Success

 

Firm Believer

I am a firm believer that angels surround us.

I don't see them as having angels and halos.

I see them as I see us.

Yesterday as I sat alone in the dentist office, preparing for a procedure, I was scared.

I was shaking.

I was crying.

I said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father to allow my Grandma Robb to come sit with me.

I do this often.

My grandma died when Jackson was four months old.

I have felt her with me, and have had very sacred moments with her, since then.

I immediately felt comfort and peace and a presence that I can only describe as love and familiarity.

I believe strongly that when we ask for our loved ones to be with us, Heavenly Father hears our prayers.

It isn't usually like in the movies when angels, in white gowns and halos and wings, fly down from the sky.

It's very "normal." 
A presence.

In the room with us.

I am so grateful for my belief, not just faith in this.

T told me of another angel experience yesterday.

She had called a woman to tell her that her Covid test was positive.

The woman then wept and told her that last week, she had gone to see her dad who died of Covid.

T expressed to me that she stayed on the phone with the woman and cried with her.

Heavenly Father made T available to this woman in her desperate time of need.

And, T was there.

Of course T was there!

I am so grateful for my experiences in my life that have allowed me to see the hand of God in so many things, in so many times and in so many places.

 

Failure

I did a thing!

 I made this graphic.

I cannot get enough of this quote from my friend's son.

So, now I have it forever. 

You have all heard the stories about failure.

Michael Jordan. 

Steve Jobs.

Heidi Aubrey.

Yup, I totally just put myself in the same category as them!

Michael Jordan:

“I have missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I have lost almost 300 games. On 26 occasions I have been entrusted to take the game winning shot, and I missed. I have failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.”

Elizabeth Blackwell:

Elizabeth Blackwell was rejected from 29 medical schools. So, she went to visit the schools in person. She was told she should pretend to be a man, because women weren’t fit to receive medical schooling.

She refused.

Blackwell was accepted by mistake by Hobart College (then Geneva Medical College), and she matriculated. Many MD’s refused to work with her, but she persevered and graduated.

Elizabeth Blackwell was the first woman to receive a medical degree in the U.S. (1849). She then built a medical practice, created a place where women could have medical internships (since many healthcare facilities didn’t welcome women), served impoverished families, and established the first medical college for women.

Charles Schwartz:

Charles Schultz’s drawings were rejected by his high school yearbook. Schultz went on to create Peanuts (featuring Snoopy and Charlie Brown). The cartoon and licensing/product revenue from Peanuts generated over $1 billion a year. The high school eventually put a statue of snoopy in the main office.

Basically, FAIL!

 

Stop Chasing

I was listening to a personal development podcast this morning.

He said something like this:
“Most people you do life with every day aren’t thinking about you. That’s not an indictment of the people in your life; it’s just a truth about the human condition. We are all worried about ourselves, and any reaction we have to other people tends to be a reflection of our own insecurities. If someone does have a problem with something you’re doing, it’s likely they are challenged by it, feel insecure because of it, are jealous of your willingness to chase after it, or are frustrated that your belief in yourself makes them more aware of their disbelief in their own ability. In the end, it’s rarely actually about you.” Dave Hollis

Katryna and Erica have been telling me this for a year and a half.

It is rarely actually about me.

And, I need to stop making it about me!

 

A-Z

I began a personal project in December.

I had planned to end the last day of that month, but decided to continue on to the letter "Z."

I wrote out a page full of affirmations that I have repeated to myself out loud every single day.

They refer specifically to a trial in my life.

I then started with the letter "A" and looked up a POSITIVE adjective every single day about this person and wrote it down.

Today was "W."

The word I wrote right away was "Worthy."

Today is probably the most important of all the days I have been doing this project.

Why?
Because it was the perfect reminder that we are ALL worthy.

None more so than the other.

Even the people in our lives who hurt us the very most.

They are worthy.

Just as worthy as us.

 

The Process

The process.

For some, it's short.

It's like wake up, get up, and done...

For others, it's long.

Like, millenial long.

Like, forever and a day long.

Uphill.

Downhill.

Windy AF.

Those are my kinds of processes.

The ones that you don't wake up, get up and done...

The kind where you literally need a compass, a map, 20 years worth of water, and a port-a-potty.

For real.

And, I am learning to be enthusiastic about the process.

To be all-in on the process.

To ENJOY the process.

