REPOST: The Great Rabbit Rescue

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It sounded like a gun shot. And then another, and another. I thought war had broken out in Tulsa. Looking out our bedroom window we can see stripped and broken trees covering our yard. My beautiful trees are no more. All of our trees, save one, fell victim to the ice storm of 2007.

Amid the sounds of branches falling during the night, it also grew obvious to my husband and to me that our youngest son was not going to let us sleep until we rescued his rabbit. Oreo, lived in a hutch underneath what was our tall and beautiful Bradford pear in the back yard.

Grabbing the foot of our bed, our son became bound and determined to rouse us into greater empathy than parents usually possess at 3 am. Empathy not forthcoming, he chose to shake our bed violently and scream until we had no choice but to either put him down, or rescue the rabbit.

After some debate, we rescued the rabbit.

Wearing snow boots and bathrobes, the three of us ventured out into the icy night. I carried a candle for light, while Jeff and I carefully traversed the buried yard. Stepping over branches and around others we made our way to what used to be Oreo’s dwelling. Our tree, Oreo’s shelter, was stripped back like a banana peel. Carefully moving the bent and hanging branches, we found that not one fallen branch had touched her hutch. All of the branches had created a protective cave around her home. Oreo was unharmed. It was an amazing sight.

The consummate story collector, I wanted to go back for my camera but thought better of it. Instead, Jeff reached in to free a very grateful bunny and we made our way back to the house. The joy in our son’s eyes as he held his beloved pet made the whole adventure worth it.

It’s cold in Tulsa right now. Temperatures are below zero at night, and we’ve once again rescued our rabbit and brought her indoors for safety.

Another snow storm hit Tulsa this year and all Christmas services had been cancelled throughout the city. It just didn’t feel like Christmas without church and I missed it. Grace Lutheran was holding their Christmas Eve service on Epiphany. Grace is not our home church, but I wanted to go. I wanted to celebrate Christmas even if it was a few days late.

During the service they did what they call the “Procession of the Gospel.” I don’t recall ever seeing that before. It is very high church, and not necessarily something more “modern” churches like mine do anymore. Acolytes carried the cross and candles, while the pastor came down the center aisle with the bible. This processional stopped right next to our pew. It was there that the gospel was read.

Like a child, I relentlessly tugged on my husband’s sleeve asking what they were doing and why. High Liturgy is not something I’m familiar with. It was moving, and beautiful. The tears in his eyes caught me by surprise. “Immanuel. God with us.” is all he said.

By coming down into the crowd, so to speak, to read the Gospel, we are reminded that God himself traveled dangerous terrain to rescue us. We are reminded that He is not some distant and untouchable figure way out there. He doesn’t need a child to shake his bed to come get us. He just did. It was dangerous and it was scandalous. And it was necessary.

He is with us.

In the center of it all.

Yesterday.

Today.

And tomorrow.

Again and again,

calling us,

 protecting us,

saving us.

He is Immanuel.

Shoot Me For A Reason: And I Still Love the Osmonds

Deana2 Comments

I’m a walking catastrophe.

Really I am.

Comics let me hang with them because I give them material just by being present. It’s true. You can ask them.

I told you I was going to see the Osmond Brothers right?

I did.

I loved the show. And I didn’t cry when I met them like I was afraid I would.

I still can’t believe I actually got to meet the Osmond Brothers. (Sighs, and private screams allowed) Several of us got to go back stage during intermission  – I took my husband of course – and met Merrill, Wayne, and Jay Osmond. Color me happy. And more than a little nervous. Remember how I said I don’t get star struck? Well I don’t normally, but I saw Merrill and fear hit my entire body. I can only compare what happened to when we were kids and waiting in line for Santa. We were totally excited right up until it was our turn, and then fear took over. It was kind of like that.

We waited in line back stage for our chance to meet the brothers and suddenly it was my turn. I took one look and Merrill and BAM, my heart dropped into my stomach and my feet felt like lead. I grabbed my husband and made him come with me so that he could remind me my name if needed. Which is good because I forgot it. Not only am I a walking catastrophe, I’m apparently a dork. Jay Osmond is warm and funny and snapped me out of it, but still. I froze like I’ve never frozen before. I’m amazed I even had the wherewithal to remember I was married and to whom.

