Just Breathe--A Christmas Letter for Mom by her Daughters--Christmas 2020

 

Christmas 2020—A Christmas Letter from Peggy’s Daughters

From those who have complained about difficulty breathing while wearing masks to those unforgettable dying words of George Floyd, to those struggling to breathe in COVID wards,and to those of us with anxiety and worry about all the trials of 2020, it seems that breathing is more critical this year. Perhaps I am just thinking of this because Mom struggled with breathing in her final week on earth. Or perhaps there is more to my thoughts.

Just breathe could be the motto that sums up the year 2020.

Perhaps it could mean:

1. Just breathe. Don’t react immediately to all that is so scary. Breathe and find calmness.

2. Just breathe and see the present for what it is. Find pleasure in the little magical moments.

3. Just breathe. Recognize your value and place in the world. You are here. You matter.

4. Just breathe. Breathing=surviving. Keep going. Despite how it feels, it will be OK.

When Mom sent me a comfy wrap in September with the image at the top of the page, I at first thought it was a gentle reminder for me to find calm in the midst of my struggle with depression and anxiety. Just wrapping it around me made me feel calm. However, I believe her last gift to me has a much deeper meaning.

Just breathe. Even though it could mean taking one day at a time, due to the dandelion image, I now think there was a message of hope that she wanted me to recognize. Kelly and I used to love summers in North Carolina, in part because of the presence of dandelions. We would tear off the puffballs and blow, watching the seeds float away in the air. Little did we care we were spreading weeds. All we saw was the magic of a child’s wishes.

Christmas is all about that same magic. The Christmas story is all about the magical hope that it will all make sense, all come together, and all mean something. Mary and Joseph faced instant judgment and misunderstanding, but they breathed, and a “magical” human presence came into the world. The wise men breathed, hoping that each step they took toward Israel on a very difficult trip (with only the guidance of a star) would bring them into the presence of God. Simeon and Anna, despite no signs of a promise made hundreds of years before, breathed and witnessed a miracle.

I can promise that at ages 49 and 51 this December, Kelly and I do not feel the same magical childlike innocence in dandelion puffs, and with the realization that we are still fairly young to have lost both of our parents, this Christmas will be hard. However, we are determined to breathe this year. We will breathe into our “dandelions” and anticipate a hope unseen:

1. Although we miss our mother deeply since we both talked with her every day, we breathe with joy that she is no longer suffering from her brief stint with cancer. She no longer has pulmonary fibrosis and stiff joints. We breathe with the hope that she is able to see mountains, climb trees, and enjoy a beauty we cannot see.

2. We breathe with the hope that Mom and Dad are together again—finally. We know the last 27 years have felt like eternity to her. We imagined with Mom in her final hours what Dad would do and say when he saw her again for the first time in a long time.

3. We breathe and anticipate what we do not see yet for our children. Parker and Jacob and Andy are now in the “real world” and dealing with health issues and/or COVID-related job challenges, and yet we anticipate health and direction for them. Amy and Jonathan are both freshmen in college, exploring their passions, and we anticipate a clear vision for their futures. Aaron is in his first year of high school, learning virtually from home, but we anticipate a future wide open, ready for him to jump into.

4. We breathe and anticipate better days in our jobs. All 4 of us—Anthony and I and Kelly and Billy—have experienced new challenges in our jobs due to COVID. As has happened for all of us, we anticipate a day when masks may not be necessary, when fear does not exist to be near others, and when we enjoy our friendly gatherings again.

This year has not been easy. For any of us. We have missed out on so much—from time with loved ones, to graduation ceremonies (as 3 of our kids did). The rhetoric used in our political spheres have drawn battle lines and have divided friendships and family relationships. We have canceled vacations, had to rethink jobs and school, and lived with uncertainty. We dream and anticipate of a day when friendships and families are reunited, when hate no longer fills the airwaves, when we see all those around us with a sense of love.

I have no idea what words Mom would share with you this year if she could, but as she sat in the hospital hours before “comfort care” took over her care, she made sure Kelly and I knew where the Christmas cards were that she had already bought and encouraged us to send them out regardless of her condition.

Regardless of what I don’t know of Mom’s message, I am confident that she would want: 

1. To let you know how much she loved and appreciated each of you—for your love, friendship, and support. She always felt like her friends were a part of her family.

