Category Archives: Uncategorized

“Hey, Marcia,” I say with an excited expression on my face. Having her attention, I then blurt out my newest holiday cheer idea: “Want to build Gingerbread houses?”

Candy shopping, invite a few friends and build a house. Tastefully creative. And we did just that–

I could be anything I wanted to
I wanted to
I could be anything but one thing’s true

Never gonna be as big as jesus
Never gonna hold the world in my hand
Never gonna be as big as Jesus
Never gonna build a promised land
But that’s alright okay with me

Audio Adrenaline.

My Dad has strong hands. He can fix just about anything, creates wo0den masterpieces, and is rebuilding a car. He can also support my whole body weight in one hand, just by holding mine, when I walk with no walker. My Mom has strong hands. She uses her hands to meet the needs of others in elegant penmanship, is a role model hostess and can create crafts out of scraps. She also helps with my needs, even in the worst of my humiliation. My sisters and brother-in-laws have strong hands. In each of their personalities and jobs, they show the gifts they have been given through what they do. My family has strong hands. And mine–weak.

“If it doesn’t snow soon, I can no longer blame the weather for my hands’ poor performance,” I told Mom a few weeks ago. Like those who suffer from Arthritis, my joints will feel extra stiff, achy and swell in step with the weather; but there is more and I know it. I have felt the change over the past month or so, and have seen the effects of weakening hands. There is really not a way to describe my hands…I haven’t even found a description satisfactory to relate how numbness feels. My hands give me a daily psychology game–especially when I grip something for balance or pick up something, only to realize that I thought I had held of the object, but it never left its spot. My hands frustrate me. They make me slow. In a world of haste, this can be a defeat in self-esteem.

One may associate pride with strength, the strong hands. I would say likewise for the weak, because I live there. Weakness has a pride. Every time I deny that I can’t do it on my own and try to prove my hands out of uselessness, I have pride. In pride I forget that it is when you are weak, then you are strong. And so I continue to learn to see my blessings–my hands in weakness–even when I can’t feel them.

When I was five, I remember watching a program on PBS. It was a Christmas orchestra and it was the first memory I have of seeing instruments being played. I don’t recall remembering Mom say, “flute,” when I found myself fascinated by the way it looked on the screen, but I do vividly remember saying that I will play that someday…and I did.

Fast forward to my fifth grade year and I started in the basics of flute playing, as me and my peers would be in junior high the following year; Band became more of a big deal from there on out, if we chose to stick with it and practice. I had already been taking piano lessons since the first grade, so knowing my treble cleft notes on the scale and reading sheet music was a breeze–getting the notes to come forth from the flute was a different story. No matter how hard I tried that year, the instrument left me frustrated and quite winded (pun intended) from endless practice.

Practice paid off. Memories of junior high band…it was some of the best years of my teenage life. I loved it all–the concerts, Honor Band opportunities, solo and duet competitions at the college…and my favorite, Marching Band. There are always things you “wish” you could do; for me, it would be to play the drums. I would get the drum line cadence in my head and after practicing the field show songs, I would march downstairs to dinner. 🙂 As my hearing and playing instruments started to decline during college, I found anew music obsession that I could easily hear (and wish I could play): a drum set.

At Christmas, among the fun songs and the classics, we sing of Jesus’ birth and everything involved from that moment forward. One song, in particular, is my favorite. Not a hymn, but a simple story. A story of a boy, his three animal friends, and his drum: “The Little Drummer Boy.” By now, you should know that I am a fan of the oldies, especially from the years of late 80’s-early 90’s. In 1993, various Christian music artists put together a CD of different songs, labeling it Christmas. Of all the wonderful songs that I can still hear in my mind, the best is Whiteheart’s version of “The Little Drummer Boy.” Pure rock and drums. The little drummer boy, Aaron, must have had a good sense of beat anyway, because even “the ox and lamb kept time…”

After losing everything but his animal companions (a sheep, Baba; a donkey, Samson and a camel, Joshua), Aaron only possesses his drum and his ability to play. In the story, after he had followed the star to the manger, Aaron didn’t understand why everyone was in awe and worship for a baby in a manger. It is only after Baba gets injured that he approaches the baby Jesus and sets Baba before Him. What did Aaron have to offer? Being reminded to give all he has, Aaron gives the gift of music…a drumbeat from the heart.

