Epilogue

 

My career in higher education has ended. Looking back over the past 35-plus years, I realize how truly blessed I am to have made this journey. It was 1989 when I took a job in a financial aid office at a private college in Massachusetts. It is there that I learned the basics of file review, cost of attendance, and financial aid awards. My time at the college lead me to become a director at a small career school in Boston, followed by consulting. It was during my time as a consultant that I fell in love with regulations, the law, and compliance.

I finally found my calling when I took a part-time job at a local community college. The work combined my experience, my knowledge, and my love of students. More importantly, it confirmed my strong commitment to work at an institution that provides open access to anyone who wishes to pursue an education. My years there expanded my experience beyond financial aid to include student accounts, veterans’ benefits, orientation, and registration.

I also had the privilege of working at a community college in central Massachusetts, where I worked with amazing colleagues that I knew through our professional organizations.

The last 15 years of my career were spent at a local community college just 10 miles from my home. It was there that I spent my hours doing the work that I love: regulatory compliance. I wrote policies and procedures. I researched regulations. I expanded into institutional compliance, involving Title IX, affirmative action, student conduct and grievances, the Clery Act, and more. I had the opportunity to work across divisions and get to know colleagues in academic affairs, public safety, IT, and much more. I was part of compliance teams that shaped institutional policy. Together we faced the challenges of current regulatory changes and reporting requirements. All of it to benefit the institution so that it can continue to provide access to education.  

When I look back over the final years of my career, I can genuinely say that I was blessed to be able to do the work that I love. Yes, higher education is full of challenges and leaving is hard. Change is always an adjustment. I will hold onto the fond memories of working with colleagues who became friends, and I know my years there will shape my future endeavors.

What Brings You Joy

I recently had lunch with a friend. We had met at our place of employment. Neither one of us work there anymore. We talked a little about our former employer, who we know that still works there, and what is in the news. However, most of our conversation was about our current lives.

We talked about our hobbies. She is a quilter. I knit. 

A scarf for my sister

We talked about what we are currently reading and books that we have read that we really liked. We talked about vacations and international travel. We talked about mental health and spiritual growth. We talked about family and aging parents. We talked about all the things that are meaningful to our lives.

We kept coming back to the theme of nurturing our soul. What brings us joy. How we feed our well-being and replenish our souls so that we can be present for those who mean the most to us. 

I am prioritizing my health. I am reading more. I am focusing on my role as the member of a board of directors. And I am knitting.

A baby blanket

What brings you joy?

Changes

 

Change happens. It can be sudden and unforeseen. It can be anticipated yet still feel unexpected. Or it can be planned and strategic. Regardless of how it arrives, change is never effortless.

In December, I experienced an unexpected and sudden change. In the initial shock, the one thing I was determined to maintain was my morning habit of getting some kind of exercise or movement. As my situation evolved, I noticed other subtle shifts in my days. Better sleep, more intentional nutrition.

January arrived, and decisions were made. I wanted to continue my two volunteer activities and spend more time with my mother. I also cherished rest. As I move through the stages of grief, I have prioritized my spiritual well‑being. While I do not succeed in all of these areas all the time (except visiting my mother once a month), I do not beat myself up for falling short.

My days have settled into a pattern of routine. I am the master of my calendar and my time. While some appointments are fixed, everything else fits around the availability I choose. In many ways, time has slowed down. There are still moments of stress, but overall, my life is peaceful.

Change can be traumatic, or it can be a cause for celebration. Either way, it is inevitable.

 

Unexpected Friendship

 

Ian told me that no one would ever believe that we could ever be friends. And she is right.

I was working at my desk one day when a new employee was introduced to me. It was a simple introduction. “This is Ian.” I looked up expecting to see a man. Standing before me was a tall, beautiful young woman dressed in black and sporting at least one tattoo that I could see. I was a bit taken aback because “Ian” was not what I expected.

Getting to know Ian a bit, I was pretty sure she would not understand me and would probably shun me. That is what happens when people make assumptions. So, I was careful with my approach to Ian and tried to simply be collegial.

One evening I was volunteering at an Admissions Open House and ended up next to Ian, welcoming prospective students and their families. I was a bit uncomfortable and uncertain about how to engage in casual conversation. However, a simple question of “How did you end up working here?” opened the door to getting to know each other.

As we have worked together, the awkwardness has fallen away. Something changed. The polite, respectful conversations became more personal. We shared our likes, our lives, and our religion. Ian has told me things about her life and her identity that are not part of my tenets. When we have time, we discuss those differences and come know each other better. Some conversations are on hold for a time when we will have the opportunity to delve into them.

