Rooted Hearts

  Sweet Mary I passed the Hospice where I said goodbye to you. It stands stoic and silent against an unlikely back drop. I can still see your face, your beautiful face that very last day. It had a light around it, cloaked in a celestial opus. You looked more beautiful than I had ever seen you. Do you think God gave me that final glimpse so I could see heaven? You were so peaceful, and I knew in my heart that God had already called your name. I stood by your bed in that mere magnificence and cried. I cried for joy that you would finally be at rest. You would bathe in that light. You would see your sister, your mom and Dad and maybe even my parents. You would live where the sky meets the earth and command the sunrise and sunset. And, I cried for myself, how much I miss you. I loved that I was able to spend all of that time with you - driving you, sitting with you and talking to you. You filled a part of my heart I never knew was empty. Such a gift you were. Not just a cousin but a co...

 This morning as I grappled with my miseries, I couldn't help but think about the laundry basket full of fresh cleaned clothes that awaited me. Indeed, they certainly were not going to fold themselves. In my mind, it was just another stressor added to my long list of painful things that kept me up at night. How I dreaded not only folding them but hanging them as well. Perhaps in some ways I had no one to blame but myself. My procrastination had now taken center stage as the basket burst forward with a mountain of clothes. I had put off doing the laundry for a few days, and in that time, it seemed as though it tripled. Maybe I could blame the fact that I had a high-capacity washer, so I could leave my chores for a later date, knowing I would be able to stuff every last piece in that unsuspecting appliance and they would always come out clean. Ahhh but truth be known, I, indeed, had no one to blame but myself, adding to my misery.  And so, I set out to begin my insurmountable ta...

 I think for the first 20 years of my marriage, I had a great deal of resentment towards my father-in-law.  He was by all measures a wonderful man, but I felt in many ways, his grandchildren took a backseat to his happiness. And yet, the irony of it all, I also believe that other than my husband, he understood me the best.  I will explain. After his retirement, he devoted most of his days and nights to the local high school and its sports program. It would seem logical since before that he had lived his life through his children's sports. An incredibly attentive parent in that regard, he coached them, encouraged them, and dreamed with them from T-ball through the entirety of high school. His breath was measured by the smell of a fresh cut baseball field. His heart beat to the pounding of shoes racing up and down a basketball court. And his eyes came alive with the lights of a Friday night football game. It was far more than his passion; it was his life.  So why would...

  God speaks to you when you least expect it. Today it was while I was doing the laundry. Prayer of Peace Like a petulant child, A tantrum for your truth. The river that yearns for the sea, Your light contains me. The anticipation of a child reading their first word May your words encompass my very heart. A bird who flies about the moon sculpting a nest Let the Spirit find rest within my soul. Then I shall stand bold and strong in a place known only to you and I, It will be sacred, steeped in Grace, held in splendor by my Creator. Teri Carlson

 I always become a bit melancholy in the days directly after Christmas. Some might say that isn't unusual most feel an anticlimactic let down. But mine goes much deeper. Of course, I am sad that after months of preparation the day seems to come and go, like a quick summer storm that disappears back into the clouds from which it came. My heart almost aches as I walk through the stores with sale signs cascading the picked over shelves. It's as if December 25th is a distant memory the day after it dawns. Even now driving down the street (December 28th), I have seen any number of Christmas trees cast off to the curb. Why do people insist on erasing any trace of this beautiful day? Theologically the Maji are still tracking their journey to meet the newborn king.  Yes, I can still hear the squeal of my youngest granddaughter when she opened the Barbie she wanted. The sparkle in her eyes will light my dreams for months. Or my youngest grandson's smile when he saw the collection of...

  Like a curve ball that doesn’t make it across home plate, or a Spring without rain, we are sometimes left to wonder whether God has heard our prayers. Often people imagine a Santa like figure in heaven keeping track of who has been naughty or nice. But reality is our God is ever knowing, he doesn’t need to keep track! More like a patient parent waiting for you to come willingly to him with your pain, God is doing the same. I remember when I was very young and would pray. I would pray for ridiculous things and expect them to appear as if it were magic. Afterall, if blind men could see and the lame could walk, what was a little Barbie doll appearing in my room? And that   was how my immature mind thought of God, like a magician. One night I knelt next to my bed and began to pray out loud as my parents made their way upstairs. I don’t remember my exact words but ended it by saying I was in awe of God and his magical ways. My mother turned white as my dad’s teeth dropped. Th...

