Sanctuary on the Beach

I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he hs called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people...Ephesians 1:18-19

          

         During my early morning walk along the beach this morning I came upon a special spot. From a distance it almost looked like there were “snowballs” hanging from the dead tree branches.  As I got close I entered what seemed to be a kind of outdoor church.  The air flowed through my hair and the sun warmed my back as I stepped closer and into this sanctuary on the beach. Hurricane Irma had uprooted and blown down some trees along the shoreline. The trees were still there, their roots down firmly in the sand, but the branches were bare of leaves, strikingly black against the blue sky. Shells of all shapes and sizes hung from the branches. Many people walking the beach have picked up shells with holes worn through them and have hung them up like Christmas ornaments as they pass by. Each shell, I have been told, is a memorial, a wish or a prayer placed there by someone.  Roots, vines and branches have been added to the scene forming a kind of sacred art. 

The energy there is powerful! Knowing that each shell holds a thought, memory, wish, prayer or hope as it rests on the branch or root of a dead tree evokes the feeling of walking on sacred ground. This is how I felt as I placed a few shells of my own on the branches. I felt a peace that had been eluding me lately.  It felt like worship, hope, love, peace, and acceptance. Somehow the spirit had visited me there. It felt like grace.

The experience on the beach in this special outdoor sanctuary came to my mind as I read the verse from Ephesians. I almost felt as though someone had prayed over me. It seemed that the “eyes of my heart” had been enlightened by the  Holy Spirit. Now I could see things with new eyes of understanding. The heat of the sun and the feel of the breeze were physical reminders that I had been provided with energy and strength to continue to find hope in the “glorious inheritance” of God’s promises.

I pray, God, thank you for coming to me in unlikely ways and for plugging me into your power in my life to “see” and understand my purpose for You on this earth. Thank you for helping me to find holy ground to walk on when I most need you.

Ponder: Have you ever experienced a time when you sensed that you were on holy ground and that the Spirit was enlightening you? If you haven’t, can you begin to become aware of possible moments like these? Perhaps the Spirit will find you. This is my prayer for you.

Early Thursday Morning

Whenever I cannot sleep because my mind is going, going, going as if it were running a marathon that never ends, I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and force my mind to visualize myself laying cozily in the hand of God.  Usually after a few extra deep breaths, I can relax and go back to sleep. Thursday morning was not one of those times. I just couldn’t get comfortable in God’s hand this time. I’ve always felt “held” in the past, but at that moment, I did not.

I climbed carefully out of bed and walked out to the great room and looked outside to see if it was raining. It was dark and warm with a slight breeze but no rain. I opened the sliding door and walked with bare feet out and sat down on a damp chair, put my head down in my hands and began to sob.  I’ve been holding my emotions together by a thread lately and at that moment I just railed at God and the Universe into the gentle breeze, not with words, but with sobs and sighs and deep breaths.

My own sobbing brought me back to a time when my son was only 10 years old and had tried out for a travel baseball team that he had been involved with the previous year. I had just gone over to the park district to look at the posting of the players for the new season listed on the door of the building. His name was not included. As a mom of an anxious boy, I was very aware of how much he wanted to be a part of this team and a huge sense of disappointment rushed over me and I felt so helpless for him. It was probably the first real let-down that he was to experience, and I was going to have to be the one tell him.

I remember going in to work at the church preschool that morning and before facing anybody else, I went directly up into the sanctuary and sat down in the quiet space and prayed for peace and understanding…but inside I was a wreck. I didn’t speak out loud, but my thoughts railed at God as I looked up at the altar with sobs and sighs and deep breaths.

This memory kind of seems ridiculous now as I look back on it some 25 years after it happened. It seems like such an insignificant moment that in retrospect doesn’t even count in the course of life’s storms. However, it occurred to me on Thursday morning that after my current moment of despair, that my son had moved on after the disappointment. He joined a wonderful team, coached by his dad. They went on to win the championship at the local level and had a very good time with all of his friends, minus the pressure and the competitive nature of the whole “travel” team. It turned out just as it needed to be, just as God intended it to be.

I realized in that moment, that what we think is the “best” situation or solution to a problem may not be the “right” one. I’ve learned this multiple times, yet I still wail angrily at God when it doesn’t seem to be moving in MY preferred way…This living with uncertainty and disappointment while waiting for God to reveal WHAT the next thing is, is so difficult. I just keep forgetting the lessons I have learned.  