Slowly, I realized that I like Ian. She is fun and funny. We have similar tastes in music and television. We like to read. We adore our cats. (After all, they are our babies). We have more things in common than differences. But I still did not know where I stood with Ian.

And then one day Ian said to me, “You’re the first conservative Christian who has ever been nice to me.” It was in that moment that I knew Ian had become my friend.

Peace

 

I found peace this week. A peace that I have not felt in a year. You see, my heart has been broken. Deeply. By someone I love. Someone who has been part of my life for decades.

Additionally, during this year my husband and I have gone through some difficult times due to external events. But we got through them. We communicate well and we are committed to each other in this thing called marriage.

One of those events is that my father-in-law died. Peacefully. Falling asleep in his chair. At home.

I grieved differently for him than I did my own father. Afterall, I had known him longer. My own father passed away when I was almost 32. I knew my father-in-law for 39 years. While my father was there for my childhood and got to see me grow into an adult, my father-in-law saw me grow as an adult. And helped me through some difficult times.

This week I learned that there is more to joy than just saying “thank you.” Instead, acknowledging those relationships that helped me through a tough year and saying to friends who helped me, “this has been a difficult year, and you helped me get through it. Thank you.”

My heart is still broken. And will probably remain so. But I found peace. And the cloud has been lifted.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. 

 

Big Goals, Small Accomplishments

 

 

I had big plans for the summer. I had taken an extended vacation in April so I would not take any weeks of vacation during the summer. However, I was determined to give myself the gift of time. I was not going to overschedule my weekends. I was going make progress on my next writing project. I was going to take a couple of long weekends to spend time with loved ones.

It is now September and classes start on Wednesday. Students are coming to campus to finalize their schedules and check on their financial aid. What happened to my summer? What happened to my goals?

I made choices. This resulted in a light schedule for June and July. One of those long weekends was spent with my childhood best friend to celebrate a milestone birthday. It was lovely and refreshing. My husband and I spent a long weekend at a local inn. We got to visit with her and extended family. Afterall, her family was my second family growing up.

July brought a long talk over coffee with a dear friend one Saturday morning. My August Saturdays got filled with family and friends.

As for my writing project? I made connections. I wrote a chapter. I rethought the structure. It was a big goal. I accomplished little. There were distractions. That does not diminish what was accomplished. It was a choice. I would not trade the fun. The laughter. The fellowship.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. 

 

I Wrote a Book

 

Imposter syndrome is real.

According to the Caltech Counseling Center, impostor syndrome is “a collection of feelings of inadequacy that persist even in face of information that indicates that the opposite is true. It is experienced internally as chronic self-doubt, and feelings of intellectual fraudulence.”

My book is based on over 25 years of experience in higher education. For those who don’t know, I am the Director of Compliance at a community college. My focus is on regulatory compliance. I work with my colleagues across the college to make sure we are up-to-date on various federal and state regulations that apply to institutions of higher education.

In my preface I mention that I developed the idea for my book from meetings, conferences, and trainings that I had attended over the years. My experience researching federal regulations and writing departmental policies added to my knowledge. Developing institutional policies and working with cross-functional teams increased my expertise.

However, none of this prepared me for the lack of confidence and feelings of vulnerability. Yes, I have the knowledge. Yes, I have the expertise. Yes, I know how to do research. Yes, I know how to communicate. One-on-one. In a memo. During a meeting. At a conference. But to put it all in one place and share it with the world is daunting.

And so, I wrote a book. I sent it to the publisher and held my breath. I do not expect it to be a best seller, but I wanted to share my knowledge with a larger audience. I wanted to pass on my expertise to others. For me, it is not a “feeling of inadequacy” in the face of information that indicates the opposite is true. It is a feeling of vulnerability. Now everyone knows what I am thinking.

My book can be purchased on Amazon at Institutional Compliance: It's a Team Sport. 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. 

15 Years

 

Fifteen years ago, I finished treatment for triple negative breast cancer. When making the chemotherapy decision the odds were better to go ahead with the treatment. My oncologist told us that she hoped to prevent recurrence within the next 15 years. When I reached year 10, I “graduated” from oncology. There were tears and hugs. My oncologist told me I was her miracle patient. It’s been 15 years.

Those 15 years have seen many changes, joys, and sadness. We bought a new house. We’ll have been in it 14 years this summer. It still feels like a new home. I started a new job. I’ve been there 12 years and genuinely love what I do.

I’ve lost friends. I’ve made new friends. I’ve reconnected with past friend.

We lost three of our beloved cats. We now have two new cats. Brothers who have brought joy and laughter into our home and help to heal our broken hearts.

