Leisurely I close my eyes
drifting into a place of deepening silence;
seeking the voice of God.

As I drift into this whirlpool
I feel the breeze surround me
gently comforting me within its womb,
calmed by the rhythm of its heartbeat

I take notice of the flowing of a waterfall nearby
And the serenade of a red bird perched on a nearby branch.
The busy noise in my brain silenced
As I wait to hear the sound of God’s voice.

The sun penetrates the branches of the tree above me
Awakening the fragrances of the dampened earth
And the flowering bushes that play hide and seek from its rays
All my senses on alert to hear God’s voice.

Deeper into the vortex I drift;
Falling into its deepening silence.
Suddenly I hear a whisper like a heart beat;
A sound like a waterfall and a bird’s song
An awakening of the earth floods my being:
God’s Voice.

Copyright 2012 Susan Handle Terbay

There is something loving about being called mommy. Mommy speaks of a closeness; a special bond between child and parent. As a mommy I did no wrong in the eyes of my children. When they called out ‘mommy’ whether in distress or happiness I knew I could fulfill their needs. I was ‘mommy’ and as we all know ‘mommies’ can do anything; we are wise, loving and cuddly warm. It always felt like whatever the day’s events would bring about for my children that everything would be okay when I was mommy to them.

Now I’m called, mom or mother but never mommy any more. My children are young men and women living on their own, making their own choices and living the results of those choices; it is what I wanted for my children; to become independent thinking adults living their hopes and dreams. Sometimes those hopes and dreams are shattered and I find that I can no longer make a hurt go away. So I watch, I weep and I feel their pain but I cannot kiss it away any more because I’m no longer mommy – I’m mom or mother to them and can no longer fulfill their needs.

I wish some days that I was mommy again and be able to hold my child and say, “everything is going to be okay.” I am however, the mother of some phenomenally good young people who have strength of character and are generous of heart and I find many times they are the ones who tell me “it’s going to be okay.”

As I smile with tears remembering the days of young motherhood, I try to think of what other endearing name or title brings back such warm memories of love but I cannot think of any for there are no other endearing names for me other than mommy.

Happy Mother’s Day – Mommies!

Copyright 2012 Susan Handle Terbay

How do we live in creation? Do we relate to it as a place full of “things” we can use for whatever need we want to fulfill and whatever goal we wish to accomplish? Or do we see creation first of all as a sacramental reality, a sacred space where God reveals to us the immense beauty of the Divine?  (Henri Nouwen, The Sacredness of God’s Handiwork)

Recently during a conversation in my office a younger co-worker and I talked about how we as a people seem to have become a ‘throw away’ society.  Just look at our landfills and the streets and alleys on trash pick-up days.  Granted some things are trash and of course should be thrown away or possibly recycled.

How often do we throw away a piece of clothing because of a missing button, a tear or a need for a patch or even because it is out of fashion?  The item is perfect except it isn’t the current style or color or it has a slight flaw and instead of repairing it or ignoring what designers tell us we must wear, we get rid of it.  How often are toys thrown away because we didn’t want to bother to fix it – like replacing a wheel, repainting it or just making it new again – instead we just throw it away and get a better toy – a brighter more ‘newer’ version; forgetting of course the possible connection of a child to this particular toy.  We do the same with furniture, chairs, cushions and pillows.  Then of course there are the cars and computers, phones and tv’s we ‘trade up’ or just discard because we deem our needs are much greater and should be acknowledged as such. Which eventually becomes a vicious continuous cycle because all such things become more improved, more efficient, more, more, more.

Take a moment and look at the waste of food in our society and ask ourselves what part do we play in all this waste when we know so many children in our own country go to bed hungry or are dying from hunger in various parts of our world?  How much of our food do we throw away in a month’s time?  We order food in a restaurant and the portions are always too large – do we ask to have it boxed or do we just allow the food to be thrown away by the restaurant.  We purchase food in our grocery stores and perhaps purchase portions more than we need – do we divide everything and store it or do we cook it up and what is not eaten throw away. Do we ever try to make ‘new dishes’ from left-overs?  Do we ever think of a neighbor who has been laid off from work who might benefit from extra food; or an elderly person down the street who would love to taste our cooking or do we ignore those in need and just throw away food because we can?

If we are a person of throw-a-ways – not fixers then why is that?  What has changed us into a person in which fixing is beneath us and we deserve nothing but the newest and the best?  How much money could we save in our budget if we just did a little sewing? How much of a joy could we give to a child if we just fixed a toy?  How much pleasure could we give another by repairing furniture and giving it to them because they had no money to purchase any such items?  What a difference we could make if we shared a meal, shared an over-purchase of food items to someone whose cupboards are empty. What if everyone did this for each other?  We could begin within our own families because I’m sure we each know of someone who is hurting in some way that we could help ease the pain.  We can then take this idea to our neighborhoods; to our cities; to our states; to our country; to our world.

What about our relationships?  Are we also a throw-a-way person when it comes to people who come in and out of our lives?  Do we discard a friend because they made a mistake that hurt us?  Do we reject an outreached hand of forgiveness by another because we judged them and refuse the gesture?  Do we abandon all hope of love, reconciliation or acceptance with another because it is easier to walk away than to create an understanding?  Is it more convenient to hate and feel nothing than to love and take a chance?

What do we regard as inconvenient to be thrown away and not worth fixing?  What about friends, family, the poor, the unborn, the elderly, the disabled, the vulnerable of our world, all creatures great and small, the products we make, the air we breathe, as well as the water and the land that sustains life – the environment we share with all living beings – are not all of these worth fixing when they becomes broken, torn, flawed or in need of healing?

As in Henri Nouwen’s quote do we see creation as a place full of ‘things’ in which we can use and abuse and throw away or do we dare see creation through God’s eyes as something very sacred?  What is our answer?

And so it happened. God looked at everything he had made and he found it very good. Genesis 1:30-31

2012 Susan Handle Terbay

So often little angels come into this world
already destined to face the next.
What is the purpose of a life
lived so briefly, taken away so soon?

I sit at the grave of a little baby girl.
She died in 1848, living 4 months, 20 days.
Leaving her mother’s arms empty and
her father’s heart forever broken.
Most of the world never knew of her existence or departure.

The only sign of her presence on this earth
is her grave marker,
with a small angel situated on top;
guarded by a pine tree;
surrounded by the beauty of nature.

Often I find myself sitting on the bench near her grave;
praying to this baby to ask God to watch over my babies;
and the youngest in my family;
believing she is one of God’s messengers
who will delivery my prayers.

I envision her as a little toddler,
scampering from God’s arms
to listen to someone like me and
then scampering back into the arms of God
with a message, a prayer, a dream yet to be.

Prayers, hopes and dreams
both given
and received
through God’s littlest messengers.

Copyright 2012 Susan Handle Terbay

There may be times when we are powerless to prevent injustices, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest.

How often have we been asked to ‘walk our talk?’ In other words, if we believe in a cause or we have a view regarding a certain injustice, then instead of just bemoaning the circumstances or just talking about it, we are asked to actually do something about it. Walking our talk isn’t necessarily easy; but what if we are asked to walk our talk barefooted? When we walk barefoot we feel the ground under our feet which makes our feet subject to bruises, scratches, and cuts. Walking our talk barefoot is feeling our words and the depth of the injustice which in turn could subject our heart and soul to bruises, scratches and cuts.

