Religion and Respect........By Sammye Kaye/ My Perspective

Once again, I am surprised by the fact that so many people of color were blindsided by the racist comments made by the owner of the Clippers.
Racism will not be the topic of this post, but it's blood cousin, discrimination, will be explored.

I am blessed to have six female friends who have impacted my life in ways they will probably never understand. Four of these women are Catholic.
 We are all women of strong faith. We have shared our experiences from the different denominations we have belonged to over the years..

I grew up in a small town with an impressive representation of various religions. I was fortunate enough to grow up in a family who were actually members of different denominations. Except for an occasional tacky comment by a family member who had mastered the art of being 'tacky', there was an unspoken rule of respect regarding the personal belief system of each person.

Over the last twenty years, I have noticed the ease in which some people criticize the religion of other people. The strong boundaries that once protected a very personal choice, has become almost nonexistent.

Who has the right to tell another person how they should practice their beliefs?

I have seen women valiantly attempting to defend a ritual or practice that is dear to their heart.
I have seen the faith of women questioned by people who feel they are mandated to make them see their truth; by any means necessary. Except gentleness and caring??
I have seen women left in tears following an attack of harsh, unyielding words in an attempt to tear down the fiber of their religion.

It appears that those who have chosen to practice Catholicism, are quite often the victims of the most negativity from other denominations.
The disrespectful attacks can range from sharing an offensive news article, to aggressively asking questions that are designed to start a negative dialogue.
This is unfortunate. I reminded one of my friends that in most cases, the person is simply ignorant. Perhaps if they took the time to ask intelligent questions about things they don't understand, they would gain enough knowledge to be respectful, or at the very least, be quiet.

Some harp on the issue of sexual immorality in the priesthood.
Is there not an issue of sexual immorality among the clergy??
Yes, when children are involved, their punishment should fit the crime; for anyone who is guilty.
Is it power?
Yes, the Pope has an incredible amount of power, from the Vatican.
Yes, a popular,and well connected Pastor, also has an enormous amount of power, and he is standing in front of his congregation every Sunday.
Is it money?
It is my personal opinion that most organized religions are too focused on money.
Yes, yes, I know; they are businesses..

Now see, none of the denominations are perfect.
None of us are perfect.
Glass house?
Throwing the first stone?
Think about it...


It basically comes down to Christians attacking other Christians.
Why?
Are they unbelievers??
All parties involved believe that Jesus is the Son of God.
The same people believe that He was crucified on the cross, He was buried, and He arose on the third day.
They also agree that Jesus ascended into heaven, to sit at the right hand of His Father, Our Heavenly Father, God.

So, what is the real problem??
Ultimately, what we believe, and our personal salvation is our choice and our responsibility.
God will hold us accountable for our lives..

If we spent more time trying to become better people, I mean just trying, we would not have either the time or inclination to cause grief for other people.

Give other people the respect you expect to receive....

World's Most Beautiful Women,,,Perspective of Sammye Kaye

I believe that since God made each of us in His image, we are all beautiful.

This particular view, along with a few others, has resulted in my being referred to as being too nice,(???)  naive, delusional, 'polyannaish', and fake.
Since I have always been secure regarding 'who' I am, these opinions(?) mean nothing.

We live in a world that thrives on the superiority of someone, or some thing. I suppose it should be no surprise that physical appearance will no doubt remain first and foremost, the most important factor for many regarding worth.
A few select women anxiously await the announcement of who will be named the most beautiful woman in the world. This decision will forever impact their lives.

How much will the choice affect the lives of others?
It is a fact that both Beyonce' and Lupita are beautiful women.
The fact that young Black women can pick up a popular magazine and see a woman who resembles themselves being celebrated as Most Beautiful is nice.
Will this make them feel better about themselves?

I have chosen not to address the deep rooted issues that accompany our beautiful skin tones. There is no point at this time; we know what they are. Later.

However, I must point out the importance of affirming the beauty of our women within our families and communities; at all times. Our little girls need to learn how to accept the unique beauty of themselves. Next, they need to learn how to accept the differences and beauty of other women. These lessons must be taught by other women.
Women who love them, as well as themselves.