Parents have aged. My husband retired. We’ve aged.

It’s been 15 years.

 

 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor.

 

50 Years, Almost

 

I have a mug that has the following inscription: “Friends. Our lives were brought together for a reason and I will always be grateful. Thank you for your love, your wisdom and your understanding. Thank you for you being a part of my life.”

This was Amy’s mug. I gave it to her one Christmas as a gift. Now it is mine.

Amy and I met when we were ten years old. Her sister and my brother met and became friends in Junior High School. They discovered they had sisters in the fifth grade who liked to write letters. So we became pen pals. And then one day we met in person. We sat on a bench at a softball game, awkwardly looked at each other, thinking “Who is this person? Will she like me?”

When we reached Junior High School we were already friends, so it was natural that we hung out with each other. The school was bigger. It had more students. There were strangers. And we had several classes together.

At the beginning of eighth grade, tragedy struck when her sister and father were killed in a car accident. We bore the grief and trauma of that incident. My brother had lost his friend. Amy had lost her sister. We became like sisters, sharing our lives through high school graduation.

After high school Amy went to Bible School. I went to a Christian Liberal Arts college. We stayed in touch. We married. We moved away from our home towns. At one point we lost touch with each other, but miraculously a letter she wrote and sent to a very old address made its way into my hands because the postal employee knew my husband and hand delivered it to him at his office.

When Amy’s children were still little, she moved back to Connecticut. Our home state. We would get together for tea and long talks when I was home visiting my mother. She and the kids even came to visit us in Massachusetts.

She stayed in the area while her kids were in school. She sang at my father’s funeral. And she took care of my mother by cleaning her house when my mother got too old to take care of such things.

At some point, Amy moved south. And while we did not have as much correspondence, we never lost touch again.

Amy eventually settled in Pennsylvania. Through email and eventually text messaging we stayed in contact. We spent hours talking on the phone. I would go to Connecticut to see her when she was visiting the area. Social media added a layer of fun; sharing pictures and funny jokes.

In 2020, Amy shared the news that she had been diagnosed with cancer. She had a treatment plan. I made arrangements to care for her during her last two weeks of treatment, knowing that she would need the most care at that time. Due to changes in her treatment plan, and a change the airline made to my plane ticket, I ended up spending a long weekend with her in November. It was a weekend filled with peace and grace. We developed a gentle routine that needed no words. It just worked. We stayed up late. We ate when we were hungry. We did some sightseeing. We shared our faith.

Over the next two years there were more texts, more phone calls. Knowing how cancer progresses, I knew her health was declining. Eventually, my husband said, “You need to go see her.” My supervisor told me to “go” even though it was a busy time of year. And I went. I spent three peaceful days with my friend again. We shared memories and music. We talked about our faith. We prayed.

Amy passed away three weeks later. I cried. She is my friend. I picked up my phone the next day to send her my daily text. I remembered she would not see it. I wanted to call her over the weekend to see how she was doing. There will no longer be those marathon talks. There is more than the emptiness of loss, there is a hole.
She is no longer here. 

The inside rim of the mug has this: “The bonds we have are everlasting.”

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. 

Micah 6:8

 

“And what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (ESV)

In January I joined a task force at work dedicated to the support of students who are English Language Learners. They had begun the work the previous year. The focus is on support of students who are English language learners. Students who are in every class. Students who are trying to navigate the enrollment process. Students who are trying to understand our institutional policies. All through the “filter” of English being a foreign language.

In April we were notified that our group had been nominated for, and would receive, this year’s Social Justice Award. “Created in 2019 to honor the college’s deep social justice roots, the Social Justice Award recognizes individuals, groups, departments, or initiatives that promote values such as commitment to equity and diversity or the advancement of human rights and social justice.” (From notifying letter).

To say the least, I was more than surprised. I was speechless. To receive such an award was, and is, both humbling and a great honor. Having been with the group only a few short months it was difficult to see how my small contribution could lead to having my name on this award. But this group is amazing. They welcomed me with openness and excitement. My project for the spring semester was to research best practices at other community colleges. I was able to contribute something. And I look forward to continuing our work in the fall semester.

I am honored to work at a college that has open admissions. A college that offers an opportunity to anyone who wishes to pursue an education. A college that serves the Merrimack Valley of Massachusetts, with its gateway cities and large immigrant populations. In my roles as Director of Compliance and Student Grievance Officer I strive to support students along their educational journey.

I have the words “Micah 6:8” written on the whiteboard in my office. It is there to remind me of my calling. Of my purpose. On Saturday we were presented with our award at the 60th annual graduation ceremony. It was there that I was reminded once again that my God calls me to “do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly” with Him.