Our nation has a history of people ‘walking their talk’ whether it is regarding the differences of classes, violation of rights to the protest of wars. The March for Life in DC is an example. Many walk this march for life to protest abortion but to walk this particular talk barefooted means more than protesting abortion, I believe it means marching for ‘all life’ not just ‘selected life.’ If we march for life then we walk against the vile treatment of our brothers and sisters who are gay; and against the condemnation of our neighbors of other cultures other than our own. We walk against the demeaning treatment of anyone for whatever reason. We hear the cry of the poor and do not ignore the child born into poverty. We walk against the use of the death penalty; and we seek other solutions to the sword rattling speeches urging us to go to war. For if we are pro-life then we see God in not just the unborn but the lives of everyone outside the womb, including the woman carrying the unborn within her. We see God in our environment and in the creatures God so lovingly gave the world and we stop the destruction of both.

When we seek to see God in another then we may even see ourselves in them. Is this scary? Yes. There are many who don’t see God in everyone or everything. And let’s face it – it is extremely difficult to see God in a person when their actions are so evil. Jesus was certainly a victim of evil acts and yet what did He do? He asked God to forgive them; not condoning their actions but seeing God’s image and likeness deep within them and wanting their souls to once again reflect His Father.

We also recently celebrated Martin Luther King Day; honoring the man who forced a nation to see the social injustice of many of its people, walking his talk to DC and other cities – encouraging all of us to walk with him. He walked his talk barefooted with the scars of those who suffered for so many years. Was it easy? No. So many were against him and it takes courage and compassion to stand up for those who suffer the impact of racism and defilement of their humanity. There are many throughout history who have walked their talk barefoot. Some that come to mind are Abraham Lincoln, Dorothy Day, Ghandi and Nelson Mandela, Sister Dorothy Stang and Oscar Romero. Each one found themselves outside of their comfort zone to walk their talk for those who were lost to society; those oppressed and ignored; those brutally beaten and destroyed. Who in our own lives do we know who walk their talk barefoot?

Jesus could have remained quietly in the background, teaching others of God’s dream for all of us but He took the path God asked of Him and walked it – barefoot. He didn’t just point out the errors of our ways He challenged us to change our ways. Because of this many found Him anti-God, anti-law, and anti-their way of life. He walked His talk with courage and compassion; feeling the pain and frustration of the poor and those treated unjustly; challenging all of us to see God’s image and likness in all of creation. The final path to Golgotha, Jesus carried the weight of our sins upon His shoulders; walking His talk barefooted which not only bruised His actual feet but His heart and spirit as well.

At the Last Supper, Jesus took a basin of water and a towel to wash the feet of the apostles. Jesus explained to everyone there; “You may not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand” (John 13:7.) I’m wondering though if Jesus wasn’t also looking at the feet of His followers, knowing the challenges and courage it was going to take to walk their talk barefooted; seeing the bruises, cuts and wounds they were about to endure for Him, both physically and spiritually. I like to think Jesus also was blessing their feet and not just cleansing them.

As we face injustices in our world, we have choices – we can talk about it and do nothing, or we can walk our talk and do something, which is good – or we can be even more open to Jesus’ call and walk our talk barefooted. We might get some bruises or cuts – but following Jesus’ teachings has never been about comfort and Jesus never said it would be easy but that it will be rewarded in heaven. As I write this column I know of my own limitedness, doubts and fears. I’m not sure if I can walk my talk barefooted. It scares me! Leaving a comfort zone of any kind is scary but envisioning a smiling Jesus, with possibly a basin of water and a towel at the end of my journey, ready to bless my feet makes the contemplation of walking barefoot worthwhile.

As we walk with Jesus this Holy Season of Lent and Easter, may we find the courage and grace to take off our shoes and take the chance and be open to continue to follow His teachings – barefoot.

Have a very Blessed Easter.

Copyright 2o12 Susan Handle Terbay

Years ago when I worked at a hospice care center I had the privilege and honor to be asked to join many people on their sacred journey of life to death. When ministering to the dying, one becomes aware of the value of life and the sacredness of death. I learned so much during my years at hospice and carry my stories and my experiences with me. One particular story always comes to mind when I hear the story of the Transfiguration.

A very dear friend of mine was diagnosed with cancer and it was a very aggressive cancer. She had been in homecare but the care was becoming too difficult on her family and so it was suggested that she come to the care center. I learned of the day of her arrival and the front desk called me when the ambulance arrived. Waiting at the door I watched as a frail, gaunt woman was brought in on a stretcher. Her beautiful auburn hair was gone and she wore a cap to cover her head. When she saw me she smiled and we reached out my hands to each other and we talked briefly. I told her I would visit with her the following day after she had been settled into her room and bring her Holy Communion.

The days that followed were special for both of us. After her many friends and family members would leave, I would stop in and sit with her and we talked about our children. She had three children and they were the ages of my three oldest and they all went to school together. At the time of her dying her children were out of high school but that didn’t stop her from being a mother or the concern she had of leaving them as any mother fears when facing such a situation. In our talks we shared stories and I always hoped I convinced her that her children will do well because she taught them so well and they loved her deeply.

One day when I stopped by with Holy Communion she grabbed my hand before I was able to start our routine of prayer and sharing the host. She looked into my eyes and said, “Sue, I’m so happy.” When she grabbed my hand her face began to glow and as she spoke her words she ‘transfigured’ in front of my eyes and she was no longer a frail, gaunt woman but a lovely woman whose eyes revealed peace and deep contentment – and yes love. Then just as Jesus became recognizable to His friends, she once again became the gaunt, frail woman I visited those many days. She smiled again and then we prayed and received Holy Communion.

I walked out of that room changed. Later when doing radio interviews after the book was published I shared this story often and every time someone would say, ‘well, she was under heavy medication, of course she felt happy, of course she changed.’ My answer was always, yes, she was on medication but I was not. She transfigured before me – not me before her! She saw something; knew something I could not see or realize. My friend gave me a glimpse of her soul and it was breathtaking.

So often we get caught up in the drama and the over-load of everyday life and we forget what life is – a gift. Those of us who have traveled the final sacred journey with those dying have become the witnesses of the true meaning of this gift and the importance of the soul within the person. Every person I encountered those many years were people like me – like all of us – sinners, imperfect, broken – living life each day as it presents itself; hoping we do it well. Not one person wished they made more money or worked more hours; no, they wished they would have said “I love you” more; smiled and laughed more; enjoyed God’s work of creation more.

Maybe today we take a moment and see the soul of another and be awed at the beauty – and see what God sees.

Image credit: Missy Red Boots

Copyright 2012 Susan Handle Terbay

This past Ash Wednesday the presider at the 10am Mass in our chapel here on campus, Father Jerry, had the statement of making our hearts whole again as part of his homily. I have been thinking of a mother’s heart, mine in particular but also other mothers and especially during this season of Lent, the heart of Mary.

When we answer yes to being a mother, we bring to that yes a feeling of anxiousness, hope and most certainly love. By saying yes, we open up our hearts to many moments that bring great depths of joy while also experiencing great depths of sadness and pain. It is a chance we take when we say yes to being a mom. It is the same chance Mary took when she said yes to God.

When our children are little we can’t wait to hear the words ‘mama’ coming from their little lips and the ‘luv you mama’ that comes from their tiny hearts. Later comes the sticky kisses and warm hugs that knocks us flat. Our hearts overflow to the point of bursting and we treasure these moments, these gifts given to us in a special place within our mother’s heart. It won’t be until later that such a place becomes our healing place.

There are the moments when our hearts break as we watch our child fall and cry out in pain; or when their first love ends or a dream has been dashed. We sit and we hold them, we cry with them and we just allow our heart to envelope theirs. Then there are the moments when doors slam, and the words “I hate you!” come from the same lips that once spoke of loving us; when hugs are brushed away or decisions made do nothing but shatter our hearts.

