It's a Dog's Life

 Around this hacienda, it is truly bliss.  If you have 4 legs and a stubby wiggly tail, that is.  Over coffee this morning I observed my little pack of barely contained hysteria, and was envious.

They sleep when they want to.  They spy on the neighbors unapologetically.  Their demands are met before they are even vocalized.  They love me, are happy to be around me and they are just in general delighted to be alive.

I am grateful that there are things in this world that can remain untouched by events of the day.

Covid has no meaning for them.  Politics don't depress or upset them (well Cooper does have a problem seeing one past President on TV).....no, it isn't 45.  They aren't worried about the creeping price of gas and groceries.  About the only thing that worries them is having to wait on one individual to finish his breakfast or dinner so they can have dessert.

Dogs are simple creatures with complex feelings.  They understand when you are sad and will try to help you feel better.  They also know when you have a blinding headache and they think more noise will make it better.

They are also excellent judges of character and I've learned if they don't particularly like someone, there just may be a danged good reason for it.

The greatest sadness in life, for me, today, is the knowledge that their little lives will likely not continue until I am gone.  One by one, I will have to kiss their little faces and stroke their heads and send them on to Max, Jessie and Betty.

This is the price I pay for the unconditional love I am shown by them.

It is hard but it is absolutely worth it.

There will never again be a me that doesn't have a dog.....and I will try to make sure life is blissful for them....because they deserve it.  Creatures that don't demand the world deserve the world.

Now, I'm going to go see if I can crochet around three or four little warm bodies.  And, if I can't, then I will not crochet today.  

The Lesson in A Christmas Carol

 

For decades I have read, watched, and listened to Dickens' great classic A Christmas Carol.

Reading it as Dickens wrote it is a needed lesson in the skill of the written word to move us. Dickens had a definite finger on the pulse of the complexity of man and was able to write real three dimensional characters. 

Over the course of technology and time this story has been told in many ways with many different actors playing the part of Ebenezer Scrooge. George C Scott is my personal favorite and I'm sure you have yours as well. 

We have been able to translate this complex story into formats that appeal to children, as cartoons with characters depicted as humans and sometimes animals.  Whatever works.........whatever gets the story across. The story of how a bitter, mean and miserly old man has a gutwrenching conversion of attitude and becomes a benevolent benefactor to the human race. 

Dickens is to be commended for touching on some of the heartbreaking reasons Scrooge behaved as he did but I think most of the time we miss those parts because we are so concentrated on what an old poop he is and how miserable he makes everyone else. Don’t we do that today? We never think or consider the damage done to someone. Or make allowances for the baggage they are forced to drag through life and their inability to handle those things. And we certainly don’t give a thought to how hard it must be for them especially when they are made to feel horrible for not conforming to our ideas of how they should behave.

Today I watched this story again and was suddenly struck that the character of  Scrooge is NOT the message that Dickens intended us to receive. Certainly, none of us willingly wants to be that person that everyone shies away from and so that is merely the vehicle being used to teach the real lesson.

The real lesson in this story is the lesson of forgiveness.

Imagine if after Scrooge had his epiphany and started to make amends everyone had simply turned their backs on him and ignored his heartfelt attempt to be a better man. He certainly didn't deserve a second chance, he deserved to have doors slammed in his face and not be invited to people's celebrations. He deserved their hatred and their set jawed attitude of unwillingness to try again with him. And yet, every single one of them were willing to take him at his worst anyway. They continued to try to gather him in.

But, they didn't ostracize him.

To a person, they welcomed him with open arms realizing that their own ability to forget, to forgive and to love was a lesson they needed to share and he needed to know.  It was in their acceptance of the man Scrooge was that his new beginning was made manifest in his life as the person he wished to be.

I would urge you the next time you enjoy this holiday staple that you watch it with new eyes and discuss with your children and grandchildren what the real and true message of this story is. It isn't about changing someone to your way of thinking or behaving.  It is about embracing people as they are, where they stand and always hoping for their AH-HA moment to bring them to their own realization of what needs to change. I am pretty sure that Jesus feels much the same way and everyday he loves us right where we are in spite of our warts and scars.  And when we say "sorry" he always responds, he always answers and he always loves.

