I’m home 

I was blind but now I see 

I was captive now I’m free 

Hallelujah I said AHO! 

I was lost but now I’m home 

I was blind but now I see 

I was captive now I’m free 

I’m free at last

Beyond matter and mind no longer led by the blind 

I found that everything I needed was to look inside 

past the fast-speed pace of this Human race 

in the place where Love lays, embrace its grace 

who says you need to worry away? 

who says you need to worry at all?

Thank you Lord for guiding our steps, and placing people, animals, and songs in just the right place for our paths to cross. Thank you for being such an awesome God and loving us unconditionally.

Milestones

Milestone – Red sandstone (likely Lyons) with an interesting conglomerate mixed in.

Sometimes, a light flashes on the fact that time is marching on and that you better pay attention, or life will pass you right by and those milestones will be behind you. I suppose some might say that each breath is a milestone and so we better pay attention and make the most of each breath before it’s behind us.

Yesterday, I was hit with just such a realization – well, not hit exactly because I was in the middle of a much-needed massage, but the realization was so strong that I started crying, right in the middle of a massage (another milestone).

This coming Tuesday, my youngest will turn thirty. True, a milestone, but not the realization that struck me. What struck me was the importance of April 15, not because of tax day, but because on Monday, thirty years ago, I was twenty-nine, the same age as my youngest is now and will be on the 15th.

I’ve shared other interesting milestones with my other children, like my daughter and I will always celebrate milestone birthdays because I had her when I was twenty-five. I had my second child when I was twenty-seven, and he and I share reciprocal birthdays every eleven years, which is pretty cool.

Thirty-plus years ago, something was funny. My husband commented that I seemed distracted. “I think I may be pregnant,” I said. I had been on the pill and had taken it religiously, but I picked up a two-pack pregnancy test anyway, just in case. The package said, for best results, to take the test first thing in the morning.

After fishing with friends, we went out to dinner and I ordered a scotch. Those who know me, know that I really dislike scotch. I had never ordered scotch before, nor since. I had two sips and was finished with scotch for a good long time.

The next morning, I took the test – positive. I took the other one – positive. I called the doctor. The receptionist said to come in around noon and they would fit me in.

My first two were born in Denver, delivered by an amazing 65-year-old, never-married, pony-tailed doctor, who called everyone “sweetie”. He knew just what to say, how to say it, and he reassured you that you were doing just fine.

We moved to the mountains shortly after our second turned one. Up in the mountains, there was only one doctor, and it was his first day after taking over the business from the doctor listed in the phonebook. After four hours of waiting, the nurse took me in and asked the usual questions.

“Okay, let’s take you into the exam room,” she said, with fake cheeriness that was probably exhaustion.

“Wait, what about a pregnancy test,” I asked, still not comprehending that I could be pregnant. Our whole family was scheduled to go to Russia the next May, and my mother had been very clear about no one getting pregnant in the meantime.

“Did you take a pregnancy test,” she asked.

“Yes, yes, I took two,” I said, incredulous that I had just wasted four hours waiting for the answer I already knew.

“That’s all we would have done. Let’s go see the doctor,” she said urging me along.

The doctor was young, probably in his thirties. He did not have all the right words to say. He was harried. His timing was off. Where my previous doctor seemed to dance through life, this new doctor was trying to find the rhythm. I was due May 15.

At that time, we were in the midst of building a house on seventy-plus acres in the mountains. My cousin designed the house and asked if we would have any more children, and we both said, “Nope, we have one of each. We are done.”

I guess God had other plans. This child was meant to be in this world – in our world.

After four or five months into the pregnancy, we moved into the house. I probably lifted and moved things more than I should have and shortly after moving in, I noticed some bleeding. I called the doctor and spoke to the receptionist. She said, “You’ll probably continue bleeding and lose the baby. Sorry. I’ll have the doctor give you a call later.”

The bleeding stopped. The doctor called. I told him what the receptionist said. He said not to pay any attention to her and that he would have a word with her.

When pregnant with the other two, especially the second, I could do anything. I painted two bathrooms, hung two light fixtures, and played the best tennis of my life. With the third, every time I played tennis, my hips felt as if they would fall apart, and that the baby would come out right then. I stopped playing tennis.