Did our Blessed Mother ever have her heart broken like we have had ours broken? After all she had the ‘perfect’ child – the Son of God – what could He ever do to break Mary’s heart? Well, Mary wasn’t shielded from watching her Son fall and cry out in pain – as a toddler or as an adult carrying His cross. She certainly witnessed His heart broken by others who no longer loved Him and ultimately she was with Him as His dream for all humanity ended on the cross. Did He ever say I hate you or slam doors in her face? No but watching Him leave home to minister to the people pierced her heart for she knew the danger He faced and yet she had to let Him go into other hateful arms while leaving her loving arms empty. As Jesus walked out her door, Mary knows exactly how we feel when those of us who have had to let our sons and daughters leave our loving arms for war and walk out our doors.

So while I sat in the chapel during Ash Wednesday Mass and Father Jerry spoke of returning to God with our hearts whole I sat with tears wondering how will I ever find all the pieces that broke within my heart these past 40+ years to give back to God my whole heart. How do other mothers do that and how did Mary?

Last night I thought about the times when words, decisions and actions broke my heart and I sat wondering how I could ever find all the shattered pieces. I then began to remember the moments my heart was overflowing to the point of bursting and thought of where I keep such treasures hidden. Interesting enough they are hidden within my brokenness and so I began to hear the loving words, felt the hugs that almost flattened me and envisioned and listened to the smiles and giggles; treasuring the days of just being mom and child, I found what I needed to glue the pieces of my heart back together. I took the sticky kisses and glued all the love and treasured moments I felt within my heart and slowly it became whole again. I believe Mary did the same as she sat alone that night following Jesus’ death, wondering where and how she could find the shattered pieces of her heart and become whole again. That first Easter morning, when Jesus hugged and kissed her, Mary’s heart was not only bursting to overflowing love, but was whole again.

So as I pray this Lenten Season I think of so many mothers, including myself, including Mary who have had hearts broken and realize we are not alone on this journey of motherhood. Sure, right now there may be a few cracks left to heal but our hearts will be whole again. It will happen when we return to God and are greeted with a kiss and hug by Jesus and just like Mary, our hearts will be bursting to overflowing love and whole once again.

Below is a poem I wrote about my treasures hidden within my mother’s heart….

Treasures Hidden Within My Mother’s Heart

Six beautiful gifts entered my life:

Jennifer,
Jacqueline,
Jocelyn,
John,
James,
Jeanette

Each one unique;
each one dwelling forever in my heart.

They are my greatest treasures;
more precious than any jewel
worth more than all the gold and silver in the world.

If you look deep within my eyes you will see…
a twinkle -
of sparkle
a flicker -
of glow
a tear -
of sadness
a tear –
of joy

All reflecting my ‘yes’; my destiny; my love; my children.

Copyright 2012 Susan Handle Terbay

It didn’t seem so long ago when one Christmas Eve,
it sat in a different place,
surrounded by twinkling lights and wrapped with a bright red bow.

The next morning the teddy bear found itself being scooped
up into a little boy’s arms.
The warmth of the day,
the sound of the carols,
the friendliness of the fire in the fireplace,
it was a wonderland to behold.

The little boy loved the teddy bear
and took it wherever he went.
Even when the teddy bear was left alone in the toy room
upon his return the little boy would immediately find the teddy bear
and cuddle it.
The best part was at night when the little child
took the little bear to bed with him.
Nothing felt so secure than to be tucked in bed
and feel the little boy’s arms holding it
as they both drifted off to dreamland.

When other little children would come over to play,
the little boy was very protective of his cuddly bear and
would not let anyone else play with it.
The little bear felt special,
the little bear felt loved

Years passed and the little boy played less and less
in the toy room and soon many nights would pass
and the little bear would not be picked up and cuddled and taken to bed.

Children would come in and toss it around
or throw it on the floor
Its eyes would search for the little boy to stop them
and protect it from their roughness, but the little boy
found toy guns and toy soldiers much more to his liking
and the little teddy bear wondered why.

If only the little boy would hold the teddy bear again,
the little boy would know that even though the little bear
no longer is new, it still has lots of love to give.

If only the little boy would remember
the teddy bear and the many hours they spent together,
especially the time when mom and dad didn’t under stand him
and the little teddy bear was the only one who listened.

If only the little boy would come back – maybe he will.
Until then, the fraying old teddy bear dreams of times past
as it sits in the corner
alone on the middle shelf.

Copyright 2012 Susan Handle Terbay

How often in our lives have we heard the phrase ‘sick and tired’ either from the mouth of our mothers or from our own mouths for our children? I remember a comedy routine by Bill Cosby when he was referencing his childhood and his mother was scolding him with the beginning of the phrase ‘sick’ and he finished the ‘and tired’ and said he doesn’t remember anything after that. It is a phrase uttered by mothers when they are just at the end of the line and fed up with whatever situation is going on with the family.

I am a mother of a soldier now veteran of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. I’m not a politician, lawmaker, general or leader of a country. I do not make the decisions to send soldiers off to war but I do see first hand the destruction that war produces – not only on the body but on the spirit of the soldier as well as the family and those who love them. And yes, I’m sick and tired of wars in our world. As with so many mothers it isn’t the labor of pain that is unbearable, it is watching one’s child in pain – whether physical, mental or spiritual that is the most unbearable pain of all. I can look at my son see gaping wounds in his soul that need to heal for they are festering wounds of the horror the war left behind. I know my son doesn’t see the wounds that his family sees. He believes if he just gets his life back in order everything will be okay as before his multiple deployments.

PTSD falls heavy upon the soldiers but it also falls upon the family and friends of the soldier. My son is a veteran of two terms of deployment in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. He was sent to Iraq at the beginning of the war, remaining 12 months; came home for six months, went back for 12 more months, returned home for a year and then was sent to Afghanistan for 15 months. He is now out of the military at his choosing because his young family fell apart while he was at war on his third deployment and his children needed him home. It was a painful decision because he loved being a soldier and the military life. He is the type of soldier the military needs but the destruction that he could not stop, the protection he could not provide was happening to his young family and he made the decision to leave in order to be more for his children.

For so many years I spoke out against the abuse of our soldiers by our government for treating them as robots and androids as though their lives and their families’ lives are expendable. A few years back I had the privilege to sit down with six other military families members to speak to Ohio Senator George Voinovich. I brought the picture of my son and his family and showed him that my son is not a robot or an android but a human being putting his life on the line for our country. I wanted justification for the multiple deployments that ignore the needs of the humanity of the soldier. I also had the privilege of being included in a conference call with Ohio Senator Sharrod Brown in which I asked him when all our soldiers are finally home from these wars and later into their lives when all the horror they experienced comes vomiting out of them – who will be there to help clean it up and to help them heal.

There are two losses from such wars – the physical loss of life and the loss of a part of one’s soul/spirit. The men and women from these two wars have experienced over and over again and again one deployment after another without having a chance to heal from the last deployment. It didn’t help that a representative from Ohio commented that the lives our young men and women was a small price to pay for this war. It doesn’t help that the military and society has this hang-up about seeking mental help – viewed as a weakness more than a definitive need. And it certainly didn’t help when the country was told to look away and ‘pretend’ there is no war and to go about our lives as though everything is just fine, while a certain segment of our society – the military suffered in so many ways.

Those of us in military families who have spoken out against the war are met with ugliness and destructive comments from our fellow citizens among which we are called unpatriotic and un-American. I’ve had friends tell me to stop speaking out because it would ‘hurt my son’s career!’ Really? He’s been thrown into the fires of hell with several deployments for a war that was a lie and I’m hurting his career? Of course none of them had a loved one in the military so I ignored their ‘concern.’ I had other friends tell me that, hey, this war isn’t as bad as Vietnam – there haven’t been that many deaths! I sat and wondered – well tell that to the mother and dad, or the wife and children of the soldier who just died or to the young mother of the warring country holding her dead toddler in her arms and tell them that this isn’t as bad as Vietnam.