 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor.

 

 

Maria Stayed

Beautiful Maria will be 17 years old in two weeks. She’s arthritic, and blind, and has outlived two companions. 

In January of 2020 we lost her baby sister to a stroke. My husband and I had nothing really to discuss. We both knew we would not get another cat. Or even a pair of kittens. At the time, Maria still had her sight, but she was old and slowing down. It would not be fair to bring youthful spunk into her life. Liveliness that would jump on her and want to play. She did not have the strength or agility to chase and discipline another young companion. 

 

Besides, given her obvious frailty we were not sure how long she would be with us. Grief and old age could mean that she would be joining her loved ones, Gentle Horatio and Sweet Kiwi, across the rainbow bridge soon enough. 

 

In March, a global pandemic hit. By April, I was working full time from home. In May, I noticed that Maria’s eyesight seemed to be failing. And in June, our vet confirmed that she was going blind. 

 

Over time, Maria and I have developed a routine. Packing a lunch for “Daddy” every morning means a snack. Having me around means getting fed small meals throughout the day. Walks together, down the hallway to the home office are a nice way to start the day. 

 

Maria spends most of her time sleeping on the couch. She has learned the voices of colleagues through Zoom meetings and will come and lay by my feet. I am not Maria’s favorite person, but through this strange year we have brought each other comfort. This is not what I expected. 

 

Maria stayed.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor.

It Is No Longer Dark

The year 2020 is certain to become part of the history books here in the United States. Like the Spanish flu of 1918 or the riots, protests, and assassinations of 1968. I think most of us living in the U.S. would agree that the year was pretty dark.

I began working from home on April 2, 2020. While there were early messages of hope for returning to campus it became clear that the new academic year would be different. It was under this landscape that I decided to create and maintain a routine.

When the daylight hours became shorter, and we changed our clocks at the end of Day Light Savings Time, I began to turn lights on in my house every afternoon. This is usually around 4:30 p.m. It has become part of my routine.

It is now January 2021. A new year. I am beginning to see, once again, signs of hope.

It is no longer dark at 4:30.

National Geographic

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. 

I Put On Heels

The pea vines turned tan. Or is it beige? Brown is too broad of a description.

I pulled the last of the vines from the garden a few weeks ago.

The leaves on the raspberry canes are turning yellow while the fall berries ripen. The contrast is beautiful.

The sunlight has changed. As it always does. And I wonder what winter will bring.

It’s been almost six months since we were told “It will only be for a couple of weeks.”

Today is Sunday, so we went to church.

Today, I put on heels.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor.

Color Blind

When I was in my 20’s and 30’s if you had asked me about my experience with race relations growing up I would have said that my parents raised us to not see color. Looking back, I realize this is not true. We saw color. But it was through their actions and their words that my parents taught us that there is no difference.

Dennis the Menace by Hank Ketcham

When I was in high school a black* family moved into a neighboring town. Our school system is regionalized, so three towns attended the same high school. April was in my class, and in my homeroom. One morning she pronounced that she was the only minority in the 10th grade. I looked at her, puzzled, and told her she was not a minority. She had been born in the United States. She informed me that she was the only black student in our class. I had to agree.

When I got home that day I asked my parents about her statement. I explained that she could not be right. She had been born in the U.S. After all, only those who had immigrated were minorities. My (white) friend from Great Britain was a minority. April was not.

It was then that my father sat me down and explained racism. He told me about segregation. He told me about Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcom X. He shared his own experience in a segregated Air Force where he was called “n . . .  lover” for hanging out with his friend Mack. And he told me about an incident where a knife was pulled on him for leaving the “white section” to go and sit with his friend in the “black section.” I was horrified.

I still am.

I questioned him how human beings could treat each other in such a way. My father suggested I read Malcom X. My mother protested. Slightly. She thought I was too young to read it. He responded that if I was old enough to ask the questions, I was old enough to read about it. Besides, they would be there to talk to me about what I was reading.

This memory has stuck with me over the years. I do not think about it all the time. However, it becomes forefront in my thoughts every time see it on the national news or I encounter racism at work. My heart breaks that this is who we are as a nation. It is not what I want in a work environment.

My dear black, Latina friend tells people we are twins. I am the vanilla to her chocolate; we are chocolate and vanilla swirl. I have asked her to teach me about her reality. So she teaches me about micro aggression by pointing it out when she encounters one and we are together. 

I never want to live in a world where she cannot be my friend. Where I cannot hug her when we meet for lunch. Where her life is in danger because she is my friend.

I will not be color blind.