And to enjoy the result, no matter how long it takes me to get to the result!

My sweet Jenn posted this a couple of days ago.

Ain't this the truth?!

 

Mindful.Aware.

I want to tell you a story.

This happened last week.

At the gym.

With my 44 ounce Coke Zero in hand.

Let me preface this story by saying this:

I have noticed over the course of my life, and especially over the last year and a half, that because of my trials I am better able to minister.

Because of the things I have experienced, I am more aware.

More mindful.

More in awe and inspired by others.

I am more able to relate, and much more able to have empathy.

Because of the hardest things in my life, I am able to be a genuine instrument in God's hands.

I find that I am very, very aware and mindful of those who have neurological deficiencies. 

I find that my eyes go right to them.

I watch them movements and I find that I am rooting for their rise all the while.

There is an older couple who is at the gym often.

A tall, lanky man. He is balding. His glasses show that he is in no hurry to get Lasik. He looks to be in good physical shape.

A short, fragile woman. She is Asian. Beautiful. She also wears glasses. She depends on her husband for everything, I observe.

She holds to him to walk. He readies her by putting on her gym shoes, her gloves, her sanitized towel. Then, he walks her to one of the three machines she uses while there.

He is protective, and watches out for her from a distance.

But allows her to work.

Last week, I was just finishing one of the three machines that I know she uses regularly.

I kept my eye on them, just four feet or so, away from me.

I hurried to clean the machine thoroughly for her, then moved to the one right next to it.

He walked her over and sat her down.

I smiled widely at her, as I faced her simply because of the exercise I was doing.

She is very soft-spoken.

She said to me, under her mask, "I have Parkinson's."

I said, "I know. I know you do."
She nodded.

Then she said, "It is hard."

I put down my weight and got a little closer.

I said, "I know it is. But you are doing it. And, I watch you. I see you. You inspire me. I need you here."

She said, "Why? I am weak."
I said, "Oh, no. No you are not weak. You have every excuse to be at home; to never come here. But you do."

She said, with a giggle, "He makes me!"

I laughed with her.

I said, "I had a stroke three years ago."

She nodded.

"So you understand me?"
"Yes, I understand you. I understand the frustration. The fear. The sadness. The confusion."
She said, "Somedays I ask why me!"

I said, "I did too. And it took me three years to say, Why not me?!"

I squeezed her hand which reminded me so much of my Grandma Robb's hand and I moved on to the next machine... across the gym.

I finished my workout and headed over to the area where I stretch.

She was sitting in that area on a box, waiting for her husband.

I began doing my 50 squats of the day, then stretched.

She sat just a few feet away from me.

She said, "I can't do that anymore."

I asked, "Tell me. What do you miss the most?"

She said, "My freedom."

I nodded.

I went close to her.

I told her I understood.

She asked about my stroke.

About the time frame between paralyzed and able to go to the gym.

It was almost a full year before I could go on my own.

She talked about depending on her husband for everything.

I said to her, "Your husband is who I noticed first. I hope that every man in this gym takes note of how he treats you. It is the way it is supposed to be. He adores you. He sacrifices for you. He is careful, tender and gentle with you. He loves you in a way that is tangible to strangers."

She said, "Yes. He does love me so."

I said, "What a blessing. To have a husband who has dedicated his life to caring for and supporting his beloved. I, too, have a husband like that. He is a gift that I cherish and don't take for granted."

She told me of a brain surgery she had just seven months ago.

She told me of motherhood. She has three boys. I have six.

She talked to me about her sleep, medications, her routine.

I listened and nodded.

I felt love for this woman who I had just met.

Love and empathy that I would not have had the opportunity to feel in such a beautiful way had I not, too, experienced a great trial.

I asked her if she would trust me to walk her back to the bench, where her loving husband waited patiently.

She said she did.

So, hand in hand we walked the 20 yards, or so.

Her husband stood in respect for these two women.

She said, "She have stroke."
He said, "Oh, really?!"
She said, "Yes. And she loves me."

I emphatically said, "Yes, yes I do!"

Then I told him what I told her.

I thanked him for the way he treats her, the way he loves her, the way he has complete respect for her and that I hoped all men in the gym took note.

He said to me, "Rose and Ralph. I'm Rose."

I laughed.

I squeezed her hand again.

And, I left.

On the way home, I prayed a prayer of gratitude to God for blessing me with a stroke.