As a mother I want to just explode and say to others who seek war, who seek to destroy our world that “I’m Sick and Tired!” Somewhere leaders and fanatic religious within our world have decided that children – our children are needed to fight ‘their wars – their beliefs.’ As mothers of the world, who are we allowing to take our babies we now nurse and turn them into killing machines? As mothers of the world, who are we allowing to convince our children that suicide is a good thing to promote fanatic beliefs? As mothers of the world who are we allowing to use our children as robots while ignoring the humanity our child?

Have we learned nothing from our past histories that violence and killing only causes more violence and more killings? Holy prophets of all the great religions have been sent
to give the message of peace and love. Why do powerful leaders and religious fanatics seem to always turn a deaf ear to such messages and why do they seem to have such a fear of these messages? Even in what they call justified wars it often leads to more wars and more killings of the innocents.

As a mother, I want to take these leaders who want war and killings and put them into a room and sit them down. They will be forced to come to a conclusion or never leave the room. Basically a permanent time-out until matters are resolved. However if they insist that fighting is the only answer then they are to strip and be naked of clothing and weapons, along with no food or water; just four walls and a concrete floor. The room could be freezing cold or horrifically hot. There will be no bodyguards, no one protecting them. It’s not about making things nice for them it is about facing their decision and not using others to make it happen. War is ugly and if they choose to fight then so be it – but no longer on their terms of using others. They will have to face each other because mothers around the world have decided that our children are not going to be used by such people for their agenda of violence.

No I’m not a politician, lawmaker, general or leader of a country. I’m also not naiveté of the powers of evil within our world or the need for military presence. I’m an American citizen and a mother of a veteran who has had enough. There is a March for Life happening every year in our nation’s capital with the focus on the life of the unborn. I believe that if people take the time to march for the child within the womb, then they must not stop “marching for life” once the child is born.

I’m a mother who is just sick and tired of the fact that we fail to learn these many years the destruction that war does to a person, to a family, and to a nation and ultimately the world. It must never be a knee-jerk reaction but the very last resort and then think again. I’m a mother who is so sick and tired of those who feed into violence as the only solution to a challenging situation. It is time for mothers to state; ‘not with my child and mean it.’

Copyright 2012 Susan Terbay

This made me think of our own spirits and like butterflies, our spirits should not be boxed or caged because like the butterflies our spirits will surely die; then I thought of other aspects of ourselves. How often do we box our dreams? Do they remain neatly wrapped with ribbons and bows to be opened upon our death?  What about love?  Do we box that up as well?  Keeping it tightly to our chest and not allowing anyone to even approach the possibility of being receptive to it or we being receptive to theirs?  And what about all the wisdom and experiences we have faced in this life of ours?  Do we box all of that away into a safe corner of our heart – never to be shared – never to be a way of reaching out and helping another woman; another child?  Will everything we have done in life die within the cages we have so diligently built these many years.   Or do we take a chance – do we let our spirits, our thoughts and our love be free to be?  Wow, can we?

The following is from an article I have that was written by Erma Bombeck in our Dayton Daily News dated February 4, 1996;

As a crusty female admiral once said, “A ship is safe in port – but that’s not where a ship was meant to be.”  She’s right.  It was meant to challenge the elements, ride the high seas and risk being sunk.

The life expectancy of a butterfly is very short and yet our world is touched and forever changed because of its brief moment on this earth. So too, our world is touched and forever changed because of our moment in time on this earth.  We must not allow ourselves or others to cage us in. Let us free our spirits, our dreams, our love and life experiences to find the adventure, the love and the joy of being and to flutter upon the flowers of life; allowing our being to touch and change the world as no one else can.

Copyright 2012 Susan Handle Terbay

In the stillness of a night
Mary cradles her newborn son.
Gently kissing his face as
she sings her lullaby.

Jesus gazes upon his mother’s face,
her voice soothes his fears,
her fingers wipe away his tears.
Cuddling him close to her heart
Mary comforts her Son.

Jesus gives one fleeting glance
into his mother’s eyes
then quietly drifts off to asleep.
The bond of love is strong.

The world outside his mother’s arms
is filled with uncertainty,
but cradled in Mary’s arms
Jesus sleeps, secured from what is
and what will be.

It is her touch, her voice,
her lullaby, a mother’s lullaby
that comforts our Savior.

Copyright 2011 Susan Handle Terbay

Years ago following the ending of my marriage I found myself facing a life of never ending bills and no hope for the future. We always had money problems – now this situation compounded them for me. I felt like a failure in my marriage along with facing the frustration of my limited income and no resources to sustain me and the children. I became like a frightened child as I awoke each day to new and different problems. There was no sun during those days, only clouds and they became darker and more ominous each day. I became behind in my mortgage payments which eventually caused my home to go into foreclosure. I met with my husband to see if he could do anything to stop the loss of the house. He said he would try.

I started looking at apartments but the rent was more than I could afford with four children and a dog. I also looked at homes for rent – again the cost was way out of our means. With no credit and a house in foreclosure bank lenders just basically laughed at me and I had no one to ask for help and felt there was nowhere to go for help. Much like so many of facing such struggles today – it is humiliating and frustrating to feel so powerless; to feel so hopeless. I didn’t want to be labeled a loser, but in the eyes of society, I was.

The final notice came regarding the loss of our home and the children and I were given 30 days to move out. The darkened abyss was growing around me and I don’t even remember how I lived during those days or what was happening with my children. It had become a matter of surviving each day. All my energies were pooled into one mission: to find a home and keep us together as a family. During this time I continued to work at my job at a hospice. I continued to do my ministries up at my church. No one had any idea of what was happening in my life – partly due to embarrassment on my part and partly because I felt so hopeless and alone and, yes, wishing it would all just go away.

It was the day of Thanksgiving and I had one week left to find a place to live and to keep my family together. Nothing was happening, nothing available, nothing, nothing, nothing… Earlier I mentioned my plight at work which was difficult but what was far worse was the look in my children’s eyes as they asked; “Mommy where are we going to live?” This ripped into my heart and I went to bed that Thanksgiving and screamed into my pillow; “I give up, God, I can’t go on any more.” I continued sobbing as I kept falling deeper and deeper into the endless pit of sorrow and hopelessness. As I fell into a deep dreamless sleep I whispered between sobs, “God, can you hear me?”

In the morning as I awoke and slowly began to face the day a cousin of my ex-husband, who is in the real estate business, called me. A couple of weeks earlier I had left him a message to please get in touch with me but didn’t give him much detail. He knew nothing of my circumstances until that morning and was very upset about the loss of my home. He told me of a home in my neighborhood that his agency had been trying to sell on the market but had no buyers and was sitting empty. He asked if I would be interested in renting it from him. With my heart in my throat I went to see the house. It was located on a busy street across from a tavern, hidden behind huge pine trees. The children could continue to go to the same schools and live near their friends. While it may not have done well on the housing market, it looked like a palace to me. I told him I had hesitated to call him since I was no longer family and I wasn’t sure how he would react to me. As I signed the contract that day, this man who I doubted would help me because I was not family any more, looked at me in the eyes and told me I will always be family!

The children and their friends moved our belongings two days before we had to be officially out of our home. Within a week an empty house on a busy street became a home and we could stay together as a family. When I returned to work the following week, my co-workers told me of how they had put my name in prayer chains at their churches. My support group stood in a circle and held hands praying to God for help in finding me a home. I was totally enveloped in the light of so many people, including people I never knew.