One day, when I was five or six months pregnant we (my husband and I) went skiing with the general contractor of our house. It was a beautiful day, and we were having a blast, until my husband decided to do a bump run so he could get his heart rate up and make the day a worthwhile workout. I’m not great in the bumps, and these were the size of VW Bugs. The day and I dissolved into tears, and I found another route down, as the contractor yelled at the husband for being such an ass.

At the beginning of April of that year, I was eight months pregnant and I stopped to help another mother hang a swing on a swing set. I stretched up and held the swing while the other mother tightened the gizmo that held it in place. That night, I began having contractions about every twenty minutes.

I didn’t think too much about the contractions. At this point, I felt like a pro. I had an appointment scheduled with the doctor on Friday, April 15, and I had a new babysitter already set up. I kept a mental record of the contractions and the time between them steadily decreased. By the time of the appointment, they were five minutes apart. I asked the babysitter to stay for the day. I went into the doctor’s office, told him about the swing and the contractions, and I went off to the hospital.

“We’re going to do an amino, take fluid out of the sack to see if the baby’s lungs are developed. We’ve got to do it now in order to get the fluid on the next flight down to Denver. So, just sit tight and relax. Right now, this baby is breech, but hopefully, by the time we get the results back, it’ll turn itself around,” the doctor explained, and over the eight months, his timing had improved.

Luckily, I brought a book with me and the baby and I took the day and read.

Around five that evening, the doctor came in and said the baby’s lungs weren’t developed enough to come out, “We’re going to run another, more conclusive test. We should know in the next few hours about the results of that one. I’ll let you know as soon as I know.”

My baby and I finished the book. The sky darkened, and the doctor showed up around 9 pm. He looked wrecked. He ran his hand through his hair, touched my foot with his other hand, and said, “The results are back, and the baby’s lungs are developed enough to come out. It’s up to you. Do you want to have this baby tonight or tomorrow,” he asked, finally catching up with the rhythm.

I called my husband, and he also sounded wrecked. He said, “Let’s wait until tomorrow. I’ve just put the kids to bed. It’s late. Let’s just do it tomorrow.”

The decision was made, the baby would be born on the 16th. I had the room to myself. There weren’t any other pregnant mothers in the area. The nurse’s station was the closest thing to a nursery because there was no nursery. The nurse came in and told me just to ring if I needed anything because it was pretty quiet out there.

The room had a gentle blue glow. I adjusted the bed and tried to shut my eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. My baby and I were suspended in time. My world was right then, in that moment, suspended before the birth and after the birth. There was no husband, no other children, just this miracle and me, waiting. I knew this little miracle had a purpose in this life, and I was its guardian to guide, teach, and mold this child for whatever life was yet to come. As with the other children, I knew my job was only temporary, only until they sprouted wings and soared on their own, to live their own lives, live their own dreams, and be who God created them to be.

I spent hours communicating and connecting with that perfect being within me, as I’ve never connected with anyone else. It was just my baby and me, concentrated time, consecrated time, sacred time.

What struck me during the massage, was that I wanted, needed, to spend April 15th with my son. Just him and me. Him – the same age I was when I had him. He’s not alone, but not married. Me – no husband, no other children around. I recalled how special that time was, how sacred, and how this moment will never come around again. Never again will he be the same age I was when I had him. Never again will he be unattached on a milestone birthday, with me in the same town.

We don’t know what the future holds. The 16th will come, and there will be a celebration of his actual coming into the world, a shared birthday with cousins on both sides of the family. But the 15th – that’s him and me time. That’s sacred time. That’s our time.

Thank you God for all my blessings, the expected and the unexpected. I, too, was an unexpected blessing.

Eclipse

Eclipse, as captured by Kathy Carney

The eclipse that happened a few days ago, which stopped the US and gave us pause to consider the magnitude of the universe and the minuscule-ness of our own lives, had a profound effect on many who witnessed it. Misty-eyed newscasters could barely contain their emotions as they described the event.

Eclipses might be viewed as a reset button. One can’t help but reflect on one’s life, how fleeting it really is, and perhaps ask the question, have I done the things I’ve needed to do?