Yesterday I thought a lot. I thought about my life, where I am, where I have been, even what may be ahead of me.  When I talk to my friends who married later and had an entire lifetime it seems before they even said I DO, it makes me wonder how things may have been for me had I not gotten married at 20. I imagine a glamorous life, living in the city, working at a huge teaching hospital and catapulting my career there. Spending weekends out on the lake, having my own apartment, and carrying out the life few dare to dream. Whether that would have been the reality of it, I rather doubt. But, as so many say, the grass is always greener.  The fact of the matter is that I am the sum of my journey, however mundane or exciting it may seem. I completely own all of the joys and all of the losses. And by most people's estimation, it has turned out to be a blessed life. I firmly believe that God has predestined my journey, and it is my ministry in life to wri...

  Yesterday, as is my practice each time I drive home from UIC, I stopped at the Maywood McDonalds to get a Diet Coke for the road. As I pulled into the parking lot, I spotted an elderly man. He was diminutive in stature and holding a sign that read; Please Help. Homeless. God Bless. I knew right then and there I would add to my order and buy him a bag of food. As I pulled around, I signaled for him to come over, so that I could hand it to him. It was hot and fresh, and smelled delicious. I was certainly excited to place it in his hands. As he approached me, I felt a nagging that I had to do more. But what? I didn't want to hand him cash, I really had nothing else. And then a voice inside of me grew louder, Give him your blanket. My blanket? How odd. Next to me in my tote was the blanket my dear high school friends had given me when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was adorned with pink ribbons, and probably one of the softest blankets I have ever had. I carried it ...

  Alone in the place which I dwell. My eyes give light to all around me, I dwell alone.  The trees of golden hue Grass that carpets miles and miles of beauty, boats floating aimlessly in the sea, Until the horizon swallows them from sight. Boughs of clouds dancing to their fancy, words come softly and crafted.  Angels sing a glory song and I recuse.  I'm not ready I beg, there's so very much to do, Joy to appreciate, love to impart. Beauty to embrace, footsteps to follow. Warm wind swirled about me, caressing my heart. My soul came alive,  leading me to a new day. I will carry that glory song, always listening, always thankful.

  I have been going in and out of Chicago recently 2-3 times a week. Driving the Eisenhower Expressway or the toll road makes for a white-knuckle experience. I prefer to take Roosevelt Road all the way in. Filled with stop lights, and at times congested traffic, it feels like a level playing ground for me. I have come under scrutiny for taking this route as it travels through a myriad of neighborhoods, especially once you get into the city proper. To the casual observer, one may be put aback by the scenery. For me, it is God's daily nudge to put me in the presence of gratitude. It is, my Humility Road.  Where you might see unemployment or lack of ambition, I see opportunity lost. Lost to poverty, lost to circumstance, lost to an abyss of despair. A vicious cycle of generational teaching. They live as their parents before them. Can you imagine looking out your window and all you see is a littered street with grown men loitering and spending their days in idol solitude...

  Dancing With Mortality I have danced, Danced bravely. Danced Strong. Danced till the moon fell into the horizon. Danced so they believed.  But my legs grew weak. My inside hollowed and screamed.  I could not slip into the heavens. I stood wavering, praying, shouting, and at times, whispering in Gods ear.  no eloquent prose, just tear soaked words.  He answered me, and so, I dance again,  A thankful dance of life. Teri Carlson

  One Song One Song Solitary Song Restless in the wind that created it. One Note Solitary Note Burst forth - a tsunami of melody. One man solitary man Holds the hands of many. One heart solitary heart beats to hold a nation. Mankind solitary mankind waits for the song.  Teri

  If you are lucky enough to have friends that have spanned nearly a lifetime, then you know exactly how I feel. Every year, I load up my car and travel north to Wisconsin where four of us from high school gather at Melinda's lake house. I have food, way too many clothes, and a heart so filled with excitement it nearly bursts. We come from all over. Suzy lives in Georgia, Jenny lives in Peru Illinois, Melinda has her main residence in Oswego Illinois, and I am in North Aurora Illinois. For 3-4 days we meander through trails, spend hours on their boat on the lake, and stay up late talking about our deepest thoughts and memories. And, if we are lucky, we have Brandy Alexanders! Because our birthdays are all within weeks of each other we celebrate them all while we are there.  When the last bed is stripped, and parcel of food put away, with the sun gazing over the lake, its time to say goodbye. Not just goodbye to treasured friends, but goodbye to the lake who hosted us...