After I got the grief and anger out of my system, I knew that I was just being impatient. God was still holding me in the palm of his hand. My concern for my  children has not changed, nor do I think it ever will. The issues and concerns I pray over my children are related to health, mental health, job security, financial stability and the very lives of my grandchildren. All of these issues seem to be so much more important and life altering than 5th grade baseball in the grand scheme of things. It seemed as though I had been looking at “travel” baseball tryouts through a huge magnifying glass back when it happened. It seemed so very important at the time and it wasn’t easy to trust that things were going to work out, but they did. I longed to take the magnifying glass off of the current problems the my children were facing and tried to see them through a lens that would bring me closer to God. I want to trust, but then that darn doubt creeps into my brain in the wee hours of the night. I do know in my heart that the issues will resolve, one way or another, in God’s perfect timing.  He doesn’t seem to mind that I’m not a fan of His timing, but God is usually right. 

After my good crying jag and some sobering thoughts and realizations that I cannot control any of it, I swore at the devil out loud, 

“Leave me and my family alone, dammit!” and went back inside.  

I turned on the shower, stepped into it and let the warm water run over me as I stood there.  It felt to me like a renewal of my baptism.  The water was softly flowing over me and cleansing me as if it held the power of the Holy Spirit to restore me. The Spirit was rinsing away all of my resentments, fears, negative thoughts and anxieties. Afterwards, I felt better, stronger and closer to God. I was dressed and ready face the day by the time the sun began lightening the sky.

Gail Mehlan

June 2019

Every Time a Miracle

            “Are you excited or scared to meet your new little sister, Dottie?” I ask as I smile down at my four-year-old grandson while we are eating chicken nuggets at a local favorite restaurant.

            “Cited!” he grins up at me and adds, “When I was a baby, I was scared and wanted to come out ‘cuz it was dark in there!”

            “Do you remember that from when you were inside mommy’s belly?”

            “Uh-huh!” He smiles.

            “Dottie’s coming out TODAY?” asks my seven year old granddaughter. 

            “Maybe.” I say, not really knowing myself if this was going to be the day.  My daughter, at the end of her pregnancy, had gone into the hospital with her husband to be monitored with talk of artificially inducing her labor early the next morning.  I wasn’t sure what was happening at that moment, but knew a precious new life would be here soon. 

            The kids quickly finished up their chicken and ice cream, played in the playroom for a few minutes, even the ten year old, who is way too big to be in there!  My husband and I watched the sunset out the window and tried to imagine what the night would bring for our daughter, and for this family.

            We safely made it home to my daughter’s house as I received the text that they were going to keep them overnight and start the induction in the morning.  My daughter, Michelle, wanted me to bring her packed overnight bag and other miscellaneous items that she hadn’t packed yet to the hospital as soon as I could.  I had some work to do!  As quickly as I was able to, I got the kids home, showered and bathed and in bed by about 9:00 pm.  This was a record! They even got their teeth brushed!

            The older grandson was upset because the TV wasn’t working, (I think the cable was out…) but he finally crawled into bed with his tablet and was relaxing quietly in his own room. The younger two wanted me to lay with them, each of them wanting me to lie next to THEM! I finally convinced them to let me lie in the middle and make a “Grandma Sandwich”.  They were okay with that and we discussed what kind of sandwich I was.

            “You be the ham, Grandma, and we will each be the bread!”

            “NO! You’re the cheese, Grandma!”

            “I’ll be peanut butter and jelly, how ‘bout that?”

            “Okay.”  They finally agree.  I settle in next to them both and close my eyes and try to relax.  I’m feeling very anxious as I lay there, wanting to get going to the hospital “sooner rather than later” which are the words from my daughter’s text message.  I try to pray for my daughter as I let out slow, calming breaths, trying to calm my own nerves and settle my body so these two precious ones next to me will sense my calmness and fall asleep. I whisper aloud the prayer that I always said with my own children before sleep,

            “Jesus, tender shepherd, hear me..

            Bless Allie and Kellan and Jack tonight. (and Dottie…I think silently)

            Through the darkness keep them safe,

            ‘Til morning’s light….Amen”

            Before too long, their breathing slows and I can feel the excitement and tension flow out of them.  Quietly Allie asks me,  “Will Dottie be here in the morning?”