I remember my first eclipse. We didn’t have cool glasses like the ones available these days. Instead, we had a box with a hole in it, and we looked in the box as the moon moved its way in front of the sun. It was not nearly as awe-inspiring as looking at it through cool glasses, but still impressive.

Have you ever been in an eclipse but didn’t realize it was going on? The sky begins to darken, and the birds and animals stop what they’re doing, and an eerie feeling tugs at the edges of your knowing. It’s hard not to look within and observe our failings, or missteps. A chill can accompany it, as well as a feeling of being alone. Just when we feel we couldn’t be more alone, the moon continues its path, the skies begin to brighten, and the sun begins to warm us once again. Maybe it’s God’s way of saying, “I’m here. Even though you can’t see me, even though there is darkness, I am with you. I see you. Trust in me. I am the light that shines within you. There is nothing to fear.”

After my best friend, who was also my next-door neighbor and cousin, died at age nine, I felt the darkness. The entire community felt the darkness. How could one so young be taken back up to God? She had just gotten to earth. She was joy and brightness rolled up in a beautiful package of a brown-haired, blue-eyed, enormous-hearted girl. Our lives would never be the same when she left, almost fifty years ago.

After her death, her mom (another mother to me) gave me a prayer card. The prayer card has sat on my dresser all these years. The card has yellowed, and the edges are torn, but the words hold firm. Those words have given me hope when it seemed as if despair was the only option. Those words have offered me a sense of peace and faith that everything would be okay. Those words have given me strength and courage when most needed. Even though the card is currently in storage, soon enough it will be unpacked and take its place on my dresser. I don’t need to have the card to know what it says. I memorized it and I carry it in my heart along with the precious memories of my friend.

God make me brave. Help me strengthen after pain as a tree strengthens after rain.

God make me brave. As the blown grass lifts, let me rise with quiet eyes, knowing thy way is wise.

God, life brings such blinding things. Help me to keep my sight, help me to see aright, that out of dark comes light.

I’ve heard it said that we die two deaths. The first is when we physically die, and the second is when our name, our life, is no longer remembered. As we approach the fiftieth anniversary of this very special person, may we remember all those who have passed before us. May we recall the light and brightness they brought to our world, and may we be grateful for the moments we shared with them, no matter how brief.

God, may we also remember that you are the true light in our lives, driving away the darkness and seeing us as bright, sparkling souls who are called to make a difference in the world.

Easter Season

The most miraculous thing happened to me this Easter. I have to step back a bit because, during a Lent of wow, twenty years ago, I prayed for my wasband’s heart to turn from stone into flesh. That entire Lent, that was my prayer. It didn’t happen, though another miracle happened in that I discovered that I would be fine, better than fine. A calm came over me, an intense peace overwhelmed me, and I knew that there was a better life for me without that man. The next day, I filed for divorce.

Since then, I have been trying to put more trust in God and His will for my life.

This Holy Week, the pieces started to fit together. It was especially special because I had reconnected with my friends from Colorado Springs, and they invited me to share their Easter meal with their family. I found them on Holy Thursday at a completely random church that is in the neighborhood of my Airbnb.

There is something special about this church. The priest, though somewhat difficult to understand with his thick accent, speaks off the cuff, sometimes stopping himself before saying something he shouldn’t, and is completely authentic and delightful.

My intention was to go to the Easter Vigil because it had been decades since I had been and the priest said that it was truly the beginning of our faith. If you haven’t been, it’s the really long Mass Saturday night before Easter, where they bring in the new catechumens, light the new Easter candle, and bless the oils. As the priest said, it is the birth of the church in the waiting for the Resurrection. It was scheduled for 8:30 pm, with confession from 5-6:00 pm. It had been a few months, so I went to confession.

I walked in and saw the younger priest with the heavy accent, and the older priest sat in a small room to the left.

“Are you here for confession,” the younger priest asked.

“I was thinking about it,” I stammered, as I didn’t expect to see the priest upon entering the church.

“He’ll be easier on you,” the younger priest said, and I walked into the room and took a seat.

I wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to say. Sometimes I made a list, and other times, my sins hung on me so uncomfortably that I had to shed them as quickly as possible. This time, as I reviewed my happenings over the past few months, it was the little sins that nagged at me. They were the hurtful things I experienced from others like judgement and unforgiveness. While talking with this older priest, I realized that I had been judgmental and I needed to offer forgiveness to those who hurt me. Again.

He absolved me of my sins and I said my penance. I looked at the vibrant orchids around the altar and the flowers around the baptismal font and I smiled. Part of me wanted to come back to the Easter Vigil, and the other part wanted to go home.

The Ten Commandments, with Charlton Heston, was on the television (commercials and all) that night, and the pups and I watched it and had dinner. I don’t think I’ve ever truly watched it from beginning to end, and I’ve certainly not watched it since going through the Bible more closely and believing everything in it as truth. The tensions between brothers, the slavery, the unworthiness of Moses, the burning bush and the calling, the plagues, and ultimately leading the Israelites out of Egypt, and the parting of the Red Sea. Bible stories, yes. Truth? Yes. Once you watch that movie with eyes of truth, you glimpse God’s almighty power, as interpreted through technocolor.

Easter morning, I went to morning Mass and we were invited to introduce ourselves to our neighbor because there were many CEOs (Christmas and Easter Only). The young priest with the thick accent said he only got an hour’s sleep because it was like knowing you would receive a billion dollar check the next morning, and there was just no sleeping with all the excitement. He said he used to say “a million dollar check”, but because of inflation, etc, he changed it to billion. Instead of saying the, “I confess” part of the Mass, he decided to douse us with holy water as a way to wake us up, as well as himself. He really got us.

During the Homily, he said that through the Resurrection, Christ conquered death. He said, we are all afraid of death in one way or another and therefore live in fear. When Mary arrived at the tomb, the angel said, “Be not afraid.” There literally is nothing to fear because Jesus took it away for us. Living without fear is one of the many things I’ve been working on since the one Lent and the wasband.

What I physically felt during Mass was that my sins were the stone in front of the tomb, my own heart of stone, and with the Resurrection, my heart was opened, was made flesh. I felt, truly felt, that there as nothing to fear. I felt alive and aware, and felt as if I could conquer the world.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, I relayed my Easter story to one of my sisters. It started raining and the topic turned to logistical things. The pups and I were in the car, waiting for the rain to stop before getting out. I decided to research one of the logistical things so put the car in gear, and set off. I was still chatting with my sister, when in my periferral vision, I saw a homeless man lying on the sidewalk, on his side like he was sleeping. A big German Shepherd kept watch behind him. Was he dead? Was he napping? Should I stop? For a moment, the German Shepherd and I locked eyes. I glanced around, was there a parking spot? There was not.

It all took place in a second. I was on an errand, but was it essential to do that errand right away? Could it wait? Of course it could. It is amazing how quickly our brains can discern a situation. Perhaps this is life in the big city. I knew someone else would walk by and take care of him, or maybe he was napping and would wake up and continue his journey. I thought of the story of the Good Samaritan, and I was no better than the first two passersby, who didn’t stop. I chose not to be inconvenienced.

When I returned home, I took the dogs on a walk, past the place on the sidewalk, to see if the man and the dog were still there. They were not. It started hailing, and we turned toward home.

I believe that that God dog looked at me in that moment as a test to see if I would stop. To see if I would get my hands dirty, or choose to be inconvenienced, to live in fear. On the other hand, the whole thing could have been a ruse to hurt me, but if I truly believed that there was nothing to fear, then it wouldn’t have mattered and I would have stopped. Though I didn’t stop, I sent up a prayer for that man and his dog. Maybe it was my way of justifying my lack of compassion, and washing my hands of the situation, or maybe it was God’s way of saying that I’ve still got a long way to go.

I will try to go to confession again this coming Sunday, Divine Mercy Sunday, where all sins are forgiven, and begin again.

Thank you Lord, for raising Jesus from the dead and destroying death for us. Thank you for this Easter season where we get to spend these fifty (longer than the forty days of Lent) days reading the Acts of the Apostles, rediscovering Your unconditional love for us, through Your son, and removing all fear from our lives, and trusting You with our whole heart.