Badly Dressed

 

1.  ragged

(ragged - battered - broken - dilapidated - disorganized - fragmented)

In retrospect I realize that I haven't done so badly through the last decade or so.  I lost both of my dads, I lost my mom and her sister who was like a mother to me.  I lost my honest and forthright Uncle Roy.  I lost my sweet and funny Aunt Jo.   I lost 2 brothers and a cousin who was like my little brother. And a whole host of friends.  Here I am clinging madly to my little handful of BIOLOGICAL family, my kids, my grandkids, a brother and a sister, a treasured Uncle and a handful of precious cousins.  I have practically lost the entire history book on my life.  The stories of how I looked, what I did, what I meant to them throughout their life and mine.  Everyone who is left...almost....is younger than I am, therefore they don't have a lot of history of mine to talk about.  I have written or delivered eulogies through near paralyzing grief for people who took great chunks of my heart with them.

I have repeatedly been pounded on the head with losses that fell on me like a row of deadly dominoes set carefully in a line only to be kicked over by a ticked off toddler.  My earth dad and 2 bonus brothers went one right after the other....boom, boom.....and boom.  The boys who called me names but offered to fight my battles........gone.  The man who took someone else's kid and made sure she had a great life.....gone.  The woman who gave me life....gone.  And that one,  my friends, was awfully hard.  I have no full fledged biological siblings.   I had 2 step-brothers (I hate that word) and I have a half brother and a half sister.  But none of these people and I shared my mom biologically.

When she passed I was left badly dressed (see definition above) and drowning in the remains of her life.  My days became endless sessions of sorting, shredding, gifting, selling, donating....and crying.  Crying over the things I found and sometimes the things I didn't.   My nights were sleepless and fitful events,  knowing that there was so much left to do and no one who could do it but me.

My only recourse was disassociation.  I clicked on the auto-pilot and navigated as well as I could.  I kept myself upright and I kept my job and did as much for my partner in life as I was able.  It wan't much. My husband couldn't help as much as he would have liked either, as he was in the process of losing his parents as well.  So we passed like friendly ships in the night, each of us needing things neither one of us had enough of to share.  Fortunately, for Roger, he did have some of his siblings and therefore someone who fully grasped his grief.  My children helped me as much as they could but that job belonged to me since I was the holder of mom's history.  I was the only person who could say "that thing doesn't matter" or "yes, we need to keep that."  The greatest gift they gave me during that time was the gift of letting me process and not expecting the mother they actually deserved.

When I say I disassociated I mean truly.  I had no time to be the person I really wanted and needed to be.  I had to just be and I had to move through it at my own speed.  No one grieves the same and there is no handbook for an appropriate timeline.  And multiple losses do not allow grief to run its course and settle.  Each hit brings every previous one roaring back demanding that to be felt again.

Now, I realize that I never did the "please pity me" or "please feel sorry for me".  Traditionally, I lose my crap over little things and the big stuff just sets my jaw and my shoulders and I soldier on.  Not silently but still......I get through eventually.  I guess I just thought that some understanding and awareness would be a given....that people would grasp that I was going through some stuff, physically, mentally and emotionally and even though those things didn't touch them personally, they would be there to help pick up the pieces of normalcy when I was ready.  Nope.  There were expectations.

You need to be more patient....here wear this and we will like you better.  You need to be more present.....here is a shirt you can wear with those pants we gave you before.  You need to be more selfless, you need to not be sad, we only like happy people.  Each thing that was expected of me was given like a ratty piece of clothing that if I put it all on and just pretended then everyone would like me better.  And yet, these things weren't verbalized.  Again, no one thought to ask "hey, what's happening?"  or "are you okay?"  But perhaps the thing that got to me the most was the emotional outfit I was supposed to wear that would indicate that I would not stick up for the things that were truly important.  The things that every wife, mother and grandmother just does organically.  I wasn't combative, I was simply withdrawing more and more into the camp with the people who weren't expecting me to look, or act or "dress" and behave in a certain way they deemed appropriate.

I didn't matter one bit what I had done in the past that was good.  There was always a hidden agenda or a deliberate affront attributed to each and every move I made.  The slightest offense either real or perceived, sent me back to the penalty box to watch all the "real" team members play the game.  And guess what?  I kind of started to like the penalty box....it didn't require anything of me.  If I was having a particularly bad day, it didn't judge and every time I was able to feel my feelings without judgment, an article of someone else's clothing for me dropped away.

I have come to identify quite closely with a past President who never got the benefit of the doubt.  Whose every action, word or expression became the topic on which people judged worth, or lack of.  Both of us have had more than a passing glance at the "damned if you do, damned if you don't" intersection in life.