            “I don’t know for sure, honey.  In a few minutes I’m going to leave to go to the hospital to check on mommy and daddy and Dottie.”

            “I don’t want you to go…”

            “I know, just close your eyes and I’ll be back here tomorrow…”

            She lets out a big sigh, then shortly I hear her slow even, relaxed breathing and I think she is finally asleep.  The younger one is already sound asleep hugging his “Pete the Cat” stuffed animal.  After about 10 minutes, I carefully scooch feet first towards the bottom of the bed, slip out from between them and carefully sit up on the edge of the bed.  They are both sleeping soundly and moving very slowly, I get up and out of bed to gather the requested items and get on my way.  I am trusting grandpa to stay here and manage the rest of the night.

           

            Before I leave, I open the door to check on Jack and say quietly,

            “Are you still awake?”

            “Yeah.”

            “I’m getting ready to leave to go to the hospital to be with mom and dad.  Okay?”

            “Will you pick us up early tomorrow from school?”

            “I’m not sure, but if Dottie is here, and everything’s good, we will. I’ll keep grandpa posted on what’s happening.”

            “Okay, goodnight Grandma, love you!”

            “Love you too, goodnight!”

            It’s interesting how babies always seem to want to come in the middle of the night.  I say a quick “Goodbye” to my husband and load all of the requested items into the car.  My daughter had packed a diffuser and some essential oils to use during labor as well as her phone charger, wireless ear buds and a few other things that would not have been a part of my “labor” pack when I had her back in 1979.  Things are certainly much more technological now!  My mind is full of memories and thoughts as I drive to the hospital which is about 40 minutes away.  There is little traffic at 10:00 at night, so I arrive in good time, “sooner rather than later”…

            The room is semi dark when I enter, and my daughter is sitting on a large exercise ball rocking back and forth.  She has hired a “Doula” to help her manage the labor this time, and she is slowly rubbing her back and speaking to her softly.  I ask how she’s doing and give my daughter a gentle hug.  It seems like things are going along okay, but nothing has really started yet, although she shows that she’s having mild contractions on the monitor. 

            This is my daughter’s fourth delivery.  She is strong and determined.  She wants to have few, if any interventions in her birth.  She wants so much for this delivery to go as naturally as possible. Anxiety and fear have kept her from feeling she was capable, though.  This last year has been a struggle with some unusual health issues and the pregnancy on top of all of that.  So that’s what I pray… I pray for her to get through this without any extreme interventions and no complications…so anxious to hold another granddaughter in my arms!

            As the night went on, Michelle’s labor continued to get stronger and harder. In spite of this a sense of peace settled in the room.  Katy, the Doula, was a constant support and reassurance for both my daughter and her husband. (He’s more of a sports coach than a labor coach!) I was acting as backup support and constant reassurance that all was going well.

            My daughter has such a remarkable ability to go deep into her own place of concentration during labor.  She put on her wireless headphones and played her own special music as she dealt with the contractions as each one got stronger and harder than the last.  At one point she looked up at me with her big, brown eyes and said to me,

           

            “Make this stop, Mom, I can’t do this anymore!”   When I saw that look, and heard her words, I knew it was getting close.

            “You’re doing awesome, honey! You are doing it! Let go, let her come..”  Is all I could say to her, as I held her hands and looked her in the eyes.

            “Just take one at a time, and go with it…”, Katy added.

            Michelle began to moan and get visibly agitated. Katy suggested that she take deep breaths and try not to hold her breath.  Michelle was beginning to push involuntarily. Brian moved close by as we waited.  Moments later the doctor came running, out of breath, into the room, put on her gloves and gown, briefly checked my daughter and announced,

            “I guess we’re going to have a baby!” 

            It’s a sacred moment when a new life joins the world!  When I think about what that moment was really like, all I can remember is that I looked around me and took it all in. I savored the moments, the slippery tiny body that entered the room with her fierce presence, the cry that brought her first strong breath, the tears and the cries of joy. I was standing on sacred ground.  As I watched their faces, I saw relief, joy, amazement and pure love as that tiny precious little girl joined our lives.  She is healthy and perfectly formed. As I saw her laying in her mother’s arms looking up at her, all I could do was look up toward heaven as tears streamed down my face and say, “Thank you!” 