Going back stage was a huge treat. It was wonderful. And I didn’t cry until..

I got my picture back.

You know that really pretty black blouse I bought?

I was rushed when I got ready and forgot to change bras.

They all look great. I look like I leaned over a table of powdered donuts.

And no. You can’t see it.

That is one photograph that even Photoshop can’t help (I know because I tried) and I do not wish to wind up on Ellen DeGeneres’ hall of shame.

The show itself was very sweet. Three of the original four, Merrill, Wayne, and Jay performed and they did a great job singing Christmas songs as well as songs from the years passed, including He Ain’t Heavy, Yo Yo, Love Me for a Reason and many more. My heart absolutely soared.

In case you are wondering,  Jim Osmond does perform with them from time to time and he is in England right now doing a play. (Yes, I still remember all of the words from Long Haired Lover from Liverpool.)  Donny and Marie are on Broadway and Alan retired last year because of MS. And did you know that Wayne had a brain tumor 19 years ago and is a cancer survivor? I didn’t. Amazing.

The three brothers (and their back up) did a wonderful job and as nice as it would have been to see the whole family again, I didn’t miss them not being there. The harmonies, the banter and the memories were relaxed and as comfortable as home. Jay can still play a mean drum solo, Merrill is as charming and handsome as ever and Wayne? Let’s just say he reminds me of that uncle everyone has, but no one talks about. His jokes and comedic timing were absolutely splendid. My husband cannot get over some of those jokes. They were that good.

It’s fun seeing a group of musicians, most my own age or older, who still have that natural talent, strong work ethic, and great sense of humor work together with such ease and comfort.  All those years of hard work still shines through in their performing. They are timeless.   

Will I see them again? Oh yeah. The show was wonderful and besides, I need a redemptive photographic do over that doesn’t come with a wardrobe malfunction. I’m claiming female prerogative on that one. Seriously if you saw the picture, you would totally understand.

We Are Not Consumed

Deana4 Comments

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” ~ Lamentations 3:22-23

I’ve seen that scripture verse no less than ten times in three days. It’s popping up everywhere — and maybe for good reason. It’s loaded with promise not only for me, but for my friends who are hurting, and for everyone else.

It’s easy to feel consumed by:

Expectations – both of ourselves and of others. It doesn’t matter if these expectations are realistic or not. They weigh on us.

Responsibilities: For family, job, ministry, life. We carry heavy burdens of responsibility and sometimes think we have to carry it alone.

Fear – Of the unknown, the future, the past catching up with us.

Guilt or Shame: Hidden sin or secrets.

Grief: — Hurts over the loss of a loved one. The death of a marriage. The pain of hurt feelings from a friend.

Anger: – Whether righteous anger or anger caused by hurts, misunderstandings, or unmet needs.

The list can go on, but all of us can can feel consumed by many things. The great thing about this promise is that God’s love for us keeps that from happening. His compassion for us, even in the face of the loss of compassion in ourselves or from others, never fails us.

Every day is a new day for hope, for strength, for healing, and forgiveness. And the best part, it doesn’t matter if that day starts at 5:00 am, or at 3:30 in the afternoon. We get to start our days over whenever we need to.

Maybe you need a restart today. If so, why not take a minute and say a prayer.

Love Me For A Reason: Going to See the Osmonds

Deana5 Comments

I was in my 30s at a Jim Brickman concert in Tulsa when I met Donny Osmond for the first time. I’d never heard of Jim, but Donny was performing with him and there was no way I was passing that up. Not to discredit Jim, he’s a wonderful piano player I found out (I own all of his CDs now), but I still have my original 45’s of Donny’s. Donny was my first musical crush. I can remember hearing Go Away Little Girl playing on the radio as my mother drove me across town to my first of many new schools in Oak Park Michigan. I’d make her turn it up every time.  I was six and I was hooked.