What I am finding almost funny is that the person I am today is the person I was always meant to be.  I am honest, forgiving, thoughtful, loyal..........and steady.  I feel like I have been forged in the fire of true emotional, gut wrenching pain and come out a warrior clad in truth.  Under all that disorganized, fragmented, battered wreck of a person was a truly unique individual with a lot to offer.  If you knew me 10 years ago, you don't really know the me I am now.  I am different and I am worthy and I will no longer wear the suit of clothes others choose to make for me.

But, what I will do when the day comes your world falls apart over and over and over again, is hold your hand, listen and try to help.  What I won't do is judge how you handle it....I will let you wear your most comfortable clothes and love you anyway.

The Problem As I See It

 Living a long time puts you in a very interesting place.  You have seen the end of the Dust Bowl and watched our parents crawling out of the Depression era.  You've watched those young boys with smooth faces go off to a war they never should have been expected to go to and waited to see if they returned.  And some didn't.....and for what?   You've seen the girls in their zippered knee high boots and mini-skirts with their straight long hair swinging getting ready for an actual he comes and picks you up date, applying that God awful white lipstick and cat-eye jet black liner.  (My uncle Roy once told me "you are a pretty little thing but right now your eyes look like two pee holes in a snowbank."  Hmmmmm  You've loved and listened to music referred to as Doo-Wop, you've closed your eyes and swayed to the folk tunes, you've shimmied and shook to Wipe-Out and you've even sat and watched your mother dancing in the kitchen as she listened to Stardust Melody by the great Nat King Cole on a 45 rpm record player.  You lost your composure in the back seat of the car when the Beatles came on the radio.....demanding that your daddy "turn it up!"

Then you checked out for a while to raise a kid or two, you found that working brought a level of stuff to your life never before experienced.  Some of us parked our kids in front of Sesame Street simply to get a kitchen floor mopped.  We've married, we've divorced, we've lived single, we've made bad decisions and we've learned from them and done better.  Some of us had more than a passing flirtation with substances and quickly learned that there are only bad decisions happening in that neighborhood.  Some of us got better and moved to a more righteous street and sadly, some of us did not.

We've watched our contemporaries burn bright and flame out early.  We cheered and watched some achieve so much success in life that it inspired and gave us hope.  We've watched some struggle and we've tried to help as best we could.  Sometimes the only thing we had to offer were beat up knees at the side of the bed praying for help that only God can bring.

There is little we have not seen, or heard.......or felt.  And yet, we find we are constantly being discounted as out-of-touch.  I am not sure how a generation that has been able to embrace smart phones from their initial experience of a long and 2 short rings on a party line phone wired to the wall....can be out of touch.

And so.....from my vast bank of almost 72 years of observing life and human nature I come to this:

School boards used to be comprised primarily of "parents"....and somewhere along the way we decided this needed to be political and we started to fill our school boards with lawyers, school administrators, teachers, etc. and very few parents.  I have absolutely no problem with these people on school boards but they have to be balanced out.  They come with a pre-planned agenda whereas parents come with the well being of their children in their tool box.  I think we need to rethink this and make sure that SBs are heavily weighted towards concerned and active parents.  Which means....people have to get involved and stop ASSUMING that other people have your childrens' best interest at heart.  The question I always ask myself is this....."your child and my child are in a burning building....which one will YOU run in and save?"  People we have to start standing up for and representing our own best interests, particularly in the education of our children.  And, it is OUR job to teach them how to be good and worthwhile human beings.  Stop allowing the world to teach your kids....you know more than you think you do.

Politics is a crap hole and why anyone wants to do it is a mystery to me.  Therefore I have to assume that it is all about $$$.  Therefore, we need to start looking closer at the people who represent us.  If they've been in office for 4 or 5 decades and are still spouting the same tripe....THEY.NEED.TO.GO!     And, I've been saying for years now that the party represented by the donkey always goes a bridge too far.  When something nefarious has actually worked out...instead of being careful and stealthy the next time....they just go balls to the wall full out and usually run themselves into a water filled ditch.  This is actually NOT doing their constituents any favors.  Yesterday, I actually heard a Dem contributor say that McAuliff's comments about parents not deserving to have a say in what their kids were learning, made her cringe.  You know why?  She is a mother and no one thinks they can do better for their kids than a mother or a dad.  It might do well to remember that most of these people with all these high flung ideals don't have kids in school anymore, heck they don't even have grandkids in school anymore.  They are wholly out of touch with the reality of humanity and wholly engaged in the shiny prize of socially manipulating the human race.  But, they are trying to swing the pendulum too far and like every other thing in motion, once a certain point has been reached it either comes untethered or it swings back in the other direction.  