  I was settled in driving the back roads to Sycamore this morning. My Apple playlist shuffling from one song to the next when all at once I heard Josh Groban. His voice is made from that of the angels. I began thinking back to the first time I heard him. I was awe struck. He was all of 17 years old, singing for the lighting of the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. He was wearing a turtleneck and a double-breasted pea coat. His curls flirting with wind as it's cool echo swam around him. The first note beamed through the night, and I had tears in my eyes. He went on to sing Oh Holy Night in perfect pitch, I was instantly a fan. Today, nearly 20 years later, I couldn't help but think about all the gifts each of us has been given. And just like Josh, it is imperative we share them. In contrast to the number of people in the world, a relatively small amount has been given such an incredible voice, but we all have so much to offer each other. God designed us to s...

  Sometimes Life can get rather messy, just like Ella in her highchair. Crumbs ramble around us sifting in between everything that we are. Those crumbs can never be returned to their original cookie state, but goodness can still be derived from them.  As it is in each and every day, our lives may crumble, but the pieces can still create something great. Born from mere imperfection, the mosaic we create can be strong and beautiful.  I rambled on and on talking my friend Liz's ear off. Pure nervous energy as we traveled into the city to see a new medical oncologist. I recently was made aware the Axonal sensory Polyneuropathy I have been battling was likely due to medication I have been taking to keep my breast cancer from metastasizing. I have been desperate for some answers, and a pathway to restore my health. The neurologist at UIC gave me little hope that things could ever get better and painted a picture of progressive pain and weakness wit...

I laid back as the massage had come to an end. Looking at the ceiling, in a moment of contemplation, suddenly all of my thoughts from the week came flooding back into my head. Every worry, every moment of sadness, every ounce of incomplete joy was swirling around. I quickly sat up, and for some reason I told myself no! No, you must choose happiness. You must fill your life with ordinary gratitude. So ordinary that it becomes a habit.  When you fill your day with gratitude instead of a schedule of sadness and regrets, soon your world takes on a whole new perspective.  We are living in a home I never knew I needed. The months leading up to our move were some of the saddest of our lives. We were thrust into a very unenviable position, something I was not prepared to navigate. At one point we feared we would be left with nowhere to go. In a purchase agreement that went bottom up, we lost $23,000 and every sense of security and comfort we ever had. Oh, we p...

  I know He has a message for me. I know there is a reason for the uncertainty in my future, the pain I feel each and every day, the purpose  and plan  created in the heaven's and left for my discernment. I long to know his word, be drenched in his grace, my heart blanketed in His love. With every chord I carry in my prayer, please God, answer me.  I feel a bit like my granddaughter in the picture above, drifting towards unknown waters. Brave, but frightened. Convicted, but reserved. In the end, quenched by the refreshing waters of His steadfast glory.  We began to settle in. The morning sun streaming through the window like a halo from heaven. The aroma of coffee circled its way through the building like a Siamese cat looking for a place to rest. It was the first day of our summer bible study, aptly named Open Your Bible. The irony of this for me is that I have lost my last two bibles. Always from my car. I like to believe someone who needed them...

  Heaven's Door The sky opens heaven's door birds fly in sacred score. The moon will pour a path to Grace I will Follow..... Your name my only song prayer melting into words. Voices silent nevermore I will follow...... Cover me in your divine wrap me in the immortal So I might reach a soul despair. All I ask is you to follow......

  Sometimes in life the answer falls right on your lap. Questions you may have for God are answered in powerful ways, but you must always keep your eyes open!  I carefully walked to my car after my appointment with a neurologist today. The news I had received sat in me like oatmeal on a hot day. Finding out that all of the neurological symptoms I have been having this past year are due to the chemotherapy I take to keep my breast cancer in remission. Among these, a degenerative nerve disease that will continue to progress, I will never return to my old self. I have already given in and use a cane, which for me is subtle reminder of the limitations I already have. The neuropathy I have can only be helped by Gabapentin, which helps with the shooting pains, but does nothing to heal the already dead and damaged nerves that have taken away much of my mobility. The Letrozole coupled with a B12 deficiency have had a feast with my nerves.  And so, as I sunk into th...

 Grieving is a personal act. Done so utterly close to our heart, no one could ever know the depths to which it goes. And so it was with Doug and I in the fall of 1987.  He entered the world silent. Like a thunderstorm that had finally ended, with the peacefulness of a soft rain, gentle but sure. Not meant for this world, his soul broke softly away to heaven. My arms were left empty, my heart was barren. I long to hold him as much today as I did in 1987. I longed to smell the freshness of a newborn after a bath. To run my hands across his face, count his fingers and toes, gaze into his beautiful eyes, or sing him a lullaby.  So many found it hard to understand. They would express condolences or awkward platitudes. They were all done with the best of intentions, but how could they know? Things like that aren't discussed in pick up lines or grocery stores or even in the sacred halls of a church. It's simply implied, there must have been a reason. Maybe there was, but the pai...