Will the handsome, or perhaps not so handsome young Black man who will smile and celebrate the beauty of Lupita, choose to do the same when he meets a young woman who is a dead ringer for Lupita ( minus the designer outfit and professional makeup)??

Will the obnoxious aunt who is so thrilled for Lupita, go back and apologize to her niece for telling her sister she needs to " buy that child a wig, because her hair will never grow!" "And, she looks like a boy!"

The magazine will be sold off the shelves. The celebrity news will move on to something else. But how many people who cross the paths of our little girls and young women will see and acknowledge their beauty?? Not the size and shape of their bodies, or the color of the skin, but their entire beauty.
.
It is not easy being a Black woman in this society.
We don't all look like Beyonce' or Lupita.
Thankfully, we are all uniquely different...
But, we are all uniquely beautiful.

How can I say that??

Because God simply does not make mistakes.

'Pine Cones and The Hunchback' A Story by Sammye Kaye

My luck finally ran out. Mama called me at 6:00 a.m. last Friday, and told me point blank, that she expected me to be home for Homecoming the following Saturday morning; early," before the birds build a nest in your behind." She made this last comment with a smile in her voice, but she knew how much it bothered me. Okay, so I am not a morning person. Since I am now almost 30 years old, I no longer feel the need to feel bad, but my Mama still has the power to make me feel bad about anything.
So, it is 5:45 on this Saturday morning, and I am headed down 59 to the beautiful East Texas town where I was born. It has cobblestone streets downtown, thick red clay dirt, tall stately pine trees, and amazing rolling hills.
My favorite music is playing not at all softly, and I have to admit that the sunrise is breathtaking. Since I don't see too many sunrises, I decide to stop and actually take a few pictures. Photography is my favorite hobby, so I am never without a couple of cameras.

I am not looking forward to this trip home. I love going home to see about Mama, who is actually my grandmother. I visit her at least once a month. Two of her widowed sisters live with her, and they are all forces to be reckoned with.  When Daddy died several years ago, they decided to move in together to better take care of each other. Of course, they have their fair share of drama, but overall, they have managed to do no bodily harm to each other, or anyone else. Yet.

With the help of intricate planning, I have managed to avoid attending Homecoming since adulthood.
Our church was actually started over 70 years ago by one of Mama's older brothers. His name was Johnson Gallon, and the church was built on a hill surrounded by a thick grove of pecan trees.
 Hence, the birth of Johnson Grove Baptist Church.
The church is small, but probably still beautiful. There was an ancient bell in the tiny tower, that was so old, they were afraid to actually ring the bell very often. One day the opening was left open, and I looked up into the dark tower. The dark shadow of the huge bell scared me to death.
I used the word probably because I have not been to the church since I left almost 10 years ago. The small group of families who love and support the church would make sure it was taken care of. Of course, the core members are old, in poor health, or deceased, but their children would still do what needed to be done. Even I still contribute financially.

The closer I got to town, the tighter the knot I had been trying to ignore became. I was finally forced to take that trip down memory lane that I wanted so desperately to avoid.

My Daddy was a deacon, and Mama was a deaconess. We went to church four times a week. Monday night was business meeting. Wednesday night was Bible study, and Friday night was choir rehearsal, We went to Sunday school, morning service, and later, evening service.