            Every time it’s a miracle.

Dorothy Parker Clarke

7 lbs. 4 oz.

20” long

October 2, 2018 3:47 AM

Gail Mehlan

October 2018

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DNA

 

What’s in my blood is 

not what’s in my heart

 

           My DNA results say that I am 95% British and most likely completely descended from the very earliest settlers of Massachusetts, Maine, North Carolina and Virginia, from both sides of my family, mother and father.

            Most likely these ancestors of mine were escaping something difficult for them, not knowing at all what they were going to become here in this land, now called the United States of America.  Several even came over on the very Mayflower of Thanksgiving fame. I always wanted to believe that they were brave.  But, perhaps it is true.  They were selfish.  They left oppression to worship freely, to spread the gospel unfettered by rules set forth by the queen, the king.  They were not perfect.  They wanted to do the right thing before God as they conceived God.  They didn’t have everything figured out.

            My ancestors have taken land from Native peoples. Some tried to work with them. Some were successful some were not. They were afraid and unsure of their ways.  Some of them tried to save the natives from their “savageness” when they believed the world was about to end. They feared them and fought them for land… to survive. Some tried to escape their anger.  Some did not survive. Most times there was no mercy for the white men.  Certainly they did not understand what they were doing.

            My ancestors profited from trading with the natives and unknowingly stripped the land of its animal inhabitants. The fur was so valuable to them, more valuable than money.  It’s how they developed businesses and trade here in the new land.

            They took down trees and built homes on land they were deeded by their homeland far away.  They took these opportunities to better their own lives. With them, they brought guns, alcohol and diseases, that wiped out entire nations of native people.  They did not know what they were doing and their understanding was limited.

            My ancestors enslaved human beings to work the land for their own benefit. They fought for their own well being above others, with their own unclear thinking about race and about religion.  Some were Confederate soldiers, or their wives or mothers.  They were white, educated and privileged.  Later, they hired black men to work in their fields and black women to help in their homes. My mother always said they loved the  “help” like family.  It was accepted even though it was wrong.

            I don’t know for sure what my ancestors really believed. I wish I had heard in their own words what they had to say surrounding all of these issues. But, alas, all I hear are whispers from the grave.

            What’s in my blood is not what’s in my heart. It’s such a paradox of ideas.  What’s in my heart comes from my family as well as from my own experiences growing up.  It comes from how my parents lived within our community.  I must confess that I lived a sheltered, white privileged suburban childhood. I was not afraid and I never thought twice about forming new relationships. 

            My parents encouraged me to engage in friendships with people who were different from us. I loved and grew and learned about differences and similarities from the loving relationships that were formed during. I learned acceptance and I learned love from all of these encounters. But I never felt the sting of being on the other side.  I was the one that received the good.

            When I went to college and decided to major in Spanish.  My parents supported my desire to travel and experience the world from Mexico to Europe, and primarily Spain.  During those travels, they provided me with the resources so that I could explore and experience immersion in different culture and language without judgment or jealousy.  I developed a wonderfully loving relationship with a family that nurtured me and loved me as their own daughter.  These relationships continue and are alive today.

            When I became a teacher, I had students of many different faiths, skin colors, languages and socio-economic status.  I thought and claimed that I wasn’t there to “save” them, I was there to “help” them and their families survive in an English speaking country that was sometimes hostile to their being here. But what was the difference? I would never truly be in their shoes.  In trying to help them, did I subconsciously put myself above them in some way? 

             I cannot recall even one truly difficult relationship working with families of all types throughout my teaching career.  I reveled in the days we celebrated Dr. Martin Luther King’s birthday and we recalled his “I have a dream” speech.  In front of me was a school assembly full of multicultural children, sitting side by side, learning and playing together. Working in a very mixed school culturally was enlightening and rewarding.  It certainly shaped my feelings about differences we have, as well as all of the wonderful similarities we experience and share together.

            As I write this, again, I am distraught with myself. I find that I am continuing to justify my position.  My bloodline is responsible, but not me. I’m making excuses and saying that I am not responsible for any of the hatred that exists between races, between people.  My bloodline is responsible, but not me.  But oh! I am.  I am responsible because my blood is in me.  It is the living part of me that keeps me alive.  I don’t know what to do with all of the muddled feelings that I have. I want to love everyone.  I want to love like Jesus, but this love I am not able to manifest of my own volition.  When Jesus’ blood was shed, it was shed for me too, whatever history brings to the table.