One of my favorite stories from the bible is the time when Jesus and the disciples were out on a boat and a storm came up. Jesus was asleep and the disciples began to panic and in a frightened state woke Jesus up. Jesus quietly calmed the storm. After the storm Jesus never told the disciples, “Now this is the last storm you will ever experience in your lives.” No, what He did try to convey to them is that whatever happens in life, we are never alone and to trust in God to either help calm the storm or to ride out the storm with us.

I share this particular Christmas story not only because it is etched in my heart but because I want to share the message and gift of hope. I was so beaten into despair and darkness that I could not see or hear the love surrounding me. God did not give up hope; I did. God did not give up on me; I did. God did not give up trust in friends and family; I did. It wasn’t until I fell into the darkened pit that night that God gently scooped me up and the light of hope shined around me.

Yes, I lost my home but did not lose my children; we remained together as a family. Yes, I still had bills to pay, family issues to deal with and every day life challenges to face including my recent battle with cancer. Life didn’t change; my view has. There is always hope in any situation – maybe not with the ending we wanted but a possibility of another.

Over two thousand years ago God gave us the gift of hope in giving us Jesus. We may have faith that moves mountains and love to embrace the world but I now believe that it is hope that makes faith and love possible. Jesus gave us that hope and no matter what life throws at us, the message of hope will see us through for we must learn to trust in ourselves, in others and of course in God and be open to possibilities beyond our own.

Have a Blessed and Holy Christmas Celebration and be open to God’s gift of Hope!

Copyright 2011 Susan Handle Terbay

Jesus said to them, “…Do you still not perceive or understand?  Are your hearts hardened?  Do you have eyes, and fail to see?  Do you have ears, and fail to hear?  And do you not remember?”

One of my most favorite stories of all times is the Christmas Carol written by Charles Dickens.  Towards the end of the story when Ebenezer Scrooge had experienced the visitation of the three specters he was standing inside the home of his nephew, Fred, and turned to his nephew’s wife saying:“Can you forgive a pig-headed old fool with no eyes to see with and no ears to hear with all these years?”   How uniquely beautiful Dickens quoted Jesus.

How often in our lives we walk blind – failing to see and worse failing to hear the cries of the poor, the frustration of the broken, the weeping of the forgotten, the destruction of families or the simple plea in a child’s prayer?   We say we are people of God; God’s children and yet do we understand each other, do we seek out each other and do we hear each other’s words?   This coming week, in our country, is the celebration of a family holiday – Thanksgiving.  It is truly a family day.  Yet in our society many families are hungry, hungry for each other to be home, hungry for food, hungry for justice. Many are separated by war, by sickness and just the distance of miles.   And now many will be separated by sales at stores who find the bottom line worth more than the people who work for them and the sanctity of family gatherings; or people who believe it is more important to spend money than to spend time with loved ones.

Years ago when my husband and I separated I decided that I would stop having Thanksgiving dinners. The children were older and had other families to visit and that was also their day to be with their father.  I began to use this particular holiday as a day of preparation for decorating my home for Christmas. I had a ritual of watching the movie Christmas Carol starring Alistar Sims; later I included the version of George C. Scott, Henry Winkler and the latest Patrick Stewart; once in awhile the Muppet rendition as well.  I had a special lunch and just enjoyed the day – alone.  It is what I felt I needed and I changed the focus of the day from family to just me.

It’s been twenty years now and last year I faced this family holiday with the fear of cancer growing within my body and I didn’t want to be alone on such a family day.  I wanted and needed family.  I had become my own Ebenezer  “a pig-headed old fool with no eyes to see with and no ears to hear with all these years.” So I joined my daughter at her home for Thanksgiving.   Unfortunately most of my children were not able to attend and so it was a limited number within the family but it was still family and not just me.

This year I decided to take back the tradition and have Thanksgiving in my home once again.  Two of my children and their partners along with three grandchildren are out of town and won’t be able to be home but they will be in my home in spirit and always near my heart. Adding to the guest list is my former husband, his girlfriend and my former mother-in-law.  No the world isn’t coming to an end but there is a rumor starting that speaks of Armageddon and the Four Horseman possibly stopping by my home!

This beautiful family of mine has endured years of not always being home for Thanksgiving – ranging from the separation by miles, by divorce, by war and also by sickness.  It is time we try to once again come together for one day to celebrate who we are – family.  Not everyone gets such a chance and not everyone chooses to take such a chance.  My children, their father and I and all the extended family and friends have made the choice, are taking a chance and saying yes to confirming the family we are – broken at times, poor at times and even separated at times – but always family.

So perhaps there might be some shaking of the earth this coming Thursday and maybe four men on four horses may come galloping down my street.  But it won’t be the end of the world; I’m praying it is the beginning of a new one.  In any event I hope to quote Tiny Tim at our dinner and say ‘God bless us everyone.”    And who knows maybe the youngest in the family will take it upon himself to ask ‘the God’ to bless all of us.

Have a Blessed Thanksgiving.

Copyright 2011 Susan Handle Terbay

As mothers our hearts too ache for these women. As mothers we know the value and treasure of the gifts of our children. There are no jewels as precious, no gold or silver as worthy as their lives. Our children are our treasures – gifts from a loving God. This moment is a reminder again of those gifts even when there are days of muddy floors, fussy babies, teenagers slamming of doors in which we ask ourselves why we became mothers. Why do we do what we do? The answer I believe is because we love, because we said yes, because we are mothers and it is our ministry.

The following is a reflection I wrote a year ago in which two other mothers of young students became apart of this sisterhood …. I ask your prayers along with mine as these mothers begin this part of their journey with empty arms.

With Empty Arms
By Susan Handle Terbay

Thrown together on their journeys;
two mothers walking/stumbling down a path
into a darkened abyss with empty arms.

They have no food for this journey.
No provisions to get them through the rough terrain.

They are thrust upon this path with empty arms.
Their tears blur their vision
their screams block the sounds from the outside world.

Oblivious to life,
they walk in death –
their hearts heavy,
their breathing shallow,
the pain of loss inconsolable
their arms empty.
a path that is new to both of them
but all too familiar to so many other mothers around our world.

Will their paths cross?
It is unknown.
There is only one reality that brings them together:
Death of their child.

For death snatched their children away from them
and like so many other mothers around our world
they will forever roam this earth
with empty arms.

Copyright 2011 Susan Handle Terbay

Over the past two years things have changed within the family dynamics of relationships but this relationship has not. Whenever my grandson has to leave my daughter’s home to be in his other home with his daddy and stepmother, he tells his mommy Jen how much he will miss her and sometimes he just wants her to be there to hug him. She always tells him that she says a prayer to God every night to give him a hug to let him know how much he is loved by both God and her. Of course for a five-year old having a spirit hug is nothing like a physical one so he asked her how he might feel it.  She tried to explain that he will feel better inside and that his heart will feel the hug.  Then his next response is of course about sharing which included the question, “Does God need any of my covers when he stops by to give me a hug?”  She laughed and said no.  Kind of hard to converse theology with a five year old but he slowly began to understand.  A week or two later he told her that he liked the idea of having ‘the God’ hugging him at night and he would ask ‘the God’ to give her a hug at night as well.

About a week ago he came running into her home he asked her, ‘Did you feel it?!’ A bit confused and unsure where he was coming from, she asked him, ‘Did I feel what?’   He said with excitement, ‘the God’s hug!’   He went on to say that when he went to bed every night during the past week, he asked ‘the God’ to give her a hug and now he wanted to know if she felt it!   She smiled and said, ‘Absolutely!’  Having such a child’s love – how could she not feel God’s love as well?

