Lessons from the Walking Dead

I don't watch horror flicks of any kind.  No, really, not at all.  I don't mind violence in a film to prove a point, etc., but I don't do scary films.  When I was a small child I was exposed to one too many bad decisions when it came to television viewing.  I saw a lot of gore, horror and and violence on screen before I could even write a sentence or read a paragraph.  I had nightmares all the time and hid under my blankets for so long it would get stiflingly hot and I could hardly breathe.  I didn't care, I wasn't pulling the cover off for nothing.  I would beg my sister to let me sleep with her and put her arm around me.  Falling asleep seemed like a terrifying prospect and that was really a time in my life I don't wish to repeat for multiple reasons and maybe the nightmares were a result of more than one thing. 

I had heard of the television series the Walking Dead for some time and decided to give watching it a try one evening.  I couldn't get through the first ten minutes before I needed to turn it off because it scared me that bad.  Then here recently I gave it another chance and made myself watch it.  After the first few episodes watching the show became rightfully addicting. 

I'm glad I watched it.  Yes, all five seasons.  It took a few weeks, but I got through them. 

I am amazed that such a show could open my eyes up to so much.  I mean I know it is just tv, but I think it paints a very accurate picture about how people work, who the good and bad guys really are and what it means to truly survive in a world that seems to be falling apart.  I hardly ever watch tv but I was deeply drawn into this one.  Why?  Is it the zombies?  For me, no, not at all.  If you watch the show you realize that it almost has nothing intrinsically important to do with the zombies themselves and after a while they simply fall into the shadows of thought and become the background music to the real struggle at hand. 

Zombies are  mindless and weak.  They act upon instinct alone and have no cold blood in their dead bodies.  Their necessity to their own survival is completely thoughtless.  But the people?  The characters themselves?  Well, now that is a whole other story, meaning, purpose in part and comprehension.  Who's going to gain a self sustained moment and lose their souls in this apocalyptic struggle and who can blame them?  Oh, and many do.  They give up their souls for momentary comfort or simple survival.  Then there are some that despite the mind numbing battles ahead and behind they are hanging on to their sense of soul, their body of principle.  And sometimes no matter how right or how wrong you must go about it the greater good must prevail as a whole to save the largest number of people or resources.  The rules change constantly and some lose their way out of sheer momentary insanity and others lose it forever never to gain back their sense of duty to fight evil and protect the innocent.  The good. 

And I have to say this.  I'm not afraid of the zombies.  After a while they didn't scare me in the slightest bit.  It's just white noise compared with the people, what they can do, what they are capable of doing.  Good should prevail, but how?  Conscience that's how.  Listening to the soul of man speak to itself and coming up with the power to follow through.  And where does that power come from?  Some say God.  I would say God.  Listening to that small voice.  People do good things every day and how do they do that under these soul crushing circumstances?  By being human. 

Let the Preacher Woman Die

Have you ever been in line at the checkout of the grocery store, department store, giant box store and had someone remark?

You know...about your shoes, what’s in your basket, how nice the weather is, what lovely eyes you have, how the world’s gone crazy and my, have you seen the news today or when in doubt, eat a banana?

Remark, remark, remark.

I love chatting with people. They can typically talk to me about anything they’d like.  Go ahead.  I am totally fair game for a good grocery aisle checkout convo.  Throw in a few props for effect and it’s a win/win situation all around.  You know those carts that get shoved up your rear end when you’re not pay attention because you were talking too much to the cashier?  That’s happened more than once.  To me, to you, to them.  It’s okay.  No biggie.  Some other person’s cart pushed in front of the pay system from behind is always a kicker, too.  Excuse me ma’am, I still need to pay for my groceries before you get yours scanned and paid for.   One day I’ll just start pushing my cart away before being allowed to pay and just see what happens.  Something that occurs that is just comical and also of little consequence.

And in between the cart pushing, people just have their opinions.  All the time.  And what of it? The more we realized how unimportant an average opinion should be the better off we all would be, indeed, the better off I would be because caring about what people think too much has been a long term bad habit of mine.  I’m not sure what’s worse...being an alcoholic or being constantly drunk on the opinions of others.  And what’s an opinion?

I know this is well covered territory.  Hearing and giving opinions.

And drama is what drama does so avoid it.  Just avoid it.  And keep the push back to yourself, smile and move on.  Push on.  Push on out those lovely, electric, burgeoning, sliding glass doors right to that trunk of your very old, new, beautiful, beat up, dirty, ugly, just refreshing car.  It’s easy.  Or it should be that easy. 
There are remarkers, opinion makers and then there are stand up on yer soap box and preachers.  And sometimes that is absolutely necessary, hopefully while abstaining from all abnoxious tendencies in tone and manner.  Preaching is just so vital on today’s streets, ya’ know?  I mean...we’ve got trouble!  Right here in River City!  It starts with a capital “T” and that rhymes with “P” and stands for pool.