Ordinary, average Americans have no soapbox or platform upon which we can stand and deliver our manifesto for what we want.  Only the rich and powerful and those of a celebrity status have that ability.  The ability to skew truth and sway minds.  For this reason, we have to use every tool at our disposal to be heard.  And.....and I can't say this enough or with great enough emphasis.....WE HAVE TO STOP BEING AFRAID.  America was not built by cowards who could be forced into their homes to await their doom.  They went out and met their death bravely and with vision and they sure didn't do it so we could passively hand our country over with a whimper.  It is time to roar, my friends.  And instead of thinking people are crazy for speaking their mind.....ask yourself "what do they know that I do not?"

For my part, I have come to realize that power and money are the greatest corruptors of our nation and they can absolutely influence a person's behavior and rarely are they influenced for the better.

Start holding people accountable, don't automatically discount what people say just because it doesn't fit the narrative of the day, become active in your own life and pray that the pendulum begins to swing back to sanity.  Back to a time when we were Americans.....all of us.  We could disagree on whether the Cowboys were the best football team on earth or not and still sit down at the Thanksgiving table and remember that in the end we loved each other enough to allow everyone to be themselves.

Peace out!

WWJD?

There was a time (not too long ago) when those 4 letters had tremendous import.  Kids wore them on bracelets, on medallions around their necks and emblazoned on t-shirts.  Oddly enough, I don't recall seeing a lot of adults sporting that sentiment.  But, you know, as adults, we are the ones who most need the reminder to always ask ourselves "what WOULD Jesus do?"

I wonder why we no longer wonder or care?  Is it because we have the advantage (or disadvantage) of having tons of information and resources to draw from?

One thing I've learned is that for whatever personal ax you are currently grinding, you will always find some pithy person or a self help guru who gives you permission to grind away.  Believe me, I have tools sharpened to a fine honed edge and I am finding they don't make me feel any better.  Mostly because I've perfected the skill to the point they cut both ways.  

Everyone on earth has stuff.  Suitcases, duffel bags, steamer trunks, purses, hanging bags and Walmart sacks full of their own things.  Things they've done, things they've said.  Hurtful things they have inflicted and hurtful arrows shot at their own bodies.  We are a frail and imperfect people.  We injure and we suffer injuries.  What we seem to be missing is owning our own part of injuries and using the principles of Jesus, forgiving and moving on.  Does this mean we will never suffer again.  No.  Does it mean the lesson is forever learned and we will no longer hurt someone else?  Also, no.  The best we can ever do is to practice the lesson every time is is put in front of us.

Buuuuuutttt, that's work.......that's haaaard!  And, besides, I don't really like the person I'm ticked off at. 

 Every lesson in the Bible that tugs at my heart are the ones where Jesus had every reason to call down the Angels to inflict damage on someone who richly deserved it.  But He didn't, instead He loved, He taught by example.  He showed us what WE are capable of if we can turn loose of self and concentrate on the empathy we can find for people who need it.  Not every problem humans have are known.  We see bruises and scars on the outside, but those are the ones that heal and disappear.  It is the ones inside that leave lasting damage.  How many of us actually take the time to talk to someone we have issues with and try to find what is building a wall between us?  To communicate our own needs and in return listen to theirs?

Jesus intended for it to be hard.  Why?  Could it be because every single moment of every single day He is having to forgive us, over and over and over?  When the Disciples asked how often they should forgive....Jesus answered "I say not....seven times; but until seventy time seven" - Matthew 18:22, KJV.  He goes on to counsel "Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave YOU" - Ephesians 4:32

As a little girl I remember seeing the above picture in many different renderings and I always knew what it meant.  Jesus was teaching his children.  People tend to see the little ones in this picture but they seem to miss the presence of the women pictured.  Jesus was speaking, not just to the little ears, he was also speaking to the jaded, tired and frustrated ears as well.

We have lived through tough moments....all of us.  When you are my age, you lived through the fringes of the Depression followed by the Dust Bowl Days, you've ebbed and flowed through the Peace and Love psychedelic moments.  You've seen the drive for the rights of all people, you feared for the world through the riots of the 60s and the 70s, you've seen prosperity and poverty flip like a coin carelessly tossed.  You've seen beautiful Patriotism and horrific terrorism.  You've seen a trust in America's leaders dissolve into a burning suspicion of them all.  You've seen the flocking to the church houses and the running away from them because the lessons weren't fun.  We have looked at our children and delighted in their accomplishments while fearing what kind of world they were inheriting.