Yesterday, as I struggled physically and needed extra help, thoughts of Jesus as a baby came to mind. He was God but in human form–newborn babies are helpless on their own and He experienced it. Then, when the time came, Jesus gave all He had out of Love. Over the year, I had chosen Love as my word, yet I am speechless as to all I have experienced and learned within that four letter word. Love is a gift and when yo have nothing, it is the greatest gift of all.

The Christmas canvases have been uploaded to my Etsy listings. 🙂

https://www.etsy.com/shop/BrushstrokesbyMel

Come, let us adore Him
He has come down to this barren land
Where we live
And all I have to give Him is adoration

Newsboys – Adoration

Yesterday in a word was celebration. Minus  a few hours in the afternoon, the day was filled with songs and praises, musical melodies of worship for the remembrance of the Christmas season–God’s presence on earth in the form of a baby, Jesus.

“I just wish you could have heard it,” Mom tells me after I had mentioned the day being full of Christmas music. “It’s okay,” I said and I truly meant it. I may have experienced a whole day of silent celebration, but it was not a boring or pity one. I am thankful that God led me through my isolation outburst to realize that I can still take part in the fellowship when I choose to look past myself and focus on Jesus instead.

I didn’t realize that church would be a morning of praises and songs, with only a short message at the end. The power point for congregation singing was had to follow, so I stood turned most of the time towards Marcia’s face to read her lips. There were many prepared music sets from the small orchestra to the adult choir, the youth and solos, and the small children ringing their bells…(while simultaneously taking.) 🙂 I would ask Marcia what songs were being played and we were doing good on keeping me somewhat informed. Then there was a men’s quartet that reminded me of the Bill Gaither Band. Their song seemed lively, as I observed people s expressions and the men’s jolly bobbing while singing. Curious, I ask Marcia, “Is their music or is it Capella?” She didn’t get that, too many words, so I shortened it to music or no music. Nope. That didn’t work either, so I gave her the never-mind signal and turned my head. She got my attention a few seconds later and mouthed, “Their singing about Mary and the angels.” Me–“Oh.” 🙂 I thought it was so funny and cute, I had to smile and breathe heavy through my nose like I do in MRI machines when I am trying not to laugh. I returned the lip-reading confusion that evening.

The concert was amazing! The chapel was packed and there was much celebration prepared by the university’s School of Music: the jazz band, different choirs, girls on harps and a small orchestra. A man played the organ, which I found fascinating to watch, and another did a funny piano act during an in-between set up time. Mom told me it was Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer. There were also the congregation hymns, but since it was dark and a slanted floor, I remained seating; at least there I could read the words. Towards the end ,I felt my head drifting down. It had been an hour of sitting there, my eyes were starting to strain from the dark verses light and watching the big screen, I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch and could not keep a tune in mind to avoid pure silence. Finally, a prayer was said and people stood as the light’s came back. Figuring it is over from where I sit, Marcia turns and looks down at me, “Handel’s Messiah.” Totally missed the name and lip-reading in that condition listed, Messiah looked like pizza. “We’re getting pizza?” Marcia shakes her head, finger spells, and gives me the sign for stand. When I do, I see that all the choirs have assembled together and then I understand: “The Hallelujah Chorus.” Me: “Oh.” 🙂

The message at church was from Luke 2, where the angels meet the shepherds. The shepherds just watching the sheep at night probably was pretty quiet–if not silent. I get curious to know if they were frightened more from the radiance in the dark sky than voice; either way, they are told to have peace and celebrate. I find silence frightening. What is more frightening is to know that I use my silence as a crutch to celebration. But with Jesus, how can I be silent? I should be filled with nothing but adoration.