Pool as in pool table in the pool hall and in this character for The Music Man’s opinion was adding up to a whole lot of possible trouble stirring up in the small Iowan town.  He was a’preaching! 
Butcha’ know it ain’t a’fitting to preach as in preach your life away. 
And I grew up with and by and from a preacher.  I was preached at, with, among, around, upon, for against, behind, below, above and beyond.  In letters, from the pulpit and in full fledge face to face contact.  Then I heard the preaching from day to day.  Usually against something, somebody.  Preaching against.  Hearing preaching against daily. 
The example took hold of me.  I felt off, always did, but the example took hold, complete and total hold over my childhood.

 Hearing, seeing, witnessing, filtering, wait I didn’t know much about filtering, I was just a kid, preaching, all the time, every day in some way, fashion or ‘nother.  It’s inbred.  Kinda’ like my blue eyes and wavy hair.

Remarks are unremarkable and should be in most cases.

Preaching has a droning sense of duty to its hearers no matter the seemingly urgent cause and it’s effect can shut down the soul of any unwilling spirit to listen.  Shuts out, shuts down, closes in the hapless mind of those who briefly witness its many utterances.

Preaching has its place.  I’m sick of injustice and intolerance.  I’d like to stand up in the middle of a crowd and scream nicely, can we just love each other?!  Kids who are bullied right in front of you...it’s time for preaching.  It should be done.

Remarking was fine about the weather, your shoes, your hair, your kids...oh, you have how many?  Just a remark.  Statements made in passing, off the top of the head passing statements, not well thought out usually. 
Preaching has a strategic scope to its logic.  It knows and has known what it wants and what it thinks for some time and in effort to coerce unwittingly it has edged its way into a conversation, a situation.  Correcting, pointing out, rising to the forefront your thoughts, brought to the attention of intended audience of one or many.

It’s fine if someone asked for it.  Hey...what do you think about doulas?  Well, then.  A little preaching might slip out.  But a target of uninterested folks?  Nah.

All that to say...I’ve preached, I am preaching, I do preach.  It’s inbred.  Don’t wanna’ do it no more unless I have to.   

Sleeping and waking
Should bring a pot full of purpose
And yet my hands remain tied
Behind the same back that is flat
I'm unable to grab the elements
To bring about this fruitful mix
The day in day out thing
What on earth is it supposed to bring?
Apathy, mediocrity
Let me be!
You've plagued me long enough
I'll find my way, I'll get ahead
Alas, until I'm dead
And when my feet work no more
I'll claw my way upon the floor
And overcome you I will
Until my breath is not steady but still
Then my new body will gently rise
And meet my maker in the skies
You will be defeated
Freeing forevermore
Perfect purpose from its bolted door

Later May Never Come

There’s a never ending merry go round of thought stuck inside my brain.  Every time there is enough courage to know I can do something and the peaceful quiet within my soul to conjure a few lines on a page, I spit up the first paragraph about the fact that I don’t write enough or it’s been a long while since writing and oh, I have thoughts people, I have thoughts.  

Who cares?  I care.  Maybe you'll care, too.  Something will resonate and be helpful.  Maybe.  

These are the last things people want to hear or read, rather, and rightfully so. 

The baby dumped out the beans in a furious cascade of defiance.  She proceeded to pee on my beloved piano, yes, she literally peed on my *electric* Roland piano to the point of it dripping through holes on the underside.  My heart hit the floor(can the mom of the family have and keep anything for herself?!) while she proceeded to hit someone in the head, my life of days is a stop and start event, pretty much every five to ten minutes of telling her no and it was a Jonah day for me yesterday.  I cleaned all day and dealt with a toddler who is clearly from Mars or some planet designed to dole out absolutely no mercy to its creators.  I cried.  My kids hugged me after I cried and not before.  I made my accusing rant slash case against them and they were unmoved.  Smart kids...they know baloney when they smell it.  

Accusations never work by the way for anyone, the giver, the receiver, no matter how convinced you are that you are right in your accusing.  Don't worry.  I told them I was sorry.  Always say sorry when you're wrong.  That's a hard one to do but one of the most rewarding things you can do especially when done faithfully.

There are other things that caused such an overwhelming reaction on my part, some worries plaguing my mind about one of my other children and also...what if the baby wakes up before I finish writing this?  Big, honking deal, right? 

But, no, really.

Everyone is fast asleep on this rare occasion and it feels like heaven and that's the big whoop for me.  A few chores in on my part and typically, they (meaning her first) are up and running and this morning I got those chores in, coffee brewed and the sitting in silence to write.  I felt like I had conquered Mt. Olympus, Mt. Rushmore, oh, what's that dang mountain...Everest, I conquered with those beautiful elements of joy colliding!  Minus the dog fidgeting next to me, well, and now the extra reasoning of a seven year old trying to make sense of the stories she is reading out loud, things were set up for perfection.  Mom, how can they ride dolphins in the ocean without being eaten by sharks and stung by box jelly fish?  Good question, kid.  I’ll talk about it with you later.

