lifting crosses

I wished him a Merry Christmas and encouraging words of "hang in there".... because I knew what was in store for him. This was his first Christmas alone. Maybe not alone alone, but single alone.
I read a portion of the message he wrote back ...."we all have crosses to bear..."


We all have crosses to bear.


This simple statement, heard many a time, has struck a nerve, in me. My mind keeps wandering back to his statement. I can only assume what he meant by this statement.He knew that this was going to be a difficult holiday.  I think he meant to say, that he understands he is not alone. He is well aware that other people have their own hardships and pain.
He is right, of course.


We can only look around the corner, or at the next table, or across a room and find someone who has their own story.
Trouble is, sometimes we keep those stories so deep down inside of us that at times they become unbearable.


I think that is why his words kept popping into my head. We all have crosses to bear.
I reflected on my own personal "crosses" right now.
That little cross called insecurity seems to rise up at times and crash down over me like a tidal wave.
There are times when the financial cross seems to want to beat me into the ground.
Decision making crosses overwhelm me at times.
And a cross called loneliness stands in front of me and overshadows my happy life once in awhile.


Are these crosses of mine unbearable?
No, they are not. I have "mini moments" when I feel myself sinking to the bottom of an ocean with no lifeline to grab. "Help!" I yell silently! "Somebody save me!" (and amazingly, someone usually does rescue me!)
Are they hard at times? Difficult to endure?
Yes, absolutely.There are days when my brain just doesn't want to conceive another way to make ends meet this month. There are times when I throw my hands in the air and swear at the ladder that just pulled the bottom rung out beneath my feet. Okay..... I missed the last step.
Does it help to know that I am not alone?
Maybe not at the time I lay sprawled out across the floor with my foot entangled in the ladder or even when I assess the huge bruise on my leg.
But yes, it sure does help to know that others understand. And it helps to know that a person is not alone.


When I think of a cross, I think of a heavy burdensome load weighing us down. That analogy held true for part of the trip. But then the cross is transformed. It is changed into a symbol of redemption and life change.
I guess we need to remember that what weighs us down can also lift us up.


Sure, the holidays are tough on everyone involved in an uprooted family.
I took a hard look at my "crosses" and decided to find solutions this year to not let them weigh me down.

Changes in my life had altered the traditions our family had always adhered to. This is a hard thing. I had let some things just go by the wayside, but in the back of my mind, I really didn't want to let go of them. One of those things was "Tradition."

Tradition. It was always called this in our family. I made homemade cinnamon rolls aka"Tradition" for Christmas morning. I have decided ...no, refused to let go of this pleasure of mine. I love to bake. I make my cinnamon rolls and send home a plate to the married children on Christmas Eve to take home for their Christmas morning breakfast.

They seem satisfied. My heart was lifted at their smiles when they picked up their plate of cinnamon rolls. And I am sattisfied too. Not because the tradition of "Tradition" has changed, but because I have allowed transformation to take place.
I think it is the only way we can bear our crosses.

For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

2 Corinthians 12:10

dinner for one

Grocery Shopping has always been my least favorite chore.
I hate it even more now.
I avoid it like the plague.
I am usually guilt ed into a grocery store trip after my daughter tugs open the door to my refrigerator , bends over, and peers in with the look of a scowl upon her face. This scowl usually is followed by, "Really mom? part of a stick of butter, three cartons of yogurt, an apple, a bottle of beer, three eggs, a piece of cheese, and a quart of milk that expired last week!"
 I hate it when she checks the expiration dates.

It's not just me though. Single men have similar food and mealtime woes too. One recently explained how hard it was for him to try to make a balanced meal for his family on the days he has custody of his children. He was going home after a day's work on a physical job, tired, picking up the kids, running them to various ball practices, helping with homework, and fitting in dinner somehow. I know where his frustration is though, because he is doing what typically is the woman's end of the deal. I think I touched on this in a previous blog ... my frustration being tossed into the world of man jobs.

The other man I talked with said he was a big fan of cereal. Well, maybe not a fan, but it was a standard in his diet now. Repetition in our diets seemed to be the theme of the day.... or week.
After years of planning and preparing meals for three children and a spouse, plus the "extra kids" that always seemed to be at our house, cooking for just me is hard to do. Portion downsizing has not entered my vocabulary yet. No matter how hard I try, even succeed, in making a smaller sized meal, I still end up with meatloaf for four days. Or the soup that never ends.

More depressing than getting motivated to fix the meal is the actual sitting down to the table. I literally have to force myself NOT to stand at the counter and eat. If I stand, I realize later that I have "wolfed" down the food. Not a good habit. Anyone in my shoes or similar ones, understands the unfunness of dinner for one. Yes, I know unfunness is not a real word, but it is a real emotion, so I am leaving it in my story.

There are four chairs around my table. Three are most often empty. I have strategically placed a collage type frame of pictures in my dining nook and often glance up at it while I eat my meal. The frame is large and holds about 20 photographs. I have put in it colorful pictures of my children at various ages. They are young adults now. It has pictures from memorable good times that are a part of my past. Some were shot on vacations. Others are holiday pictures. A few tell the story of some milestone, like a birthday or a wedding. These photographs are dear to me.

I have decided to change them out though recently. You see, the frame was a gift to me as a "housewarming" when I first moved out on my own. I did not want to lose these memories and need to make sure they remained a joyous part of my past. I purposely chose these particular colorful photographs to brighten my day. I hung it there to make my meal time less unfun.

It hasn't worked.
Oh, the pictures bring a smile to my face.
Always. The hairstyles and 80's fashions alone bring a smile to my face.
 But, there is something about revisiting the past while sitting alone that just doesn't jive.

Thus, I have decided to change out the past for the present. I am gathering up black and white photographs that have been taken these past two years. They are the reality, the black and white of my life today. They are also my ebony and ivory, the richness in my everyday existence.  The photographs I choose will be of my present. They will be snapshots of my joys, my loves, and my hopes.

There is a possibility that my mealtime might still remain unfun. I have to give it a try though. I am not letting go of my past, those colorful moments captured in the older photographs remain a huge part of me and who I am. 
I am hopeful that being surrounded with the richness of my life now at mealtime will ignite within me a feeling of peace and gratitude.

I probably won't ever enjoy grocery shopping.
I may still have expired milk in my refrigerator with lots of empty shelf space.

But maybe my dinner for one will be a reminder of how richly blessed I am in .....today


Proverbs 16:9
The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.