 Joy to the World

Kids–there may come moments in your life when your Mom questions your actions or articles of clothing, sincerely out of love and protection…especially when there is a history of prior events that she foresees could similarly happen again and just wants to protect you (and articles of clothing), and avoid the unnecessary mishaps. In these instances, even as an adult..let me offer my own sound advice: Listen to Mom.

Getting ready to head to the basement and paint this afternoon (more to come on those, stay tuned), I was wearing grey exercise pants and a yellow V-neck tee-shirt. Nothing fancy, but nothing I have ever painted in before and they aren’t too shabby either. “Are you sure you want to paint in those?” Mom’s question also had the concerned eye expression. I am a notorious messy artist. I had to put on my tennis shoes, so I told her I had planned to change into my designated painting pants and just wear the painting apron my sister gave me for Christmas two years ago. Mom said no more, but still didn’t look too convinced and when I was ready, we set out to conquer the stairs.

I only had a few finishing touches left on the small canvases before finishing a larger one with the hymn, “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Things are moving along nicely, until I reach the signing of my name on one particular board. It has been long time coming, really. With my hands decreasing in strength and increasing in numbness, atrophy and curling, they also shake. Maybe the latter listed are the cause–I am not sure. It is not a massive shake, but rather just “shaky.” Certain fingers will do it more than others and my left thumb sometimes does it the worst. My hand’s shakiness is most obvious when I eat or lift a mug or write…or try to sign “MEL” with paint.

I think it has to do with the straight lines. Combine the shaky hands, the eyes focusing so hard in my bifocals…I can’t get my hands and eyes to agree on where to land the mark. It even happens when I write on paper. I am starting to detest signing my name when I have to use checks. Anyway, this “MEL” was in white and what a good choice, because I wiped it off about four times before finally achieving something satisfactory. Then I was nervous. My Bethlehem painting was just a simple, solid blue background and the hymn was mod podged on earlier. The plan was to paint simple lines of the town-in-that-day around the hymn…in a deep brown. There was no room for mistakes.

I got started and since it was a bigger canvas, did not feel pressure for matching the lines as hard as the signature. All finished and I thought it had turned out quite nicely. No paint on the shirt either, thanks to the apron! I then proceed to shift things around, brushes to the water and take the apron off. Looking back at the canvas, there was enough room to safely dot the sky with glitter and silver–the star effect–without even touching the brown rooftops. ‘Put the apron back on before you begin,” my mind tells me, as I move the apron from the paint bin to get the silver paint. Ignoring the thought, I turn around and light the sky with speckles. Complete and I was proud. Mom had just come down to see how I nws doing and if I was going to eat. I answered her and then she pointed to my shirt.

“Oh, man!” I exclaim. Needless to say, I don’t think Mom was at all surprised to see a big slash of brown paint on yellow. “I was doing so good. I just barely took the apron off before doing the stars. I should have kept it on until the painting was moved.” Kids–I now offer more sound advice: Listen to your conscience. 

I should have leaned by now…Mel, just wear the worn out, already stained painted clothes. It would save me time in laundry effort and a good shirt. In life, we all make mistakes, but we should learn from them as to not continue in them. I have yet much to learn.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart
    and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to him,
    and he will make your paths straight.

Proverbs 3:5-6

Christmas pageants. They are even more memorable when they are children productions and growing up, every year until about the fourth grade, our church had one. And it was a big deal!

Unlike the time of my lead role as Morph, the main names–the angel, Gabriel and Mary, Joseph, the three Wise Men or lead shepherds–were mostly given to the junior high kids. We others filled in as townspeople, tagged along with the shepherds or if you got lucky, became one of the sheep. We all got at least one line and sang the songs. I am not sure why, but when it came to memorizing for these plays, I seemed to memorize everyone else’s lines too. The Children’s director always had these evenings filmed and we have a VHS of one year, in which Melissa, Megan and myself are all in the play. As our peers are doing funny things, the zoom focuses closer on the speaking ones and I am standing right behind them. If you don’t read lips, I can just tell you that I am saying their lines at the same time. 🙂

When I reached junior high, I don’t remember anymore Christmas plays, but once took the angel at te tomb part for an Easter set. I just had to wait for the spot light to shine and make my way out through a curtain to stand on the organ bench and smile. Easy.  Besides the tiny skits Marcia and my friend acted out in part for the Sing and Play time at VBS, the angel was my last role in acting. Or so I thought.