When I was nine years old, after a business meeting, we stopped at Pastor and  Mrs. Frank's house. He was the assistant pastor, and she was over the Sunday school department. She was a tall thin woman who was always gentle and very nice. He, on the other hand was quiet and creepy. You could just feel him looking at everyone, while trying not to let them see that he was looking with such intensity. He was short, and had a strangely curved, bent back. When I was younger, I thought he looked like a turtle because he did not appear to have a real neck.
I loved to read, and I always took a book to church with me when the grown people had business to take care of. One of my favorites was Classics Illustrated. I had a copy of ' Robinson Crusoe' that I was reading for the second time.
I had been sitting in the living room and Mama was in the kitchen with Mrs. Maelee. Apparently Daddy had left, because he was not there. I got up to go to the bathroom, and was surprised to see Pastor Igor; yes, that is his real name, sitting in a straight back chair across from the bathroom. I remember stopping for a minute, holding my book tightly as I tried to figure out what to do.
.
You see, the entire house so was tiny, it felt like a dollhouse. In order for me to go to the bathroom, I would have to touch him. The decision was made for me, because I really needed to use the bathroom, so I slowly walked toward the door.
When I was within his reach, he grabbed my right arm, took the book from my hand and placed it in his lap. He quickly placed his right hand on my chest where my breasts would one day be.
He pinched seemingly as hard as he could, while rubbing back and forth. The pain was sharp and deep.
I was speechless. I looked at his tiny serpent looking eyes and wanted to die. Finally, I was able to  pull away and run back to the living room. I forgot about needing to use the bathroom.

I sat on the edge of the couch trembling. I wanted to cry, but my eyes would only burn. I wanted to run into the kitchen and tell my Mama, but I could not move. I vividly remember thinking that it was my fault and I had done something wrong. I kept those feelings for many years.

I jumped when he slithered silently into the room and tossed the book onto the coffee table. The book landed on the edge of a bowl of pine cones sitting on a starched white runner with red embroidery around the edges.
I don't know how much time passed before I heard my Daddy knock on the front door. Mama came out of the kitchen, and I remember Mrs. Maelee gave me a hug as we were leaving. She asked if I was cold, because I was still trembling. 
I left the book on the table with two pine cones covering the picture of Robinson Crusoe longing for someone to save him.

I jumped into the backseat of the car and tightly closed my eyes. When we pulled into our driveway, I pretended to be asleep, hoping my Daddy would pick me up and carry me into the house like he used to.
But, they woke me up so I could walk into the house.
After all, I was a big girl.
Wasn't I???

Church was never the same. I had trusted everyone I had grown up seeing every Sunday, and most of the rest of the week. Now, I did not know who I could trust.
Yes, I still have trust issues; especially men of the cloth.
I would sit in Sunday school and look at Pastor Igor and wish all kinds a bad things would happen to him, but then I would immediately feel guilty and ask God to forgive me.
The more I looked at him, the more fitting I felt his name was. His mother's choice was perfect.
He no longer looked like a turtle, he looked like the picture on the cover of my copy of 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame'.

By the time I had packed Mama and my aunts into my car, my nerves were much better. Yes, I had to do some serious praying.  It helped that they were pleased with the fancy new underwear I brought them. They were grumbling because the food for Homecoming was now catered. Back in the day, the women prepared food for their families, and everyone shared their special dishes. Unfortunately, one year, several of the older members ended up with food poisoning, and the decision was made to have the food brought it. I think they secretly enjoyed the fact they did not have to cook. I certainly would have.  However, those were very good times. The presence of unity and importance of family was priceless. I remember Mama had a red Scottish plaid cooler she used to pack some of the food. It was round and big enough for me to sit on
I allowed myself to embrace and enjoy the good memories. I strongly suspect our mindsets no longer have room for experiences such as these, which is our great loss. 

Quite a few 'young folk' had come for the occasion, so it was nice to see people I had not seen in years. I grew up in the midst of elderly people, so I am comfortable just listening to their conversation. More young women should take the time to soak up the wisdom of women who have traveled many of the same roads they are; and they survived. I must interject that they can also be extremely entertaining.
I was expected to explain why I was still not married. I managed to respectfully evade the question; several times to be exact. After taking a long pointed look at my mid-length natural hair style, one sister informed me that I might find a husband if I straightened my hair. Since Mama had made the same comment, I was neither surprised nor offended. Being an adult is a beautiful experience, and I seriously enjoy living my life, my way.

I was sitting in the relatively new cafeteria, thinking that Johnson Gallon would have no doubt been proud of his efforts to provide a place to worship the Lord.