2. To let you know how blessed she was to have you in her life.

3. To remind you that there is hope, there is magic, there is joy in life---and even in death. Mom was at such great peace moments before death. She breathed slowly physically, but she breathed with a full anticipation that there was life after death.

4. To remind you to breathe. To dream. To allow the seeds of hope to spread.

5. To become a child again in simple (but not always easy) childlike love, hope, and trust.

6. To breathe and enjoy something magical this Christmas season.

7. To love each other (regardless of political leanings, appearance, religious beliefs, or lifestyles). To hug. To tell those around you that you love them. To live each moment to the fullest.

Kelly and I, attempting to fill in for Mom in this letter in her absence, wish you just breathe and discover a true anticipation of something you cannot see at this moment.

Merry Christmas.

A Non-traditional Christmas--Christmas 2020

 Christmas 2020

While going through my mom’s house recently, I ran across a document where she listed her

family traditions and my dad’s family traditions prior to their marriage. In typical Peggy Lewis-

organized fashion, she also listed how they had intertwined these traditions while giving up ones

that could be set aside. My Christmas tree reflects one of these traditions. Each year, my

parents gave me an ornament that represented something from that year. I continued the

tradition with my own sons. As a result, on my tree, beside the deteriorating 47-year-old

Raggedy Ann ornament is a metal flag to represent the year Jonathan screamed in joy every

time he saw a flag and on a branch nearby is a giraffe ornament for the year Andy fell in love

with the animals at Animal Kingdom.

This past year COVID-19 has caused each of us to reexamine our traditions. I know traditions

help us build community, build family, hold on to the past, build a legacy for the future, and find

meaning in life. Yet, in 2020, we have had to re-examine these traditions and weigh their value

with the value of the lives around us. It has been a hard year.

Yet, if we look back at the first Christmas, we can see that it was anything but traditional.

Nothing from that event---from the two young newlyweds desperately looking for a place to stay,

the unusual spot of a stable for a baby’s birth, the arrival of dirty shepherds, and eventually, the

unexpected visit of three men who most likely looked and spoke differently---was traditional or

normal. However, over the past 2020 years, we have often built personal traditions up to be the

only way we feel we can celebrate the holiday, sometimes forgetting the true meaning of the

holiday.

2020 has taught me that if our eyes are on the priority---our love and friendship with

others—then, traditions can be changed, and life continues on. Due to the uncertainty of the

pandemic, and most recently due to my mother’s death, I have found myself rethinking what is

most important.

For Andy and Jonathan who both just graduated---one from Baylor and the other from high

school, there were no traditional graduation ceremonies or cap and gown pictures. We grieved

the loss of those ceremonies, but we celebrated both of the boys and their achievements. For

Andy, COVID limited job opportunities, so he moved home and we got to spend 6 months with

him and his dog, Astro, but we chose to celebrate sharing a few more moments together.

Jonathan completed an internship at Cameron Park Zoo this summer, and although the job

changed due to COVID, in true spirit for him, none of that mattered as long as he could care for

the fish in the aquatics section.

Anthony and I each had to alter traditional modes of our jobs. Anthony learned how to use 360

videos to do house showings for clients, and he began his own YouTube channel, reaching

people all over the country, several of whom have since contacted him. I learned how to Zoom,

how to use online breakout rooms, and how to hold online office hours. Despite a longing to

tailgate with friends or a desire to see friends in person, we have creatively maintained our

friendships via Zoom sessions or lunches spent talking through the open windows of our

separate cars. Just in the past 4 months, Anthony and his dad have both been hospitalized and

my mom has died, and despite these challenges and the loss, Anthony and I have chosen to

celebrate in our new socially-distanced lives the moments we sit on the back porch, smell the

smoke of the grill, and listen to music.

This year the LED lights may not sit in my house windows, and the decorations may not all be

displayed. I may not be making my traditional desserts, and the Christmas parties will not

happen. However, the legacy my parents left me and the legacy I hope to leave will not

change: Cherish friendships. Show kindness. Hope. Dream. Do justice. Be merciful. Show

grace. Celebrate the moments. Love. Love. Love. Despite the traditions that you find unable

to continue this year, I pray you and your family find an opportunity to celebrate your love for

each other. Merry Christmas!