How often in our lives do we become so involved in the ‘every day’ that we fail to feel God’s hugs? Yes, we are physical beings and we need to be reassured with physical responses to our prayers, to our reaching out, to our desire to be loved and to love in return.  God knows this – thus the reason we have family and friends who show that love in the physical form.  However, God also knows we are spiritual beings and when there are no other humans around to hug us, to warm us up in their arms, or to feel a presence of life other than our own then God reaches out in another way.

Have you ever felt alone on an evening walk or sitting on a bench and wonder if God is near?  Life has been throwing a lot of uncertainties, difficulties and despair at you and you wonder if the prayers you pray to God are heard.  Then you hear a bird sing, or feel a soft breeze rustle through your hair or even a small critter come near by and looks at you or remains with you for awhile.  Have you ever been so sad that even the skies are overcast and the darkness of life overwhelms your being and then the sun peeks out from behind the clouds and you feel its warmth?  Has you heart been so heavy that it aches and then it lightens up and there’s no explanation as to why?  Have you ever been so depressed that nothing reaches inside you and then a baby laughs or a person smiles at you and life seems a bit better?

I believe there are little children out there praying for their mommies and daddies, for their siblings, friends and especially their grandparents and God smiles and listens.  But then again, are we not all God’s children and does not God also smile and listens to all children created?  Did you feel it? Did you feel it today – God’s smile, God’s hug in those moments when no human could touch you?

Life constantly changes but those of faith know there is but One Constant….

Change vs. Constant

Each dawn brings change and yet…

The sun still rises in the east

The birds still sing a welcome song

Creation awakens

Each night brings change and yet…

The sun still settles in the west

The birds quiet their songs

Creation sleeps

The changes lives within the constant

Nothing in life is identical

Each moment

Each breath

Each blink of an eye

Each heart beat

All of this speaks of change

because it has never been experienced until it happens

The only constant is the One whose love never changes.

Copyright 2011 Susan Handle Terbay

The destructiveness of chemotherapy vs the destructiveness of cancer became my own “Clash of the Titans” and my body and soul their battlefield.  (From my journal)

For as long as I can remember I’ve tried to understand why in this day and age of humanity that wars still rule our world.  Have we not grown in intelligence, understanding, diplomacy and education to avoid violence and the so often knee jerk reaction of retaliation?  It began for me in the 60’s when as a young woman I saw many friends go off to Vietnam and the loss of so many lives through death and injuries and mental breakdown.  And what did that conflict prove or accomplish?  What does any war accomplish but the loss of life and the rationale of using animal instincts in solving conflict and disagreements.   I’m not naive in understanding that sometimes, yes, sometimes, war is necessary but only as a last resort and it seems all too often it isn’t – it is the first and foremost reality.  Yes, there are evil, destructive people out there – who have no respect for life or the world or God.  But does that justify the fact that we become like them – or do we take the higher road and bring them to our terms?   How does destroying innocents give us respect for life, world or God?

So this has been my belief these many years and then I found myself in my own personal ‘war’ against an entity that holds within it no respect for life, the world or God  and its name is cancer.  When I was first diagnosed I was called upon to join the Army of Women.  The group represents support for women facing and fighting breast cancer.  I signed up but have not been an active member.   I read the emails but that is the extent of it.   It isn’t that I don’t feel I need the support or can be of help in fighting cancer but I just didn’t have the strength or the ability to be apart of anything let alone being apart of an army.  I needed family love and support to help me live the days.

I’ve often wondered why ‘army’ and not ‘pride’ of women.  In the animal world a pride of lions has within it a very dominant female group protecting their young and supporting the family to survive the elements through their hunting skills and courage to face any enemy because of their ‘love’ and care for the pride; the family.   I feel as though I’ve been drafted into an army, but I wanted to belong to a pride.

The reality is that I have had a war declared within my body and the result has been massive destruction.  The war declared upon cancer includes chemical warfare and radiation; both destructive in nature and yet the only resource available to conquer cancer.   My body has become the killing field.  As with any war most of the damage is not visible to the eyes but the effects are deep and forever. As with any war, good is also destroyed and much within my body was destroyed and now reconstruction of the damage is slowly beginning to emerge.

My views about war has not changed – only been confirmed.  Unfortunately for me I had to take up arms to fight a disease.  My hope is that in the future no child and no woman will ever have to make such a decision because we have learned and discovered other ways to get rid of that which seeks to destroy life.

When I first heard the word cancer and found myself sitting alone in the parking lot outside my doctor’s office I felt numb.  The sun was beaming and yet I felt no warmth.  The words sank into my soul and I thought, okay, now what?   I called into work, said I was not coming in and told them I would share my information when I came in the next day.   I called my oldest daughter and said we are going Christmas shopping for my grandchildren and to please let the rest of the family know I do have breast cancer.

On my drive over to my daughter’s home I told God, ‘okay, this is the deal – I’ll take on this cancer thing but something good has to come from it.’ Was I threatening God?  No.  I was simply doing what I have always done in the past when facing a challenge – putting it out there that I need God desperately to help guide me and in turn find the good out of something so bad.

Granted I do not have the cancer of others, who suffer greatly, but I do have the cancer of my mother and I saw her suffering, heard her screams and watched her leave this life never to return.  I then prayed to my mother to ask her what I need to know and to do and through this journey she has been with me in spirit and in soul.

Cancer attacked my body, attempted to attack my spirit and soul.   I told the oncologist at one time that if I go through all of this and then get run over by a bus I’m really going to be ticked off.  He laughed and said I bet you will be.  I fought cancer with all I had been given.  Does this guarantee me life?  It gave me possibly 10 years or more without cancer but there are no guarantees of life’s longevity.  Heart disease still is a strong component in my family’s health history.

The fact is that life is a gift – precious and filled with many options, challenges and as I found other once again – love and support.  I only have this moment to live.  My life is a gift from God; how I live it is my gift back to God.

Copyright 2011 Susan Handle Terbay

Since I have become a mother I try to reflect on God through my own experiences as a mother.  In my own limited humanity I know the depth of my love for my children with all their differences and imperfection and how I would die for them.  Then I think of God and His greatness of unconditional love and how much He loves all of His children – with all our differences and imperfections.   If I can love within my limitedness – how much more does God love in his unlimitedness? If someone would state that I didn’t love one or any of my children for one reason or another, I’d listen with astonishment thinking that obviously they don’t know me.  Does God listen with astonishment to the rhetoric that He hates any of His children for one reason or another and then thinking that obviously we don’t know Him?

As a mother I have seen hate for my children.  After 9/11 my children were immediately profiled because their father is Lebanese and their features are that of Mideastern people.  I watched in horror as some people stared with hate in their eyes at my one son and how he had to endure hateful words at his place of work. He is one of the most generous and delightful people I know. Why hate him?  When my daughter-in-law was pregnant with my youngest granddaughter she heard a waitress comment to another about how could she carry a terrorist child! This son, the daddy, at the time was a soldier who had put his life on the line to defend this country against terrorists. Why hate him?  My youngest daughter is gay and I cannot imagine what she may have had to endure herself for she is a private person.  She is one of the most warm and caring young women I know. How can anyone hate her? All my children are wonderful people – gifts to our world!  I believe God understands my anger and the depth of my pain for my children because others hate them for whatever reason. For God sent us Jesus and what did we do to this perfect human, this Son?  We hated Him; we scourged Him, spat upon Him and then nailed Him to the cross and walked away as He hung dying.   Yes, we all did this to Him through our sins. He didn’t have to die, we could have listened to God’s message of love and change but we didn’t and sad to say it seems we still haven’t changed.   Did God hate us for that?  Did Jesus?  No.  Do I hate those who hate my children?  I want to hate them but then I’d become just like them.  What good is that? How can I justify my hate when God asks me to love?