I looked out of the window just as a blue nursing home van pulled up to the door. I watched as they carefully pushed a wheelchair down the ramp.
As I looked at the man bent over in the chair, I did not have to see his face to know who it was. Although he was small and frail, his back seemed to be even more pronounced, and round. He was slowly folding into himself.
He slowly raised his head, and I looked into his eyes.

No, his eyes did not look kind, gentle, or in any way benevolent. None of the softening that often comes with age. His beady little eyes were still serpent like, and surprisingly sharp. He was very much aware of his surroundings, which means that he is also just as aware of his condition. I noticed that he had very little use of his hands. I envisioned him sitting uncomfortably in a full diaper as he remembered nasty, disgusting deeds of his past.
Apparently he had partial speech, since he was attempting to converse with the older members who went to greet him.
Once a pastor, always a pastor.
By the time they entered the cafeteria, I had learned that he had two daughters who came down after his wife died and took him directly to the recently opened nursing home. They had not been back to see about him; not even once. The church members however, made sure that he was comfortable. These same church members also had no problem condemning the daughters.
We Christians seem to quickly forget that one should never attempt to judge what you do not know.

You probably think that I made a point to avoid Pastor Igor, but I was compelled to go into the Sanctuary. There were changes, but I looked around and thought about the many Easter speeches that we had to say at both morning and evening service. Mama loved clothes, so sometimes, I would have two outfits instead of one. I remembered the day I joined church. I was ten years old and it was on Mothers Day. Mama was so happy; actually, so was I.

I  walked slowly up to the altar and kneeled down. I was gently overcome by an encompassing sense of peace.
I left the pain, fear, shame, and the remnants of misplaced guilt of an innocent child, right there on the altar of this tiny church that would always be home.

Mama finally cornered me when I returned to the cafeteria and took me to speak to Pastor Igor.
He looked up and our eyes locked. Mine were still damp from the tears shed in the Sanctuary as I rededicated myself to Christ. His were still as cold as ice.


After I said hello, I knew without any doubt that he remembered me, and what he had done.
 Deep down, I knew that God made sure that he clearly remembered.
 I refused to look away. I stared at him until he tried to look away. I then realized that his head would not turn to either side. He could only move his head up or down. Finally, he slowly dropped his head.
Surprising myself, I reached over and gently touched his back.
He jumped and started to tremble.
Was his trembling as painful as mine had been?
I wonder...

At that moment, I realized that I had forgiven him.
God had blessed me with the freedom and power of being able to forgive this...man
.
 I will admit,that when I thought about the almost guaranteed probability of his molesting other children, I could not help but think how fitting it would be if Pastor Igor lived a very long life.

Thankfully, that was not my decision to make.
Life, as well as vengeance, belongs to our Heavenly Father.

Lupus and Dating / by Sammye Kaye

It is safe to say that any man interested in dating me would have to be a very special man.
In less than a week, I will be 62 years old, I am a plus size woman, I have lovely, tiny locs that fall gently past my waist. I am an intelligent, beautiful and compassionate woman. I have recently discovered that I have a somewhat quirky sense of humor that a surprising number of people appreciate. Who knew??
I am an excellent cook, who also has excellent taste. I love decorating my personal space with items that touch my spirit. I have my own style that fits me perfectly, and I wear my clothes very well:,for me..
 I am a Master Storyteller, in any genre. I am also a great actress ( my work), and group facilitator.
I accept people for who and what they are.
 I have no interest in attempting to change a person into who I would like them to be. Nor, will I be a 'potential' project for anyone.
I trust my moral compass and my instinct.

And...

I have Lupus...

Now, I will break this down into 'real speak'.
I am an ''elderly' woman, who is overweight, has 'dreadlocks', tends to be dramatic, and does not believe in casual sex.

And...

I have a medical condition that sounds yucky and has to be carefully explained.
Over and over...and over..

If that sounds sad and pitiful, please believe that is not the case.
It just happens to be my reality that I have chosen to accept with a positive attitude, and a smile.
Life is too precious and short to do otherwise.

So, how does this fit in the world of dating??