We were living at that time on Dearborn Avenue in downtown Detroit. This was a neighborhood full of crack houses, bars, pimps, dealers and prostitutes and was not a neighborhood for kids. Our house was owned by the company my mom worked for and was directly next door to their office. That way she could keep me close while she worked. The grade school was so violent that the principal would not allow my mother to enroll me and so we drove to Oak Park and every day we’d listen to the Osmonds on the way. I was oblivious to the reality of our surroundings and knew only the innocence of their music.

I got to meet Jim, Donny, and the rest of the performers after Jim’s Christmas show and while that was nice, what surprised me the most was my emotional response. It took everything I had not to cry. I’m not star struck, truth is I get to meet celebrities a lot. I have traveled the world and even gone to the Nobel Awards and was granted an audience with the King of Sweden himself, but meeting Donny face to face brought back memories that moved me to tears.

I don’t know a woman my age who didn’t play Osmond 45’s on our little turn tables at home for hours on end. We all had those small pieces of vinyl and wore them out. We wallpapered our rooms with posters. We watched the Osmond cartoon and we even watched The Donny and Marie Show. Most of us were also convinced that we alone were destined to be Mrs Donald Osmond.

We were wrong, but still it didn’t hurt to dream.

I’ve lived in over 20 different cities in my life. My portable turn table and collection of 45s was the one constant I carried with me from new neighborhood to new neighborhood. Music was my main friend in those years. Money was tight and sometimes my mom had to work two jobs just to make ends meet. We left downtown Detriot and had actually lived in Georgia and Florida before returning to Michigan four years later. Now, we were living in a very small, two bedroom house in Southfield Michigan in 1975. This was our fifth home in four years. My mother was a book-keeper for a construction firm in Detroit, and drove an hour each way to work so that we could finally live in a safe neighborhood. It cost a lot more to live there, we ate a lot of popcorn, rice, and hotdogs,  but I was safe and that mattered.  I was home alone, a lot.

The Osmonds were playing at the Michigan State fair that August and while the concert was free, admission to the fair wasn’t AND my mom got paid hourly. When she took the afternoon off to take me to the concert for my 10th birthday that meant she didn’t get paid. That might not seem like much, but my mom only made about $10,000 a year. An afternoon salary was a huge sacrifice. Taking me to that concert meant she went without food.

I’ve never forgotten that.

My life has turned out very wonderful. I am happily married and have two amazing sons. We live in a nice suburban neighborhood in Oklahoma. We are blessed beyond measure. Three of the Osmond Brothers are doing a Christmas show in Branson this year at Yakov Smirnoff‘s theater and my husband surprised me with tickets this week. I almost cried. Donny won’t be there, but that’s okay.

Jeff doesn’t have to go without food to take me — but I also know it’s not his favorite band in the world. He surprised me for the same reason my mother did all those years ago. Love.

Other than seeing Donny at the Jim Brickman concert a few years ago, I haven’t seen the Osmond Brothers perform since 1975. I’m looking forward to the concert and to the memories. I just hope I don’t cry again. That would be awkward.

What gifts do you remember giving or receiving in your lifetime? Which ones stand out for you?

I Want a Hippopotamus For Christmas

Deana2 Comments

It’s Christmas and I realized today that my blog is as dark as my house at night — we were too busy this fall to put up lights and now our neighbors are shunning us.  We are the black hole of  Broken Arrow and they think we’re atheists.  We’re not, it’s just that it’s too cold out to be climbing up on ladders and I’m afraid of heights as it is. Having said that, I feel the need to lighten the tone here about a few thousand watts. SO… Let’s talk Christmas songs. Our family has a tradition of either singing in or going to The Messiah at First Lutheran every year. I sang this year and I’m proud to tell y’all I did not fall off the stage once. Our chairs were precariously close to the edge. One bad note and I’m certain the bass singers would have shoved me off. Thankfully they didn’t.