Of Voodoo Curses, Magic Shamrocks, and the #blessed Theology

For the past two years, my sister and I have joked that we have a special type of sister bond---a shared voodoo curse.  Little did Kelly and I know when we were young, when we played the M.A.S.H. paper game of the 1970s that allowed us to dream about our future home, husband, and financial situation, that our lives would not turn out at all like we had thought it might. 

Our joke is a sisterly twist of Murphy’s Law.  For us, the Lewis Sisters’ voodoo curse is a matter of the two of us trying to find humor in some very humorless situations.  To continue our dark humor, we mutually own two little miniature voodoo figurines of Wonder Woman, and her ringtone on my phone states "voodoo jester.” 

Although I have no real belief in voodoo curses or in magic shamrocks or in the colored rabbits’ feet I used to buy as a child, I do truly believe that the #blessed theology is dangerous.

From Christian friends of mine who claim #blessed when their kid’s Christian sports team wins a game (I guess because the other Christian team is not blessed) and from Christians who claim #blessed when their luxury boat is not harmed in a hurricane while others’ hard-earned trailers are demolished, I find it hard to swallow this #blessed theology.  If this theology is, in fact, true, then unfortunate situations prove that God does not love me, does not listen to me, does not protect my belongings, or have my team win.  He must not love me as much as he loves these #blessed people.

I would guarantee that those who landed on American shores to obliterate Native Americans by the thousands thought they were blessed as they ate their first Thanksgiving dinner provided by the Native Americans.  I am sure the pictures of that event would have been tagged with #blessed had Twitter existed then. This #blessed flawed theology states that because the Native American culture was completely demolished, God must have not cared as much for these people. 

Likewise, when people were rounded up to become slaves in this #blessed country, historical reports show that the white slaveowners told their slaves that God had allowed them to rule.  As a result, these African slaves were led to believe that God must love the white slaveowners who openly committed adultery with their female slaves and beat others to bloody messes more than he loved the small African boy.  What a twisted image of God this is!

After all these years, we still treat God as if He is some rabbit’s foot.  If we rub the rabbit’s foot enough by praying the right amount of time, use the exact right words, tweet #blessed enough times to witness to others, then God will provide all we dream and ask. 

I believe God is more than a rabbit’s foot.  This #blessed theology makes those whose loved ones die of cancer or have incurable diseases despite all types of prayers feel like they failed, that God must not love them enough.  This #blessed theology makes those whose marriage collapsed despite prayers feel like even God does not care.  This #blessed theology makes anyone whose “luck” is down, whose paycheck is not enough to pay the bills, or whose lives are not ideal question who they are in God’s eyes.

I have to believe that God is more complicated than any tweet or hashtag.  Just because I have belongings or a win for my kid’s team does not mean that God has blessed me.

Recognizing God’s blessing means that we recognize in private the many ways He has quietly stood beside us when life was falling apart.  Our lives may not be perfect, but He sat with us through the wreckage.  Recognizing God’s blessings is not connected to monetary successes or achieving the Pinterest house or having the Norman Rockwell life.  God’s blessings do not come in perfect houses, luxury boats, the proper clothing, the achievement of the American Dream, or the extravagant paycheck. 

God’s blessings come in small ways---from the complicated spider web that shimmers in the dew, from an expected word of encouragement from a friend or stranger, from an extra long cuddle from a child, from a deep conversation with a special someone, or just a brief moment of peace in the midst of a storm of life.

There are so many watching those who claim faith.  They see when their life circumstances do not “match up” to those who call themselves #blessed.  I do not want to be the person whose #blessed theology makes others lose hope, believe less in themselves, or believe less in my God who is much more complicated than any hashtag I use.

Rules of the Game

Many of my fondest childhood memories took place around a dining room table with cards or dice or plastic play pieces in my hands.  Thoughts of Yahtzee, cribbage, Tri-ominoes, Life, Kings in the Corner, and Uno make me smile.  From those moments with my grandma and sister, I learned “naught” meant zero, I learned how to add and subtract in my head, and I learned that the game was not over until it was truly over.

I, too, have loved to play games with my boys.  We have spent hours moving our cars around the Life gameboard, throwing dice for a Large Straight in Yahtzee, watching the marbles of Kerplunk fall, and laughing as we played Old Maid (as Jonathan always tried to trick us but never could.)

Our lives truly are THE GAME OF LIFE.  We may not have plastic cars to ride around in, and we may not arrive at Millionaire Estates or Countryside Acres.  However, we each are playing at least our own version of the game of life.