You just might be surprised.
My age has never been a factor except for men in my age group.
Since I entered the dating scene, younger men have always actively pursued me. In the beginning, I thought they were playing a jaded 'game' with this still somewhat naïve albeit mature lady.
However, the best dating experience I have ever had was with a man that was almost 14 years younger than me. He was quite comfortable with a deeper relationship, but I knew that I would never be able to handle the inevitable insecurities I would have. He is a very dear friend.
I later met another younger man who touched my heart. He introduced me to poetry on a completely different level. I had to keep our friendship in the category of friendship. He is also a dear friend.
Both of these men have gone on with their lives and loves; with my genuine blessings. They deserve the very best that life has to offer. They helped me learn the importance of accepting myself.

Okay, I was quite surprised by the number of men who really are attracted to plus size women. Some would rather stay hidden from society, but they are by far the minority. They stroll dating websites and hope they meet a woman willing to be a passing 'fancy' for their fantasy. They would probably be surprised to know that many women are just as adept at playing that mind game as they are.

I have always believed that there is beauty in everyone. Oddly, I could never see that beauty in myself. I have crossed paths with enough intelligent and genuinely nice men to finally appreciate my own beauty. This is something I pray for all women to experience. The act of falling in love with myself was a gift from God.

I have an active creative spirit. I love this simple fact about myself.  I have been blessed to have interaction with men who share this gift and sincerely appreciate mine. It warms my spirit and heart to share dialogue with someone who 'gets me'. To have a man be patient enough to answer my often endless questions and listen to my story ideas is priceless.
They have been few and far between, but it is nice to know that they do exist.

I am not my hair, but my hair is certainly a part of who I am. Period. Some like it, some seem confused. Older men seem offended. I really don't care, so I can smile and move on..

To tell or not to tell??
Initially, I felt the need to immediately tell anyone I was dating about the lupus. I was fully aware that this was my way of dealing with his possible rejection. Get it over with before my feelings became an issue.
My second best dating experience was with the only man I have ever dated that was older than I was. He was the first man I had ever known who could make me laugh out loud. When I told him about the lupus, he looked at me with a straight face and asked " Can I catch it?" I was little taken aback, until I looked deeper into his eyes and saw the smile. When I answered 'no', he said  "Well, okay then. Now, tell me how you are!!".  I could have easily fallen in love with him, but that was not to be.
He can still make me laugh.

Honestly, the facts are clear. I happen to come with a lot of baggage.
Men are only interested in their own baggage.
Am I worth the effort it would take to get to know me? 
Without a doubt.

 But...

Most men are not interested in becoming involved with a woman who has a medical condition that is not going away.  I rarely even make a very short list of possible options.
This, combined with my other uh, examples of uniqueness, (smiling) does not help my dating issues, but I can understand why they feel the way they do.
Seriously, I really do understand.
I cannot relate to those feelings because being a woman, I would not automatically dismiss a man because of a medical condition. If we had the opportunity to fall in love, I would just simply love him.
Men are not willing to take that chance, or make that opportunity.
 It is their choice
It is also often their great loss.
There are also men who feel that any woman who has as much baggage as I have, should be blindly grateful that they even want to spend time with me. I mean after all,," My health will be gone in ten years, and do I want to stay with my daughter forever!"
Yes, someone did say those words to me, and yes, there are many asses in this world.
Lesson learned.

So, have I given up on my true love finding me??

Actually, no, I have not.
Why?? 
My Faith. Plain and not at all simple.
My heart yearns for romantic love; but it no longer aches.
My spirit would love to soar with someone who has that special connection that would touch my very soul; but I have learned that the flight can be just as awesome flying alone.
I don't miss what I never had; but I have the amazing ability to dream.
I am surrounded by unconditional love everyday of my life.
 Priceless..

God is Love; He lives in me.
Where there is Love, there will always be Hope.






.

'Birthday Thanks For My Daughter',,,By Sammye Kaye

 In less than an hour, it will be 38 years since I experienced the greatest surprise of my life.
Without the benefit of ultra sounds, every birth was a surprise. I always felt that my first born would be a son, so I was almost prepared for his birth.