            I do know that I don’t know.  I will never completely understand the “others”.  I will never be on the other side…can never be.  Maybe we, as “whites” and “privileged”, deserve to be uncomfortable with this.  I pray that we never allow hate to continue and turn itself around.  I do not want to be a white supremacist. I do not want to be a racist.  In spite of the potential for hate, I still strive to be an ally, a friend, and a supporter. 

            I will always be the privileged “white girl” from the suburbs and I cannot change that.  My forefathers and mothers were Puritans and Colonists who came across the sea to start a new life.  With their own problems and ways of thinking our great country was built…in spite of their shortcomings. We cannot change history. All I have is a glimmer of what my family thought, but that doesn’t really matter now. The damage has been done.

            Today I am waving my own personal flag of surrender.  I know I can never make amends for my people.  At the same time, I cannot bear the weight of all of this on my own weak shoulders.  I cannot make progress nor move into the future and work towards change while looking back and living in the past.

            I am truly sorry…sorry that this is such a difficult time between races and religions, men and women.  I am sorry that I don’t understand differences that relate to sexuality, gender and gender identity.  I am sorry that we fight one another on a daily basis regarding these issues even still.  I am sorry for what I’ve said unknowingly that has hurtful. I am sorry I don’t and never will completely understand. I reach out with open hands and an open heart to work for a better way to do life together. Will you work with me? Will you allow me to enter into a tentative place of understanding? Can we find a place of love and respect for one another? Will you help me be the ally, supporter, a friend?  I offer myself to the world and know, without a doubt that I will fall short in spite of my desires.

            I ask for forgiveness, forgiveness for the unimaginable.

            “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do…” –Luke 23:34

Beginnings

I’ve taken my grandchildren down to the dock to look for ducks and turtles, but nothing seems to be moving on the water today.  It’s very quiet. Perhaps we’ve scared them off with simply our presence.  This does not bother the kids though.  They have found a few pebbles on the ground and are anxious to toss them into the water.  They love to see them splash and the sound that they make.  I, myself, love to watch the circular rings that form and I snap a picture.  It is a surprisingly unseasonably warm and sunny day.  I begin to think about the start of this New Year, and fresh beginnings.  What is it about this year that brings me to a new beginning?

I have begun to delve into my family history again after a very long break.  I was very involved with it around the year 2005, but or some reason, I compiled all that I had up until that point and then I put it aside for a while. Life happened! There continued to be a longing in me each time I thought about it that there was still much to be known.

Since that time, my own immediate living family has grown by leaps and bounds.  Two of my children have married and brought with them their own extended families.  As of today we have 5 grandchildren ranging in age from 5 months to 8 years.  It is no less than a miracle that this much life has begun and blessed us in such a short span of time.  Life keeps marching forward.

Yesterday, we took 3 of our grandchildren to visit the Eiteljorg Native American museum in downtown Indianapolis.  This is a museum that holds so much information and many artifacts from Native Americans who lived in Indiana and from around the country and the world.  As I was looking at one of the exhibits, I read a quote from a Native American Cherokee descendent,

“Time as a river is a more Euro-American concept of time, with each event happening and passing on like a river flows downstream.

Time as a pond is a more Native American concept of time with everything happening on the same surface, in the same area…and each event is a ripple on the surface.” – Dave Edmunds (Cherokee), professor, 2001

I immediately thought to myself, “Yes, for me, time flows forward like a river…  That’s exactly how I view it!” (A very Euro-American viewpoint!)  Life keeps marching forward, no looking back, lest I turn into a pillar of salt like the wife in the story of Sodom and Gomorrah.  But something stops me here. I know I could be wrong as I begin again to study and search the family history trying to put the pieces together that weave a story of our family. I stop and think, “What if we really do ripple out from each other more like rings on a pond?” What if we don’t look back, but look around us and seek the circular pattern that is made when something strikes the water?

This image haunts me.  Circles all growing one inside of the other, rippling outward to a larger circle, a circle of life. I do find myself waking up at night and thinking about my ancestors being a part of my circle of life today.

As I stare out into the dark night sky, and see the many stars, I recall how God spoke to Abraham saying,

“And I will make thy seed to multiply as the stars of heaven, and will give unto thy seed all these countries; and in thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed;” –Genesis 26:4

I say a prayer to the God I know…and to the ancestors that can hear me.