I recently watched a YouTube video of a young gay boy of 14.  His message that he wanted to convey to other young gay teens is for them to hang in there ‘it gets better.’  He went on to speak of his own experiences in his young life that revealed hatred of him by others and yet his final words were about his family who loved him and others he admired for standing up for his rights; ending his video with ‘it gets better.’   Tears came heavy because before I watched the video I knew that the young man who tried so hard to make others believe it gets better had committed suicide.  His heartbroken parents have now taken up their son’s words, to tell his story. Others have picked up his message of hope. It isn’t the young man’s suicide that defines him – it is his story, his words and those words continuing through those who love him.  The message of hate failed – the message of love prevails.

It is when the hate takes over and blinds our sight, and deafens our ears that it destroys our belief that we are all children of God, imperfect, different but most of all loved by God, our Creator.  If we are silent to the rhetoric and hateful words then do we condone hate?  I believe we do. We have a choice to love or hate but hate only destroys and love gives life and isn’t that what mothers do? Give life?  We can stop the constant need to judge and hate each other. As women and mothers it is time that we reflect God’s love through our speaking up for those who have no voice, through teachings our children of tolerance and acceptance of each other and finally through reaching out and showing God’s love through our every day actions. Silence is no longer an option.   God is listening – what are we saying to and about God?  Who should we love today?

Copyright Susan Handle Terbay

One Tuesday morning towards the end of July I was cleaning the chapel and watering the many plants at the altar.  The altar is situated a bit higher than the main floor; on a huge platform type arrangement – two steps higher than the main floor.  That morning, as I was watering the plants, I was to the side of the altar and when I turned I literally fell forward off the steps and down onto the main floor.  Everything is carpeted but it still was a jolt to my body.  I sort of sat there thanking God that no one was around to watch my graceless fall and also just wanted to rest a bit to see if I did any damage to this ole body. I looked at the clock in the back of the chapel and the time was around 10am.  Mass didn’t start until noon, so I figured I had time to sit before people started arriving.  However, on the other hand if I was unable to move then I would be sitting there for at least two hours.  After taking some deep breaths I pulled myself up and slowly limped back to the sacristan’s office and called Teri, the assistant to the director in campus ministry.  I whispered on the phone to not say anything to anyone and to just come over to the office in the chapel.  Why I was whispering is clueless to me now because no one on her side of the phone would hear me anyway!   She quickly came over and asked what had happened and I told her.  At that time I felt my ankle aching and so she and I drank a coke and decided that I should call it a day.

The following Saturday was the last wedding for me and so once again after the rehearsal I asked the angels to help me, and especially for this wedding because I was moving a bit slower.  All went well and when August arrived I resumed my usual work in campus ministry.  Once in awhile when I stopped by the chapel I’d mention to the angels about my fall and asked them if they had been ‘messing around’ and thus causing me to trip and fall.  Of course there was no answer.  The answer for me came in a different way a couple months later.

In October I went to see my doctor and I told her about my fall and that I had noticed that I felt a lump and wondered if I had pulled a muscle.  After all I had fallen forward and my hands and arms kept me from hitting flat onto the floor so I figured a muscle must have been pulled. She examined me and when she pressed in one area, I felt it, and said, yes, that’s it.  Then she continued to press and asked about another area of which I said, no, that’s not where the discomfort is and no I didn’t feel anything in that area.  She looked concerned and said she was going to go ahead and set up for my yearly mammogram and another test if needed.

Of course the rest is history.  My doctor felt the lump that I did not feel which resulted in the removal of the cancerous tumor in my breast and the follow-up treatments of chemotherapy and radiation.  I have been on a path I never imagined I would be on.  My mother died at the age of 52 from breast cancer.  Somewhere in my illogical thinking was the fact that since I made it past the 52 year old mark that my mother was when she died of breast cancer and the fact that I have been living healthy these many years that breast cancer was not going to find me.

I believe the angels needed to shake me and knock me literally on my butt to awaken me to the fact that a tumor was growing inside me.  That morning there was no reason for me to trip – nothing was in my way and it happened instantly.  The lump I felt was not a lump at all but I believe a guise to get me to the doctors.  This coming week I will have my final treatment and have declared that once that has happened the next day is ‘happy dance day.’   I have invited friends, co-workers, and family and also others I do not even know who have prayed for me these many months to join me in my happy dance whether physically or spiritually.  For everyone who has walked with me I now ask that those same people now dance with me.  As for the angels in the chapel; oh, we will definitely be dancing up and down the aisle for many years to come!

My mother discovered her lump but unfortunately back then she didn’t have all that is available to women now-a-days to be cured or given a second chance at life. I have decided to work with my angels in the chapel and encourage every woman I know to get a mammogram and to check her breasts for signs of lumps.  Of course I have no intention of tripping anyone in order to get their attention but if I have to get through to someone like me, then I know who to turn to in order to make my point understood!

Copyright 2011 Susan Handle Terbay

When we go through difficult moments in our lives whether it is spiritually, mentally or physically, I know I go through a lot of inner conflict, doubts, concerns and over-all feelings of uncertainties. Have you ever found yourself in the middle of your struggles and others tell you how strong you are and that you will get through this, etc. etc.? While you graciously say thank you, have you wanted to scream back “NO! I am not strong. I’m hurting and I feel so very weak.” I often wonder did Mary ever want to scream back as well?

I believe Mary asked questions – it began when the angel Gabriel told her she was pregnant with God’s son. Her first comment was ‘how could this be?’ Yet even in this question she has the faith that an answer will be forthcoming. In that instance she taught me about faith – that it is okay to question God and to seek answers trusting that God’s love will respond. I learned that faith is based on trust outside oneself with love as a foundation.

Did Mary get angry? I think she did but certainly not in a violent way. She must have experienced anger at the way her people were treated by the Romans, the way her Son was treated by those who wanted his teachings silenced, and the way society looked down upon the poor. Jesus grew angry with those who desecrated the temple. I can only imagine how Mary must have felt with those who desecrated her son’s body. She taught me that it is okay to be angry but not allow anger to control me.

Did Mary ever get frustrated? All of us when embarking on our call to ministry, no matter what it is, feel a bit uncertain at times, wondering if we are making the right decision. I’m sure Mary felt frustrated when the apostles didn’t understand her Son’s message. She taught me to be patient when things just aren’t happening as I believe they should.

Did Mary ever feel helpless? I’m sure as Mary stood in the midst of the crowd watching Jesus be condemned to die and then standing at the foot of the cross, she must have experienced helplessness. I wonder if deep inside she asked herself if there was something she could have done something different to spare her Son from such an ending to his life work. She taught me to hang in there when everything seems so very hopeless.

Did Mary feel despair? That night after her son was taken to a burial sight, Mary was alone in her grief, even if John and other friends and family members were with her. Her depth of brokenness was something only she herself could feel and in which the tears she shed could not fix. Too many mothers know of such overwhelming despair such endless grief. She taught me about the sisterhood of women and mothers of our world.

There are books galore about how to raise children. There are no books that teach a mother not to be a mother after her children are grown and on their own. There are no books out there that speak of how not to worry any more about your children or how not to miss them or not think about them every day. There are no books that teach a mother how to go on with her life as though her children are no longer a part of her life. And most certainly no books to comfort a mother watching a child die or holding a dead child in her arms. Mary experienced all of this and more.