None of us exists in a vacuum and none of us can exist alone.  We need each other....today more than ever and we never know which one of those people we turn our backs on today might be the person we most need at some point in our life.  But we also never know when we might be the person someone else needs most of all.

When I write it is for my own good, my own spirit and my own edification.  I would never presume to think anyone should listen to my ramblings with any degree of import.........or any other person who lectures about how I, or you, or we should be conducting ourselves.

I think really, the only question we need to ask and the only source for clarity is this...exactly....WHAT WOULD JESUS DO?  And what would He tells us to do?

Will There Be Scars in Heaven?

It is said that in Heaven all things are made new and perfect.

But, I think I'd like to keep my scars if I can.  They reveal the journey of life like a roadmap on my skin.

There is the very visible scar in my left eyebrow.  A reminder of a basketball game when a team mate and I went up for a rebound and I came down with the ball and her teeth embedded in my face.  That girl has gone to Jesus now but I can never forget her because I carry her mark on me.

Later in life, after having my daughter I had a tubal ligation....I already had my boy and with the birth of my daughter, my family was complete....and perfect for that time.  I'll keep that one as a lasting reminder of a joyous day and my deepest commitment in life to my children.

When my thyroid decided to try to kill me, I said goodbye to it.  No one needs to stay on that emotional roller coaster, losing their hair along with vast amount of weight.  Walking around like a living skeleton was no life.  Hand tremors and all sorts of not fun door prizes left me over it.  So, can I keep that one as a reminder that I got to live?  There was a time that wasn't a sure thing.

The scar that runs the length of my nose on the right side is a testament of what one has to do if they spend too much time in the sun with unprotected skin.  That one was a real hurting one, but now I'm the only one that really knows it is there.

The tiny little scar on my chin happened when I fell asleep with Charley on the couch.  That was the day I learned a schnauzer's ability to go from sound asleep to blast off with no warning.  Charley left life too soon, so I'll keep his parting gift if I may.

The recently healed open wound in my left knee will serve as evidence that once a person reaches a certain age, they really need to remember to go cautiously through life.  I'm gonna need that one....even in Heaven....I think I will have a tendency to go banging around a bit.

And then....all the little knicks and scrapes and scars on my hands, arms and legs that have been left by jumping playing puppies, teething baby dogs and rough housing bigger fellows.  Please, please let me have those still as each one was left not in anger but in careless acts of reckless abandon playtime.

I will even keep the scars that don't show....you know the ones inside....the ones that really hurt...the ones on my heart.  Hearts are stronger after a break, scar tissue isn't pretty but it is tough.  I've had some breaks, but they've healed and they've made me softer, kinder, gentler and more understanding.  God, you don't need to worry  yourself with those either.....I'm good with them.

Maybe here on this planet, I am earning a small set of wings.  I doubt there will be a crown but I've always fancied a tiara....maybe I'll get one of those.  And, perhaps God will give me a little tiny place to occupy and he will fill it with my people and my dogs.

I want to be that slightly disheveled thrown together angel with messy hair and dirty feet spending my eternity with my scars because I earned them all and they are part of who I am

 

 

The Dichotomy of Victims

Over the course of the past 2 decades, I have watched an ever spiraling downward trend in the makeup of humankind.

At a point where we were very close to completely squashing a great many damaging differences in us, we allowed ourselves to be played by masterful game makers.  The movie The Hunger Games has played out in real life.  Out here in average every day America we are being moved around like pieces on a chess board and according to our own personal triggers and fears we move eagerly or with great hesitation.

To instill wide spread fear in any group accomplishes one of 2 things.  There is either the urge to fight or the necessity of flight….and oddly enough, those fleeing find themselves in the arms of that which they feared the most.

We are being offered numerous opportunities to feel ourselves being victimized.  Becoming a perpetual victim gives us an eternal excuse not to change.

When I worked in the photography business doing school pictures I learned that for every situation there was a new excuse.  You could offer 4 different times for a child to have a yearbook picture made, in the studio and at school, but there were always going to be those that just could not make it on any of those offerings.  The excuses came from parents.

He never gets to hear the announcements, he traveled all summer and the make up day after school starts is just not possible.  She is not good at bringing things home from school.  We never got any of the 3 post cards reminding us….yes, that’s our address, but we didn’t get them.  Now, suddenly, it is the photographer’s job, and should be their desire, to make sure that kid appears in the yearbook.  After doing everything they can do to make it happen, short of sending a limo to pick them up,  you have to feel the importance of something they feel absolutely no importance about….at all.