We also like to listen to Nat King Cole and the Trans Siberian Orchestra. Not to make y’all think I’m a classical purist, our family’s favorite song is — Grandma Got Run Over By A reindeer, that and Jeff Foxworthy’s Redneck Days of Christmas.

I thought I’d heard them all until I opened the paper today. I need to warn you — or place blame – either one but my favorite Tulsa Scene writer is Jason Ashley Wright hands down. I especially like his monthly lingen…langen…loungin… a little something something as he calls it.. I can’t spell it. It’s some Cajun word. ANYWHOO..he was talking about Christmas Songs today and he mentioned I Want a Hippopotamus For Christmas. It’s apparently classic and shockingly, I’ve never heard of it.

I’m an ADHD, neurotic redhead — I don’t like not knowing about things. I feel left out. I looked it up on YouTube, and I don’t feel left out anymore. It’s really cute!

It’s so cute that I’m going to share it with you guys. I know,  you feel special now don’t you.

Enjoy.

Am I Jaded or Compassionate? I’m Not Always Sure

Deana3 Comments

I’m sorry, but the post you are looking for is no longer here.  Please note that I write most of my posts 1 – 2 weeks in advance and schedule them for future publication. While this particular post dealt with my own eating issues and abuse of over the counter diet pills, as well as revelations I’ve received from my present Bible Study, I’m afraid that it published on the cusp of another very important announcement. The two have nothing to do with eachother, but out of respect for a friend and a family grieving, I’m taking my post down.

Please pray for those you mentor as well as those who mentor others. I’ve heard it said that the minute we step into public ministry, Satan points a loaded gun at the backs of our heads. That is so true. May God fill you to overflowing with his Grace, his Mercy and His Peace.

Thank you for reading my blog.

Blessings

Deana

My Back Porch, A Blanket and a Fire to Keep me Warm

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I made a reference yesterday about the year I lost it. Those of you who’ve known me for a while know what I’m talking about, but for the rest let me fill you in a little. Life got crazy from 2003-2004 and while trying to handle everything on my own, I eventually snapped. You might say I went through an 18 month season of sifting, pruning, and deep grief. Some of it was my own making, and some of it was not. Whatever label you want to put on that season, the end result was the same, I was diagnosed with clinical depression in June of 2004. My depression was so deep that I spent the next 12 months in what I call an emotional black out. I functioned, but as my friends would say, “the lights were on, but ain’t nobody home.”

I’m not sure when I snapped exactly. The downward spiral began in 2003. Within roughly 14 months from March of 2003 to May of 2004, I ruptured my ACL,  buried 10 of my closest friends, lost the only school my kids had ever known, among other more personal issues I won’t bore you with here, and I erroneously believed the “cure” for my grief was to take on more responsibility. Pretty arrogant hunh?

By the time my brain and denial collided, I had already spent months sitting on my back porch every night. I’ll never forget being wrapped in a blanket, chain-smoking, and staring into the blankness,  for hours at time. In the morning, I’d wake up, pull up my bootstraps and drive to work across town.  As soon as work ended, I would go back on the porch and shut down.

When I finally did see a doctor, I was pretty deep and he was ready to put me in the hospital. This is how depression lied to me, I was blaming someone for mine. A few someones actually and my response to my doctor was “I’ll be jacked if I’m going to give him the satisfaction of putting me in the nut house. I’m stronger than he is.” As if I was the center of some evil plot to drive me insane. Depression lies to us, big time. For some strange reason my doctor didn’t force the issue and we settled out-patient therapy instead.

My pride and ego got in the way from allowing myself to be hospitalized. I should have listened to my doctor — I would have recovered much more quickly.

The good news though, is I did recover. I spent three plus years in therapy, both group and private, and on medication. I learned how to be more authentic and honest with my thoughts and feelings and I learned what to watch for in case it happens again. In my case, I have not needed meds for roughly three years, but if I ever spiral again I’ll be on them for life.

Several of my friends and acquaintances have experienced depression in their lives.  I met Chonda Pierce during my downward spiral. She is a sweetheart and she writes about her own experiences in Laughing In The Dark.  There is a blogger on my page, Pastor Todd Peppercorn (You can see him listed under Pastor Blogs). He writes When I Trust My Dark Road and I read him from time to time.