As I continue to write about my motherhood, Mary plays a vital part of it as I reflect upon her love, her depth of faith, her womanhood and motherhood. She is my friend, my mother and my mentor. I want other women and mothers to know Mary as I know her and through her share their memories and stories with others.

The Hail Mary prayer is a beautiful prayer and I recite it throughout the rosary but I also have my own rendition and I recite it this morning …

Hello Mary,
friend, mother and mentor,
so comforting and loving,
and filled with God’s love.

You are the complexity and
simplicity of woman
and nurturer of Holy Life.

I ask you,
to guide me with your wisdom
to sustain me with your understanding,
to empower me with your faith,
to comfort me with your love,
and be with me now until my last breath.
Amen

Copyright 2011 Susan Handle Terbay

Editor’s Note: Today, we continue Susan Handle Terbay’s delightful series of stories for children. Written by a loving mom and grandmother, these stories are something special for you to share with your little ones. Enjoy! LMH

Grandma’s House

As I enjoy the role of ‘grandmother’ I treasure my own memories of the only grandmother and grandfather I ever knew.  Grandparents are very special people whose love and stories help form each of us if we are lucky enough to have them in our childhood.

“Get your stuff together Carolanne,”  mother calls out as Carolanne finishes breakfast.

“We’re going over to grandma’s.”

One of the fun things that Carolanne loves to do with mother is to go to grandma’s.  Which they do almost every day since grandma lives across the road.

Today, mother is going to make dresses for Carolanne’s older sisters.    After breakfast mother gathers the material, patterns and puts them in her brocade sewing bag that daddy has made for mother.  It is a large bag.  The bag is brightly colored with large red and pink roses on a light green background that is attached to dark wooden handles.  It is large enough for her to carry all the items she needs to take over to grandma’s.

While mother is putting her stuff together, Carolanne runs to her room and picks up Scooter, along with her crayons and coloring books.  Sometimes Carolanne’s cousins would show up and they would spend time rolling down the hills in grandma’s back yard or playing hide and seek.   Carolanne packs her crayons and books any way.   She places them in a red canvas bag that mother made her.

With Scooter in one hand and her bag over her shoulder she runs to meet mother at the front door. After mother locks the door, Carolanne takes her hand.

Together they walk down the gravel lane that leads to the road where grandma lives.  Looking both ways mother says it is ok to cross and Carolanne skips across and runs to the iron-gate that enters grandma’s front yard.  Family always goes into grandma’s at the back so Carolanne runs around the side to the back porch and up the steps.

The back door leads into a large country kitchen with high cupboards and a huge kitchen table.  Grandma is sitting at the table  and turns as she hears the door open.

She is a small woman about 5 feet tall with snow-white hair that is held in place by a grey hair net.  Her cream colored dress has tiny purple violets scattered on it.

“Hi, grandma!” cries Carolanne.

Grandma opens her arms and Carolanne runs to receive the wonderful warm hug grandma always has for her.   Grandma has a sweet fragrance about her and her hugs always feels so good.

Coming up from the basement steps wearing a blue shirt and with stripped suspenders holding up his grey pants is grandpa, chewing his tobacco.

“Hi, grandpa”, Carolanne cries.

“How’s my girl” replies grandpa as he pats her on the head.  Grandpa is a slender, muscular man with thick silver hair and a handsome youthful face.  Whereas grandma smells sweet, grandpa always smells of tobacco.

Both scents Carolanne treasures in the special place near her heart.

“What are you up to today Carolanne?” asks grandpa.

“Mommy is making dresses for Kit and Pat and I came to watch.” she replies.

At that moment her mother walks in and places her bag on the table.

“Let’s see what you have here,” says grandma.

And the two of them start to get the material and patterns out of the bag.  Grandpa goes outside to work in the yard.  Carolanne gets comfortable at the chalkboard in the corner of the kitchen.  She places Scooter on the bench under the window by the board and begins drawing and trying to print her name on the chalkboard.

Meanwhile grandma and mother talk about the material, the day, and family happenings.

Carolanne loves this kitchen.  The smells of coffee brewing, breakfast eggs, rolls fresh from the oven and the beginnings of a soup fill the air.

The house is the home grandma had grown up in as a little girl.  There is a lot of land with vegetable gardens and fruit trees much like at Carolanne’s along with rolling hills and a train track that runs through the property.

The kitchen is the favorite room with its many warm, inviting aromas.  The walls hold within them so many stories.

Grandchildren knew where Grandma kept her special treats.  She has large jars of candy  on shelves under the huge cabinets– not the candy mom and dad would have but candy only Grandma bought.  There would be hot cinnamon balls, chewy orange slices, and large gum drops.

Off the kitchen is the sitting room where grandma has her rocker facing the corner windows.  Sitting there one can see the back yard with all its trees and hills.  There also is another chairs and a bench and a table with a lamp and bible next to the rocker.  It isn’t a large room but a comfortable one.

From the sitting room an archway on the left leads into the huge living room.  This room was off-limits to grandchildren.  It is opened to everyone on certain holidays like Christmas when all family members are present and the house is filled to over-flowing.   It has high windows and a wonderful lemon polish smell.  Everything always seems in place here.  Off to one side is grandma’s quilting rack where she sits for many hours making quilts for family or friends.

To the left is another large archway that leads into the huge dining room with its dark wooden table and china cabinets.  Again not a room Carolanne and her cousins are allowed to play in but once in awhile they would sneak and hide under the table to try and listen to the adults as they talk in the living room.

The living room and dining room faces the front of the house where there is the door that goes out to the porch with its swing and large pillars.

From the dining room the entrance to the left goes right back to the kitchen.  To the left of this entrance is the door to the basement where there is a huge coal furnace and scary hiding places.

The second floor where all the bedrooms are located can be reached from the sitting room that has a door that leads to the steep steps that climb to the second floor.  At the top of the steps on the left is the bathroom.  To the right is a long hallway with two small bedrooms on the left and one large dorm room on the right. At the end of the hallway is grandma and grandpa’s bedroom with its large four poster bed.  The fragrance of lavender sachets fills the room.  A chest with linens and lace stands in the corner with old family pictures.  The long windows with lace curtains to the floor and shades face the front of the house and bring in the western sun.

Carolanne loves every inch of the house and often goes to the sitting room with Scooter and just sit in grandma’s rocker and daydream as she looks out the corner windows.

When mother and grandma finished cutting the material, grandma comes into the sitting room and sits in her rocking chair.  Carolanne goes over and grandma scoots over, patting the space next to her. Carolanne sits down and snuggles in the warmth of grandma’s arms.

It is Carolanne’s most favorite part of visiting.  Sitting next to grandma and just listening to her.  Her stories are about her childhood and grandpa’s and how things have changed in the world.  She spoke of letters her aunt received from Civil war soldiers and how in her lifetime she saw cars and airplanes come into being. Always she had bits of wisdom of life.  Later Carolanne will call upon these pieces of wisdom with her own children and grandchildren.

Carolanne sits and traces her little fingers over grandma’s old hands.  Grandma’s hands fascinate Carolanne with all its wrinkles, vessels and scars.  They are both strong and gentle hands.

Mother gathers all her items and calls to Carolanne from the kitchen that it is time to go home.

Carolanne gets her bag and with Scooter in hand hugs kisses grandma goodbye.  In her bag, grandma has slipped a couple pieces of candy.

Grandpa is out in back at the garden and Carolanne waves him goodbye.  As she reaches up and takes mother’s hand, Carolanne looks back as grandma stands at the door and grandpa stands in the garden,  both waving.

These are two special people in Carolanne’s life.  Again, secretly Carolanne places this day with all her other wonderful memories in a special place hidden near her heart.

Copyright 2011 Susan Handle Terbay