“I want to know you! I want to know your stories, your loves, your music, and your faith! I want to KNOW you!  How have your lives influenced me and mine?

Reveal yourselves and your stories to me and I will record them so I and my own family don’t forget!”

And then I start to think about circles, and I envision one small stone dropped in a pond and the circles continuing to grow and spread all around, yet still in the same pond.  The stories of my families are numerous…just like the stars…yet somehow connected.  We are connected through our DNA and through the stories I know and the ones I only imagine. So I take a deep breath and realize that I am just one of the many descendants of Abraham perhaps.  It is a challenge of discovery for me. Where exactly did my circle in the pond begin?

As I study the different websites, I look at a random name of someone who could be a descendant.   I am looking at an unknowable face with a birth date and a date of death. Maybe I know the names of a few of their children and perhaps even more. At the same time, I know there are clues about that person that I am missing.  I so want to know.  I continue to hunt for them like I’m on a mysterious family treasure hunt.

I am hoping that one day it will all start to make sense for me, that I can accept the mystery and the questions that I have to leave unanswered. I must trust that this is the beginning of a marvelous story. It’s only when I realize that I am only at the beginning of this journey that I can actually sleep, trusting that the stories will be revealed to me as my research continues. The story of my families will unfold.

Somehow this circle of life image has struck a larger cord for me as well as I, we, face this New Year, 2017.  There are so many changes that are coming quickly down the river at us like a rapid current.  Our lives will be changed perhaps in ways we don’t want.  This can be from political changes that will undoubtedly happen this year in the coming weeks, or we could be blindsided by any number of different situations…I don’t want to be a “Negative Nelly” about it and I don’t want to look back.  Perhaps I just need to look around at the ripples instead of being washed away like a river.  “Bring it on!” I say to myself as I study my family tree and discover stories of families who continued to survive the concentric rings of life branching outward from Abraham to, me…to us.

Would I have followed my mariner husband across the ocean on a ship similar to the Mayflower to a new world with so many unknowns? Would I have survived the loss of several “Mary’s” as infants and still passed the beloved name on to the next female infant?  How many tears were shed for those babies? Would I have survived the “revolution” of the Revolutionary War? Would I have sworn my loyalty to a newly formed government and been willing to offer up even my life to support them? Would I, or even could I have continued to face life after half of my family died in the Long Crane Indian massacre? (Even as I think about how horrible it must have been, in looking at the history of how “we” (White settlers) took so much away from the Native Americans. Somehow I don’t blame them for fighting back!)

Would I have looked forward to a new regime when my two sons died of dysentery during the Civil War? Would I have been proud to earn a medal defending Washington DC during the Civil War when my very own brother had died in combat at Spotsylvania? Would I have carried on my life with breast cancer and two young children after my husband committed suicide with a shotgun at the start the Great Depression? These are just a few of the stories that I’ve discovered in reviewing my family history. These are some amazing stories of survival after losing much. And yet after all of that, my family is still here. We have survived, are surviving.

Madeline L’Engle in All that was Good writes

“If I affirm that the universe was created by a power of love, and that all creation is good.  I am not proclaiming safety. Safety was never part of the promise.  Creativity, yes; safety, no.  All creativity is dangerous…to write a story or paint a picture is to risk failure.  To love someone is to risk that you may not be loved in return, or that the love will die.  But love is worth the risk, and so is birth, its fulfillment.”

So I end these thoughts about beginnings with this simple prayer.

No matter what the future brings or what is about to happen in 2017:

Take the risk.

Rachel Held Evans on her blog encourages us to:

“Finish the book.  Pursue the relationship. Begin the ministry. Push the boundaries. Join the march. Write the screenplay.  Do the dishes. Plant the onions. Carry the child.  Roll around on the floor with your giggling toddler as if the world was even fractionally worthy of his presence.”

I could add to that as well; “Complete the family tree. Tell the stories.”

So I tell myself that this New Year is beginning and will be different.  There will be difficulties to survive amidst the laughter and love we enjoy.  I will continue to live my life and investigate my history. The sun will come up in the morning and set in the evenings.  The circles of life will continue to grow and carry us outward, onward, and forward. 

Gail Mehlan