But honestly, I wanted you to be a girl so much, I spent the entire pregnancy refusing to get my hopes up. I simply chose not to think beyond praying for a healthy baby.

When the doctor told me I had a daughter, I was speechless.
You were beautiful, long, and completely 'filled out'. You had a serious, no nonsense look on your face, very light gray eyes, and a surprising amount of black hair, that disappeared within weeks, and came back golden blond.

Much to my delight, you were born with a strong personality. I knew that I would do whatever was needed to make sure that you would become a strong, confident woman.

You are that woman, and so much more...

Thank you for believing in yourself enough to embrace who you are.

Thank you for believing in me enough to accept me for who I am.

Thank you for trusting yourself enough to be loyal to the ones you love. Many times, your loyalty to your family and friends has left me speechless.

Thank you for not being afraid to live your dream of providing your students with a desire to learn. You take the time to find the keys that will open their minds to accept the knowledge that you make available.

Thank you for loving your work and your students.

Thank you for touching their hearts as well as their minds.

Thank you being a mother who stops whatever she is doing, to listen to her children.
You have chosen your priorities, and you stay true to your values.
They will never question where they 'fit' into your life; they already know.

Thank you for being comfortable in your chosen role as a loving and caring wife.
You understand that the thoughtful deeds you do for your husband does not diminish your strength as woman. You understand that it is often the seemingly 'small' acts of love that are more meaningful.
Thank you for marrying a man who can laugh with you, as you both teach your children exactly what genuine love and respect between a man and a woman looks like.

Thank you for loving your big brother more than he will probably ever understand.

Thank you for being confident and respectful enough to say what you need to say; when you need to say it.

Thank you for understanding the need for growth as your journey continues. You know the importance of seeking God's guidance in your everyday life.

Thank you for your sense of humor.
Your laughter can brighten an entire room.
Your smile generates a sunshine-like warmth that can often be contagious.
Your ability to laugh at yourself, teaches others how to laugh at themselves.

Thank you for loving who you are as a woman and a child of God.
Thank you for being and remaining a humble person..

Thank you for loving me enough to convince me that opening up your home to me, was an easy, and natural decision for you and your family to make.

Thank you for constantly surprising me by how well you know me. I don't have to explain my feelings to you; you just seem to understand.
Thank you being an amazing woman..

Thank you being my beautiful daughter.
My Ladybug..
My Baby...
Happy Birthday!

I love you.

'The Wolf and The Butterfly',,,,, My Life With Lupus/ By Sammye Kaye

Did you know that the Lupus Foundation supports a wolf sanctuary? I was actually going back to refresh my knowledge regarding the behavior of wolves, when I was pleasantly surprised by the discovery.

When I was diagnosed with Systemic Lupus over fifteen years ago, I learned that the word 'Lupus' was the name of the doctor who isolated the condition, and I was a little surprised and offended that the word actually means 'wolf'.
Since that time, I have made my peace with the characteristics of the elusive wolf.
The wolf is loyal for life, and their means of communication are uniquely their own. I can relate to the similarities of my condition.

My wolf is only trying to protect my body from potential harm. My wolf communicates with my body in several different ways. All of which range from uncomfortable to extremely painful.
The butterfly is the symbol for The Lupus Foundation.
 I have a butterfly tattoo that reminds me of my new beginning as well as my survival..

When I was initially diagnosed, I took my time embracing all of the feelings that are present when you realize that you have a medical condition that has no cure, and will forever be a part of your life. I was not afraid, but I was sad. I knew enough about the condition to know that my lupus was considered 'moderate' by normal standards.
My actual diagnosis was almost by accident. I was 47 years old, and any symptoms I had were attributed to my aging process. I was blessed to have a watchful doctor who seemed determined to find out why my ANA readings were off the charts. It was later that I felt relief in finding out the real cause of my fatigue. The achiness of my joints was something I had chosen to ignore.
He informed me that I probably had the condition for several years before the diagnosis.

During the first few years, changes in my life resulted in extreme levels of stress. Since I happen to have a peaceful and laid back personality, I shudder to think how difficult it would have been for a hyper personality.