The roll of dice and the luck of the draw determine some of the reality of life.

However, what I didn’t realize at age 35—and have had to recognize again and again in the last 15 years—is that some of us are playing with different rules. 

We may be playing with the same game pieces, with the same fake money, and with the same dice, but we are in reality playing a different game because the rules are different.  

Unfortunately, in the past, I attributed to everyone else the same goals, the same purpose, and the same rules of the game as mine.

Some play the real game of life like Jonathan used to play Old Maid.  He would stick the Old Maid card ½” out in front of all the other cards in his hand to make sure that you would take it.  He wanted me to lose and he would laugh out loud when I picked it.

While it was cute in a small child because he was so very obvious and the stakes of losing were low, there are adults out there who want me to lose in real life. 

They don’t want my best, they don’t care about the greater good, they don’t care about what is right or fair or just.  They truly just want to win.

The problem is that now the stakes are not just an Old Maid card in the hand.  The stakes are much more serious.   

While I am not suggesting that I throw my rule book in the toilet or in the fire pit on our patio deck because what is the use if all this is true, what I have now just learned is my rules TRULY DON’T apply to everyone else.

The rules only apply to me.

Instead of trying to be the scorekeeper for everyone, the only one I am responsible for is myself.  I am not the banker of the game, the referee of a game who will blow the whistle, or the adult making sure the kids stay in line.

I am responsible for my own game piece.  I am responsible for my own movement forward, backward, and sideways.

All I can do is play the best I can.  All I can do is ignore the others along the way who appear to be getting ahead on the gameboard.  The end is not in sight yet.  The game is not over until it is over.

It’s hard.  I definitely would be the very last one to say otherwise.

However, remembering that I am only responsible for following the game rules I have for myself, I can live in peace. I can live looking myself in the mirror and realizing I have lived with integrity. 

Yes, the destruction caused by loss in the game can be devastating. It would be easy to say “I give up” or “I’ll never play again.”  It would be easy to pack the game up and just head into the other room to sulk.

However, the rewards may just be around the corner if I continue following my rule book and doing what I know is essential to ME. 

The second Yahtzee may be in the next roll.  The straight I have been looking for may put me over the top.  The spin on the Life spinner may be the perfect number the next time.

Spin with me.  I haven’t felt like doing it recently, but I will keep on spinning.  Let’s play.

My New Game Rules

Own my piece.

•  Recognize the power I have in picking my own game piece—the iron, the old maid, the race car, or the superhero.  I have the power to change my piece when I want/need to.
•  Focus only on my piece and what my piece is doing. Pay little attention to anyone else’s piece or actions.
•  Remember I am only responsible for the movement and condition of my piece, not anyone else’s.
•  Protect my piece.  Listen to it.  Trust it.
•  Move my piece with care.  My piece is important.
•  Allow no one to alter my piece without my permission and complete awareness.

Own my rules.

•  Recognize that my rules are my rules.  Other people have different rules that do not apply to me.
•  Remind myself I am only responsible for following the rules I have been given.
•  Own up if I break a rule.  Then move on.  The past is the past.

Own my spot.

•  Focus on my current spot.
• Look at the finish but focus only on where my game piece is currently located.
• Fill that spot.  Enjoy that spot.  Breathe in that spot.  Rest in that spot.
• Do not worry about anyone else’s spot or how much farther they look like they are.  Their rules may be different than mine.
•  Stand strong.  When others try to knock me off my spot, hang on.  When others try to completely pack up my game or knock it on the floor, hang on.

Own my spin.

• Know that the spin may work in my favor.  Enjoy the spin.  Live in the victory of the moment.
• Realize that my value is not reflected in the spin—good or bad.
• Realize that my actions may not have caused the spin—good or bad.
•  Be prepared for the times the spin will not work in my favor.  It is only one spin.
•  Keep spinning.  No matter what.

Own my finish.

• Keep my finish in sight.
• Realize that there are many turns and detours and “time outs” in the game.
• Recognize that reaching my finish may be different than I expect.
• Realize that the finish is only MY finish.  My finish does not look like anyone else’s.
• Focus on the idea that the finish may be closer than what it appears or may be farther away than what it appears.

I GET ONE GAME.  PLAY IT TO THE FULLEST.