Christmas break of my freshman year at CCU was going to be a short one, because I was going back up a week early for Winter Term. I don’t even remember how she contacted me, but since I was not going to be playing my bass guitar with the praise team, our worship leader asked if I would be Mary during one of the song sets. Sure. The set up was much like the angel scenario, a sheet and spotlight. Except this time, it would shine and from front view, show our silhouettes coming down one single step to a box which was the manger. Note–one single step.

I went with Dad to the praise team practice and about fell asleep in the pew waiting for my song. Finally, Deb came around and got me and the teen who was to be Joseph. She talked us through what to do and decided to sing the song twice–once without the spotlight and one with the spotlight and our robes (also, my glasses off.) The music starts and we get our cue to enter as the singers have already begun their angelic voices with some song I am not familiar with but focus instead on following Joseph around the corner to the stair. One would think I could remember one single step the way I did memorizing everyone’s lines, but not this Mary. Missing the step, my right leg lands, resulting in my knee locking which then sends me toppling forward…very ungracefully falling on my knees–not by the box, but practically in it.

Silence. There are times (up until my recent big fall in September) that imagining how I looked when I fell was a funny thought. As Joseph, a sturdy skater guy, was offering a hand–I am starting to laugh. “Everything okay back there?” Deb finally asks. “Yeah, just missed my step,” I say. Joseph and I decided it was best if he led Mary to the manger…and on Christmas Eve, I safely knelt in worship.

I can no longer kneel or even get on the floor, unless I have fallen. But one day I will, because in that day, everyone will be on their knees…not in front of a box-like manger, but before the throne of God. [Philippians 2:9-11]

Fall on your knees O hear the angels voices.
O night divine O night when Christ was born
O night divine, O night, O night divine.

Christmas Carols – O Holy Night Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Over the past month, every turn of each week seemed to bring in visiting family–whether it was just for an overnight stay or the big events of my sister’s baby shower and the most recent of Thanksgiving–there was much laughter, pictures and new memories. And for myself, hard as I tried to keep with the flow, help around in cleaning and preparations and be “present” in conversations, there were times of complete isolation. And there is nothing worse than the crummy feeling of it, either sitting in a room full of people or by yourself. Last night was my final straw of self-pity and I let out my emotions unexpected (to myself mostly) at the dinner table.

“You have no idea what it’s like! To just sit there, in complete silence.” I start rambling more about how I can’t help much, my eyes. I couldn’t look at my family, because the three of them just sat there now in their own silence. I couldn’t see past my isolation and I was upset, because we had been Christmas decorating and I could only do small things–like unwrap the townspeople for the country town set on the stereo top or hand Mom the red, ball ornaments for her white tree. And I can’t hear the music anymore, the joyous melodies of the season. The table conversation was of upcoming, fun social events. There is a concert at the college next week that they planned  to attend, but gave me the option to say yes or no. In my mind I am thinking, what’s the point of just sitting there? At least a Christmas movie would give me captions.  But I would be alone.

After dinner, I asked Mom more about the concert. She said it might be nice just to dress up and get out of the house–I thought on this..besides Sunday mornings, it is rare for me to dress up and it is getting harder to get out for social things, let alone ones at night. It is my social life that sacrifices with this disease. So, I decided to go and enjoy the sights of the season, since I cannot hear the sounds, and be with my family.