I woke up every morning exhausted.
 I felt as if I had been running a 15 minute mile over and over again.
The stiffness in my body was actually painful.

The screaming of my joints moves from one spot to another.
The achiness never goes away.
I have not slept eight hours in 20 years. I am supposed to sleep nine hours.
I actually wake up every two hours; every night.

As bad as my pain often becomes, I fully understand how blessed I am. My vital organs, such as my kidneys seemed to be spared the 'protection' of my self- appointed ' protector'.

Even before I shared my condition with my family, I became active in the Lupus Foundation.
I trained to become a facilitator for a support group, but after making the four hour one-way drive alone, on my return the following day, I ended up in ICU. Driving has never been an issue for me, but the life changing events in my life at the time, only added to the stress. I drove myself to the emergency room. Both of my doctors wanted me to quit my job, but I could not do that. I had to be able to take care of myself. I quite simply had no choice
I had to stay off work for six months, but thank God, I was finally able to go back to work.
My 35 year marriage was over and my life had completely changed forever.

I learned to love myself, I tapped into who I am, and my body quieted down enough for me to breath again.
The howl of my wolf was not silent, but much like a deep, attentive whisper.
I could finally hear my voice..

During that time, October was Lupus Awareness Month. I decided against starting a support group, but I did participate in the Lupus Walks. It was nice to be around people who could understand this journey. Honestly, not many people do understand; not even family.

Up until a few months ago, I seldom read blogs focusing on Lupus. I realize that even when I write a piece about illness, I focus on the generalities of chronic illness.
I am forced to admit that I still had lingering feelings left over from years of programming. I have put together several forums addressing the genuine, often gut wrenching feelings, of a person who has a serious medical condition.

Shame and Guilt

For me, the shame and guilt seem to go hand in hand.
I have always been active. I was not interested in running marathons or competition weight training. However, I have always preferred running over walking because you could quickly get the experience over with. The problem arose when my spouse told me that running a 15 minute mile was not good enough; I needed to strive for a 5 mile run. A serious head game, that had a few lasting effects..
I was toned and my weight was perfect, but I simply did not understand the truth.
I take full responsibility for not being connected to myself.
Since society has given people the right to make rude comments about another person's weight, it is often pointed out to me that my lupus would probably improve if I exercised more.
I no longer explain that each person's experience is uniquely their own.
When I went to the gym 3-4 days a week and walked 3 days, my pain and fatigue remained the same. Only the stiffness did seem to lessen.

Therein lies the guilt.
For the last couple of years, my fatigue and level of pain has become more pronounced.
This is to date, my longest flare. I have declined the use of steroids to control the pain.
 I can function well, but the tiredness can be very emotionally frustrating. I learned how to pace myself years ago, so my life is a blessing. Challenging, but no less a blessing.
There are still many days when I am so very tired of being tired. There are just as many days when I wish I had a switch to turn off the pain.
Overall, you quickly learn to fully appreciate the 'good' days.
I would love to be able to once again walk every day...
Hopefully, one day soon.

Last week, I read a blog post written by a Lupus patient that struck a chord. She was married to someone who was not willing to pay for a drug that could ease her pain. She has insurance, and would be provided with a reduced rate because she had participated in a trial. He said no.
I admire her because she did not sugarcoat her feelings.
She was not having a pity party, she was stating her facts. There is a distinct difference.
I have met few people who use their illness as a weapon or a means for attention.

Yes, I am blessed.
I have children, grandchildren, family, and friends who love and support me.
Many, many people have to face this journey alone.

I have a very special gift.
 I spend my days with my 2 yr.old granddaughter.
She is the youngest of my four amazing babies.
She is intelligent, beautiful, feisty, and gentle and loving to her Nana.
I am her Nana; she is my Twinkle.
I love children and they seem to love me. But...
This baby seems to be instinctively tuned in to how I am feeling.
She picks the days for us to dance, sing or play ball. Or, the days when I simply need her to snuggle in my lap as I read her a story, or she watches her favorite television show
On the days when I suppose I am moving slowly, she paces her steps as we descend the stairs.
She tells me she loves me several times a day.
When she is close enough, she will sometimes lean over and gently kiss my cheek; without saying a word.
She makes my heart smile.