And as always with her usual radar perception the toddler knows when I wake up in the morning and comes crying to find me with such accurate and concise precision, she knows no bounds, well, this morning she does.  But how does she do that?  You know...the part where she knows when I am up and that she needs to find me asap?

And I worry about that never stopping.  Then when it stops I worry about it never beginning again...this need for me, for mom in her life.  But reality predicts something else and it always does.  Our fears versus reality...it's a huge struggle, isn't it? 

Never having the ability to pursue all the things I was made for and not just some of those things.  I do fear this.  The whole mothering thing is my life.  Am I ungrateful right now?  Am I whiny?  Am I just down right annoying?  And, hey, these were my choices, right?  Nobody held me at gun point to have all these kids.  I wanted everyone of them.  I would have more if my body would let me.  Yeah, you heard right.  I know...I am good and crazy. 

Maybe, maybe not.  

It occurs to me in any event that the ability to pursue one’s dreams, aspirations and goals while having so many children is an ebb and flow experience.  I have peaks of time where I can peruse my singing, my playing, my writing, my, well, and my how about making money curiosities.  So there is hope in the midst of the bellowing chaos that walks before me each day in the form of demands, my children’s education, their well-being, my availability to them all when they need me most and knowing who needs that first at the top of the other heap of priorities, my relationship to their dad and myself and God?  Well, that good old time for me is in there somewhere.  

Some people say...you should love yourself first, put yourself first, and pay yourself first.  I don’t know what they are talking about.  If I get a special something for me...I feel bad and immediately want to give it to my children.  If I sit down and there is a take care of self or them question, it is usually them I choose.  This is my life.  Is it the better choice and always?  I sure don’t think so necessarily or I wouldn’t be writing all this. 

This.  

Maybe I need to make some changes and maybe I don’t.  I’m not solidified in that choice.  It just is what it is.  I do feel resentment at times, but I never want to resent them, my kids, full of life and love and crazy and chaos, so maybe some changes need to be sought when the toddler grows up.  The number three has had a record of bringing a little more maturity in this home.  I have had five others turn three and that magic number always brought a sigh of relief and the number four even more until one day you wonder how they were ever as crazy as they were, maybe not as a complete rule but for some part of the whole.  I am a bit crazy even now as such an older person than they, so crazy can’t possibly be all bad, right? 

I remember being a happy go lucky child despite my circumstances.  I was told by my brother that I was tough, but happy.  I would dance and put on shows for people and crack every one up.  I was a ham.  What I was like as a toddler?  Hmmm...I don’t know.  I will have to ask my mom or siblings.  

“Goooood morrrnnniiiing!” 

Wow, is that my son?  And the questions are coming already again.  

He says and I quote, “Here’s what I don’t understand...why does my hair stand straight up when I get up in the morning when I can’t even get it to do that during the day with hairspray?”  

Good question, kid. We’ll talk about it later.  Later is almost here.  Later is almost gone.  Later may never come.  Later is a bad word maybe.

And why in the world is he up so early?   You don’t even see, smell or hear the man child until after lunch during the summer.  

And she is up.  The she from Mars or wherever ya’ call it, that planet place she comes from.

If she gets up, we’ll all get up and it’ll be total anarchy.  

Well, hopefully not.

The God that is to be Seen

There's something to be said for a lot of things.  There is something to be thought and felt.  There's a moment to ponder here.  Waking up to life today I was met with the wonderful demands of getting things, people and stuff together to head out the door to a family gathering.  Shoes on, I hope, my herd heads to the car.  And just for the record, leaving the house is an epic event and the earlier the departure the more daunting the task no matter how worthwhile the destination.  Did everyone wash the morning crust off their face and look somewhat respectable?  I took inventory of the way my crew looked and it was good enough to allow them to slide out the door and into the car to take the 50 minute drive to grandma's, *cough, cough*, Mimi's house. 


The pool, the white washboard of drawings erased, a game well played, lot's of laughter and good words, the best food this time of year, tiny feet, newborn skin, sacrificially giving of time, resources and space.


The little things made this day stand out so well.  The look on Aunt Marcia's face when this little group of kids stared in wonder at the fireworks outside the old country church we have been visiting since my children were babies.  She didn't know I was looking at her, but her grandiose smile made me grin right along with her.  The little, delicious bits of food that begin to overwhelm your stomach.  The eating.  My, the eating.  The longsuffering folks standing over the grill.  I wouldn't say that was little, but maybe somewhat overlooked.  The little things children say that make you laugh loudly, make you youthful again. 


Brief moments meant to be remembered later down our well beaten roads.  The thoughtful family that stop and take the time to play games with the children.  Conversations that wrangle you in your chair and keep you listening longer than you usually do.  These beautiful, little things all add up and remind us of the God that is to be seen.  What He has set in motion can be relished in and enjoyed to life's fullest extent.  There's no doubt in that fact for me.  I will forget the distasteful songs that my life sometimes plays and focus on the this fleeting moment because these are the times in which I am whole heartedly reminded that there is a benevolent Father watching over us all.