My family often gets times like this. I hold in my emotions or just don’t exactly know what they are doing as I try to balance the physical, mental, and spiritual simultaneously.  Last night would have been a result of the latter, as my Thanksgiving, although my aunt and uncle and cousins were here, was one of the hardest physical days I have endured in a long time. Then that effected everything else, I think. I woke up Thanksgiving Eve and felt just fine, but by lunch, I was having such excruciating pressure on my spine that I had to have help almost every time I had to stand. My intestines weren’t any help that day either, and while I tried to push past that to enjoy the company…by the end of the day, I was grasping the counter so tight in the kitchen as if I were falling off a cliff and clinging for dear life.

It takes a lot for me to cry due to physical pain, but that night as Mom helped me take off my shoes, I just lost it…adding all the emotion and unfairness of it all too. “It’s not fair!” I sounded just like Samantha Wood in Dear Mr. Knightly. As Mom listens and wipes a tear from her eye, I thought of what Father John told Sam in reply:

‘My dear, what in your life has ever come close to fair? That’s not how life works.’ He leaned forward and stretched his hands out across the desk. ‘I’m sorry, Sam. If I could protect you from anymore pain, I would. But I can only pray and do the very best God calls me to do.’

I went to bed that night feeling a bit better, at least emotionally and Tylenol helped; and Mom remembered I had medicine for extreme pain too. It’s a good thing I live at home. Anyway, I woke up Thanksgiving Day and started fresh. I felt much better all-around. As I got dressed, the thought came to mind of how we say a thank you for our blessings, but I never have for the sufferings. I never really said “Thank you for my sufferings,” because I started thinking of Jesus. He surely knew suffering, pain and the utmost of isolation…death separated Him from God. The weight on His shoulders was not just mine, but everyone. As I cried (yet again) to Mom later that night telling her these things, it made my own isolation feelings seem selfish, and that is what I struggled with last night after my outburst.

But focusing on isolation is not the point of living with suffering, though it happens; and even to focus soley on Jesus’ death is not the point, because He Lives. In trusting Him, I trade isolation for inheritance that cannot be shaken.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

1 Peter 1:3-9

“The goal is no falling,” I state to my friend who had just helped get my arms into my coat. She replied with a confident nod and thumbs-up…then we made our way to the garage stairs. It was a cold evening and we were going to Beans-n-Cream for hot drinks, sign language practice and a game of Chinese Checkers. I must have given some good game tactics in my explanation of how to play, because she beat me n her first-ever game by three paces; and I spilled my caramel steamer all over my new special selected, elastic waist line, petite jeans from JC Penny. But we laughed when I said, ‘No falling!” And I didn’t. And it was a wonderful evening with a friend.

I have no memory prior that evening of where the phrase, “No falling,” my have appeared, but since then, it has become almost (if not more) my slogan…new motto. I still say, “Good grief”–I may never part with that one; I only say, “Epic fail!” when there is hilarious bad timing in events; and said, “Ludicrous,” in very angry tones the other morning, because it was taking me almost ten minutes just to put on my socks and shoes. It is such an exercise and my hands were not cooperating. I was in my room sitting on my black chair and didn’t think anyone heard me and kept trying. Mom peeked her head in shortly after that and offered to help; I leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. Then stood, balanced myself with the walker and started the day.

It is not that in my saying “No falling,” under the gasping breath, actually saves me…but it brings more reassuring thoughts rather than sheer panic. I am finding that when starting to get unbalanced, most of the time, it is the sensing of falling backward. I am not a fan of thus…maybe even more-so  now that my vision on the right denies me to see far back over my shoulder. I can’t point fingers entirely at my vision, because there is more to the art of using a walker. With my hands now so lost of grip sensation, I grab on tighter or lose grip completely which throws off the balance and I tip side-ways. This happened the other evening and as I was saying, “No falling,” I have never seen Dad jump up from his chair so quickly. Of course, he commented on my slipper selection choice. I wore better ones today.

Sunday at church, I had finished reading the sermon notes and scripture passages; there is no interpreter at my parent’s church, so I started reading some favorite verses in the Book of Psalms, before continuing my reads in Deuteronomy. Psalm 3:3 came to mind–it became my verse in college days:

But you, O LORD, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head.