I have shared these types of inner feelings with very few people.
I always seek and embrace the positives of life.
However...
There is no weakness or negativity in being ill; there is always strength, whether it is visible to others or not.

So, my life will go on.
My faith, and God's grace and mercy, keep my hopes and dreams alive.
I am finishing up a play that I plan on presenting in the fall.
I love and enjoy this life that God has blessed me with.
I can smile, laugh, and be thankful.
I can also accept the fact that sometimes, tears are both cleansing and comforting.
I accept my feelings, whatever they happen to be.
My wolf and my butterfly have made peace with each other.
They are both are part of me..

Thankfully, God has always been, and will always be..in control.

"What Mother's Day Means To Me"/ by ~Sammye Kaye~~

I have always been fascinated by clouds, angels and my vision of heaven.
As a little girl, I decided that all babies were patiently waiting with the angels in heaven to choose their parents. I also decided that since I wanted a large family, there had to be at least five or six babies waiting for me to become their mother.

By the time I reached puberty, I figured four children was much more reasonable. I will gladly admit that by the time my son was a year old, the number had dropped to two. Not because he was a difficult child; he was not. He was happy, and had a great personality. The truth is, I realized just how much time and total dedication it would take to be the type of mother I was determined to be.

My son was five years old when my daughter was born. Perfect timing. My son had time to grow into his own person; enjoying the perks of being the first born child, and my daughter would have the opportunity to enjoy the perks of being the baby.

Being a mother to my children is a joy. Even when I want to pinch them, I have the ability to always see their inner child.
 I can read them..
They both have easy smiles, and their laughter can be contagious.
They are both warm, compassionate and positive in their view of life.

I will always be compelled to try and make their lives easier, and void of pain, sadness and disappointment. That is of course out of my realm of control, but thankfully, I can always pray for their health, contentment and priceless peace of mind.

My children's love and respect for me makes everyday feel like 'Mother's Day'.

I can still visualize my children in baby heaven, sitting in the soft fluffy clouds looking down at the people below:

Son: " Look at her. She seems to be very nice, but quiet and a little shy."

Daughter: " I've been watching her. She spends a lot of time by herself reading and writing, or just sitting, with a faraway look in her eyes."

Son: " Well, her house is quite boring. I don't blame her for reading. You do know that she wants lots of children, so perhaps she is thinking of us."

Daughter: "We already know that we are going to the same parents, and I, for one, am not interested in having a lot of siblings. So, you need to convince her that two babies will be quite enough, thank you!"

Son: "  I agree."    " Okay, so have we made our choice?"

Daughter: "Yes. Now don't forget that I am going to be up here waiting. Don't get too comfortable being the only child, and please don't be obnoxious, even at the age of three. I have heard from the other babies, that being three years old can be lots of fun; for the babies. Not so much for the parents!"

Son: " You know what, she almost looks sad doesn't she?"

Daughter: " Yes. I think she really needs us. And look, she already loves us. All that love she has for six kids, she can just give all of it to us. That means you will have to quickly show her how much you love her."

Son: "That will be easy. I want to see her smile. She will need to understand that I accept her, just as she is.  I will take care of her my way; the love of a son."

Daughter: " When I am born, I will take care of her with the love of a daughter."

Daughter: " Do you think there is a real difference?"

Son: " Of course there is a difference, because we are different. Genuine love is genuine love, so she will appreciate our love, because it will always come from our heart."

Daughter: " I think you will be a good big brother."

Son: " And you little one, will be my very special baby sister, however...do you think you will always talk as much as you do now?"

Daughter: " Oh yes!"  And, I will have an extensive vocabulary by the age of two!"
" I might get a little bossy sometimes, but remember that I will always love you, just the way you are." 
Son: "   Oh.... Well, I will have five years of quiet time to prepare for your arrival."

They laugh together.

How blessed I am..