Excuses make victims.  Let me repeat that…..EXCUSES MAKE VICTIMS.  And providing your child a ready excuse for every little wrinkle in their life will ensure they will remain a victim forever.  Let me be clear here.  Going to bat for them when they are right is entirely different than helping them not to be responsible for decisions and not being willing to be responsible for your own.

There are real victims in the world.  Victims who suffer through no fault of their own.  Who cannot change their circumstances no matter how much they might try and how much they might want to.  Interestingly, I find the true victims of the world are some of the least excuse driven people I have ever known.  Some of them are mad……….really mad about their afflictions but it seems that anger drives them to excel past what we believe possible.

The dichotomy of victimhool appears in choice.  Is this situation one of your choosing?  Answer: Yes – then you are not a victim.  Answer No – we examine further, but usually you can claim a victim badge if you choose to.

The Jews were victims of an outrageously heinous acts of a maniacal madman who infected like minded people to slaughter humans without remorse.  They likewise victimized the Gypsies in the tens of thousands.  The Gypsies were one of the oldest Aryan groups in Europe, but were destroyed because they did not fit Hitler’s brand of nationalism.  And guess what, they are often forgotten in the Holocaust narrative.   People working a daily job in 2 tall towers in New York and a large Federal building in Oklahoma City were victims.  And the children on sight were the most grievous victims of all.  I could list dozens of real victims that we should feel sorry for…..but you know who they are.

One example of people who aren’t victims are single mothers who chose wrong and are left picking up the pieces trying to raise their kids.  Some of them do an admirable job and are raising confident and competent children.  Others are raising their children to be excuse makers and people who feel sorry for themselves for their lot in life. Situations arising from choices made by adults.  There are no perfect childhoods….some are idyllic while others are messy.  You either take the cards you are handed and use them as a foundation to build a better hand or you throw them on the table exclaiming….”I never win, why should I try?”  Basically, I find myself always thinking “play stupid games, win stupid prizes” about anyone who daily reminds you of how put upon they are.

Parenting alone is tough.  I know, I did it and I also know that no matter how good a mother I was, I could never give my kids what a good strong father figure could.  Boys need to learn to become men from real men and girls need to learn to expect appreciation for their contributions and value.  Oddly enough, it is my opinion that much of a girl’s self esteem is forged by her father’s view of her.  If he is disengaged and distant, she will feel she isn’t worthy.  If he thinks she is the greatest treasure on earth, she will feel that too.  Some kids don’t get to have that….their mothers will work harder but they can never give what a father can.  In the same measure a father alone cannot provide what a mother does.

I have seen many people who have been put in uncomfortable slots in life and they aren’t the ones who  constantly loudly proclaim their victimhood before they even tell you their name.   We all have a label we apply to ourselves but it is important that it doesn’t become the thing we define ourselves by.

We all like to complain….it’s a National pass time.  I’m guilty of it….so are you.  When my mother was alive I would call her with my B & M sessions (Bitch and Moan).  She would listen quietly and when I finally drew a breath she would say “you will figure it out, you always do.”  And I know given what she endured as a child, a girl, a young adult and a grown up, my petty little crap must have made her cringe.  But I never heard her remotely define herself as a victim.  Mom saw herself as a Triumpher.  She took scraps and made full meals and eventually she had enough she didn’t worry.  That was huge for her.

We see it every day, kids from the ghetto rising up and becoming beacons of hope and truth.  People who endure devastatingly horrific accidents that leave their bodies unresponsive to their desires and yet they fight on, they figure it out, they motivate and inspire.  We see people lose the person they loved most in the world and instead of becoming bitter and angry, they become more open, more loving, more kind and more inspirational.  And these are the people we need to start to celebrate and emulate.  We need to stop feeling sorry for people who feel so sorry for themselves they have squashed the potential for change.  Feeding into their victimhood only enrages them because we can never pity them out of it.  It takes work and we can't do the work for them. If we do and we constantly make things easy, if we continually grease the wheels that won't turn,  they will  never get it, they will never change and they will never appreciate anything better.  And worst of all, they will never Triumph.

And so, don’t be a victim….stop thinking of yourself in the most negative terms possible.  Define yourself as a survivor or someone who has triumphed.  It is a whole lot more fun to be victorious than to cause yourself to lose every single day because an excuse is easier and victimhood fits you like a comfortable glove.