I should have remembered this verse yesterday, when everything in my body screamed at me…where by evening, even lifting my head or trying to stand with better posture almost hurt to breathe from the pressure I felt in my spine. After a fun day out with Mom and Marcia, I sat on my black chair, stroked Muffy on the head and said, “Maybe it was a mistake. What do you think?” (as if he could answer…) But in that pain, I forgot to fall back on the promises of God. That He shares that pain and He is strong enough to lift my head. And He does. My evening ended in laughs and hugs. And this morning, I woke to a new day, even before the sun was shining. It has been full of purpose, anticipation, achy hands and spine, “No falling” episodes, and the reminder of just how truly blessed I really am.

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men, doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

J.R.R. Tolkien. The Fellowship of the Ring.

This quote [ actually, just the quote where it starts with “One Ring.” I added more previous quote for effect. ] came to mind yesterday as my neuro ophthalmologist was shining his bright light in my left eye while viewing the nerve with a special prism of sorts. Being a bit obsessed with the movies in high school, scenes can just flash in mind. I still have a problem when wanting to watch the movies, as when I start…I want to watch them ALL. It is the same with BBC’s Anne of Green Gables; or when we were growing up, The Sound of Music on school nights. Mom always told us to get to the Intermission (first VHS ending) and then be done. I can’t remember that ever happening. 🙂

Anyway, as light is shining, I am thinking a few things (maybe the transitional thinking, thus leading to Lord of the Rings. My mind is a mystery.) I had just had the “put the black, flat, one eyed glasses” and read the letter chart on the mirror testing. It was nothing new that I could not read the letters in the right eye–not even the E. Last time, we did the line test and I saw all correctly. Yesterday, I saw just the square, and the color looked blue….only once did I faintly see horizontal lines. Shadows.

My left eye read pretty good. When it got to where the letters merged together, out of focus, I said, “This us where I would use my bifocals.,” Yes, I now say it with confidence. After giving the whole run-down of changes noticed, the assistants said they would inform my doctor and then he came in, commented on my glasses and set to work shining light in my eyes. I tell you about the eye chart differences, because as he shines back and forth in both eyes, I realize that in the right eye, I am not even essentially seeing the light..and it is bright!! As he focuses his time on the left, it is then that images of The Eye of Sauron comes to mind. blog.michaelmichelini.com

Funny thing is, the prism is the opposite–the middle is the light and dark surrounds. None-the-less-, the scene where Gandalf is talking to the little Hobbit, Pippin, as they await at Gondor for the start of the battle for Middle Earth, is what comes to mind too. They are facing Mordor–the darkness and increasing Shadows…Orcs and Evil linger for the call to begin and The Eye flashes like fire in search of The Ring. Might be a bit dramatic for an eye appointment, but considering my eye conditions I guess it was bound to come to mind at some point.

Of course, I never let on that I was thinking this; I had other questions too. I was told my left optic nerve has not increased with swelling and may have come down just a bit…so why the side effects as of late? Sometimes there are no answers. My other concern was my right eye. I told Mom a few weeks ago that my eye felt heavy–different than a tired heavy. It is a heavy that also feels like my eye is full of liquid in the back. I said, “Can your eyes go numb? Because if they can, that is what it feels like,” (in reference to the heaviness.) But my doctor was not concerned of numb eyes. The eye does have some liquid, but the feeling is a result of nerve sensation.

If all stays as it has been, I do not return until February; that is also when I see my main doctor and his team at Children’s. As always, I have to keep watch for major changes or even the little ones that progress over time, but at the moment, this could be the first of holiday seasons since we moved here that I do not have any treatments or appointments. The question if that will remain is in the future and out of my hands. Yesterday was a hard day..today was a good day, the difference like a parallel of my two eyes.  And that is life–one day at a time.

The eyes of the LORD are in every place, keeping watch on the evil and the good.

Proverbs 15:3