I could rattle off a few more names of people I like who have been through depression, but I hope you get my point. While I was never suicidal, a lot of my friends who experienced depression were. I lost a friend to depression ten years ago, and that breaks my heart. Depression kills.

 It was during this dark season that I did in my old blogs and threw away a lot of my writings. I did that because I believed at the time that I’d never be a writer or speaker or of any worth to God or anyone else ever again.

Wow was I wrong.

I’m bringing this up today because a friend of mine posted a plea on her Facebook page — she said “You’re too blessed to be depressed is bs. Don’t say that to anyone. Ever. Please.” She’s right. It’s not true and it’s not helpful. Depression is real. It’s not self-pity. Depression hurts. It debilitates and it lies.

A local pastor and part-time mentor is seeking in patient treatment for his depression and burn out. While my heart hurts for him and his family, I admire his humility and his willingness to seek treatment. 

I do know that while I was depressed I sought God in the things of God, in myself, other people, and my work. In seeking him in the wrong places, I missed him along the way. It was only after I fell apart that I found his healing and his Grace. Today I know the hope and the healing that comes on the other side. I pray the same for for anyone else suffering today.

 I found my voice, my courage and my king in my dark night — getting help is not a sign of weakness, it’s sign of strength.

Thank you for letting me share.

Next.

The Day I Stopped Caring

Deana3 Comments

“Famous Blogger? That’s like saying a Famous Dentist.” – Pete K from the Defenders.

I’m not as obsessed with this show as you think, just hang with me for a minute. And even if I am, hang with me anyway, okay?

 My first thought about that comment was wow that was mean, but when I thought about it, it really is a true statement.  I started blogging before blogging was cool. I had my little platform on Blogger dot com, played with the coding, changed the back ground with Cuteblogsrus or something, I had followers,I had feedburner and everything else. I did all the work, joined everything from BlogHer to god knows what including MySpace, and back making pretend friends, sharing comments, giving awards, getting awards, joining more rings than the Hobbit himself, trying to build a following and then I realized something, blogging stopped being fun. I spent as much time managing my blog as I would a real job and I wasn’t getting paid. Oh sure google ad said I could make money — by the tenths of a penny, but still. I had no life.

Granted the lack of fun might have been correlated with my breakdown in 2004, or not, I don’t know.

The truth is, I’ll never be a “famous Blogger” and I don’t care anymore. Not caring whether or not I’ll ever be famous is like skinny dipping in my backyard pool – not that I do that if the neighbors ask. But it is freeing, in a weird private sort of way. Now that is not to say that I do not get sucked in from time to time by my marketing friends who insists I can be famous on just five minutes a day.  I don’t stay there long. If Facebook can’t figure out how many friends I have from day to day, I’m pretty certain neither can FeedBurner.

Why I won’t be Famous.

  • I ditched Blogger for WordPress a year ago and am too computer illiterate to figure out how to go back or how to host my own page so that I can do all that pretty coding that I don’t know how to do anyway.
  • I don’t care that Jumla comes in a box.
  • I can’t cook.
  • My kids are no longer cute. — they are 20 and 17 and well. Love them, but you know what I mean.
  • I don’t have some product to push.
  • I hate twitter.
  • I don’t go to tweetups or blog reunions.
  • I think social networking is an oxymoron — seriously how “social” are people who hide behind a computer screen anyway?
  • My gardens are dead.
  • I’m not a remodeler.
  • I have no nitch.
  • I’m just me.
  • And I like that.

 

Some of the people I started reading way back when are famous now. And you know what? I’m totally okay with that. At least they aren’t dentists. While one of my old blogger friends is now People’s Choice Awards Famous, my other one has left the blogging community in favor of real life relationships. Quite frankly, I’m happy for her. She’s no longer a slave to the meters on the sidebar or the comments in her posts.  As for me – I recovered nicely from my breakdown back in 2004. I learned that doing stand up comedy is a lot cheaper than paying some therapist to listen to me. And now instead of crazy, I can be okay with being neurotic and enjoy my life.

Are you watching The Defenders Tonight?

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Okay, okay. I might have been a little harsh on character Pete Kaczmarek (played by Jerry O’Connell) from the new hit show The Defenders in my earlier post about the show.  I was speaking at the time about how I seem to watch only shows with “eye-candy” as my son would call it and I was defending myself – miserably. In doing so, I insisted that Pete’s character was not eye candy and that I think pretty boys are boring, one-trick ponies. I like the other guy, played by Jim Belushi – which I do. 

If you haven’t seen the show, Pete Kaczmarek is a defense attorney working in Las Vegas. He’s ambitious, good-looking, charming, well-respected and a serious playboy. Jerry O’Connell brings out the humor as well as the soul – when needed – very well. Still, Pete, respected or not, is a hound dog who knows how to work women to his advantage.

Why I was so harsh when first describing his character, is guys like Pete  used to turn me into a stammering, neurotic, brainless, idiot when I was younger. It’s not pretty, trust me. For those who don’t know me really well let me explain that I was being tongue in cheek when I called him a One Trick Pony, okay guys? I didn’t work them, they worked me.

 The trick was simple, they’d smile and I’d open my wallet, my home, my car, whatever just so that I could walk into a room with them. I didn’t date them, I bank rolled them. I was the sidekick friend to whatever hot alpha female they were toying with. I never got the guy, I just got the bills. I even had dinner at the Chicago Yacht Club once, I was impressed until he forgot his wallet. Okay, I didn’t care, cuz well.. he was GORGEOUS.

  I pick on pretty boys because God forbid, one of them starts up flirting with me, I still blush and giggle at 46 and I swear that embarrasses me even more. It’s a curse. I hate it – not the flirting, I kinda like that. I mean I hate the whole blush/giggle thing. You can ask my husband if you don’t believe me. — He’ll tell you all about the cowboy who tipped his hat at me and said “Ma’am.” I think I squeaked before I blushed and giggled, I’m not sure. That poor man.

To be fair – I’ll tell you about the time we were at a concert and Nicole Nordeman walked up to him, stuck out her hand to shake his and rendered him speechless. Our youngest son just looked up at her and said’ Uhm, I think my dad wants your autograph.” — He punched me in the arm when he got back to the seats for not telling him she was there. I’d never heard of her, but apparently he had.

  How I wound up with the man I did, I’ll never know. I actually think God took pity on me.

Jerry O’Connell plays Pete, really well and his character does have a lot of heart as is shown in episode one when he keeps an innocent kid from going to jail.  If you want to see what I’m talking about, check out CBS’s latest Defenders Trailer.  I tried to embed it, but the CBS page isn’t set up for that, sorry.

So, come 9 pm CST, I’ll be at home watching my favorite new show. What are you going to be doing? – edited to add: Or not. CBS had a Grammy Show scheduled instead, and the local affiliate chose to show a college basketball game and some Survivor show. Now I’m sad.

It Was a Carb Coma Kind of Day

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Our dining room set for Thanksgiving dinner
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I’ve learned that the trick to a great Thanksgiving dinner — aside from awesome recipes ala Ree Drummond, is apparently drinking a cup of coffee at 6:00 pm the evening before. Laying in my bed, bugged eyed at 1 am, I decided to go downstairs and pour myself some warm milk. While in the kitchen, I thought to my non sleepy self, since I’m up I might as well set the dining room table, and the next thing I know I’m making the mashed potatoes at 3 am. Turns out I’m creative when I can’t sleep, one dish followed another and I did not go back to bed until I put our stuffed bird in the oven at 6:00 am. Then and only then did I stumble into bed for 3.75 hours of wonderful sleep.

Granted, I have friends who do this normally anyway. Stay up all night, the night before and cook — but I usually don’t. I like my sleep.

What about you? Are you an all nighter kind of turkey day cook or do you cook the day of?  I’d love to know.