*I use the word “black” because several of my black friends prefer that description. They tell me, “My ancestors are not from Africa.” Also, it is the word that my generation grew up using.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor.

Coffee Filters & Toilet Paper

There was a run on toilet paper at the beginning of March here in New England. At the time, I didn’t get it. We were fortunate that we had stocked up on groceries and necessities before March 13. To me, the hoarding made no sense. I have been working from home since April 2nd. Now I understand. And then there are coffee filters. My afternoon coffee is now made at home. I’m using twice as many coffee filters each week.

Here are some reflections on the past few weeks.

Stick to a schedule. When I was first told I had to work from home, that it was no longer optional, I made the decision to stick to my usual schedule. I would set my alarm clock and go through my morning routine. The only difference was that I did not have to leave the house.

Get dressed. This is closely tied to “stick to a schedule.” My first week at home I dressed as if I was going to campus. I even put on slacks and dress shoes. I quickly dispensed with pantyhose and skirts because that just felt like too much work if no one was going to see me. Sticking to a schedule and getting dressed for work has kept me focused and helped with the transition. (By the end of the first week I realized that jeans and sneakers were ok. As long as my Zoom attire was professional).

Makeup. This obviously goes along with “stick to a schedule” and “get dressed.” However, I never realized how much makeup I wear until now. I have always worn some makeup to work, and a lighter version for Church on Sundays. Saturdays, holidays, and vacations are makeup-free. Now that I put on makeup even though I’m staying home I realize how often I apply that lip gloss. (Saturdays are still free).

New ways to wear my hair. I discovered a new way to pin my hair away from my face when I wear it down. It’s not a drastic change. And I bet no one would even notice. But it makes me feel accomplished. Plus ponytails. I wear a lot more ponytails.

Less TV. One observation is that I am watching less television. Which has led to:

More reading. I am currently reading two books. One for a weekly book study. We are covering a chapter a week. It is certainly a good way to get through a book. The other is a novel. For fun. I am making better progress on this one than other books in my recent past. Instead of watching television (see above) I am reading.

Lunch breaks. My lunch breaks are different now. I still make a typical workday lunch, but I do not eat it at my desk. Taking a break from the computer is refreshing. I wondered why it feels different than being at work until I realized that all of my meetings and interactions with people is on the computer. Taking a break from screen time is helpful to recharge.

Cooking. Having to stay home has resulted in more home cooking. Many restaurants are closed. During the week my husband and I often have a couple of dinners that are take-out. Since I am not out, to drive past our favorite take-out places, we have been having more home cooked meals.

More meals at the dining room table. See above. It feels as if we are not rushing quite as much.  

New choices. Several of my friends and colleagues have chosen to leave their current home. Some have left or are making plans to leave New England. Others are moving back. When asked, it is the same message: we choose family.

At some point we will emerge into a new normal. There are things about the current situation that I hope we keep. Deliberate choices. An intentional pace. And ample supplies of coffee filters and toilet paper.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor.

Grief

There is an emptiness

In the house

You no longer greet me

When I get home

I miss our evening

Routine

And your soft kisses

That wake me in the morning

There is a hole

In my heart

When do the tears stop?

2/16/20

Kiwi

In Loving Memory

Kiwi

September 18, 2008 – January 30, 2020

Also known as Miss Kiwi or Kitten, Kiwi was best known for her silly, curly whiskers and loving temperament. She never met anyone she did not welcome into her home. Strangers were just friends she hadn’t met yet.

Kiwi loved to play chase with her beloved sister or snuggle together on a soft pillow or bed. Her favorite thing was watching television with her human parents. That was the time for cuddles and a warm lap. An equal opportunity kitty, she would share her affections with both parents but particularly liked the lap that her human mother provided.

Kiwi leaves behind her older sister, Beautiful Maria, her human parents That Lady and Daddy, and several human aunts and uncles who will miss her terribly. In addition, she leaves behind her four legged, furry cousins in the states of Connecticut, Maine, Washington, and Florida.

She is forever in our hearts.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor.

Little Women

Except that there are five of us.

Growing up my family had close ties to another family just up the road. My sister and I were close friends with the three sisters. Our school district was quite small so classes were often shared among the grades. My best friend from the age of six was the oldest of us. One grade ahead of me she led the way from elementary school to high school. She paved the way through our teen years and into college. Though we are geographically distant, to this day we are as close as ever. I know I can call her any time of day or night and she will pick up the phone.

Her younger sisters were spaced between me and my sister in terms of age. My sister had the privilege of sharing classes with both. And a classroom with the youngest. The bond among the three of them is strong and everlasting.

The years have taken each of us in different directions. Three of us have stayed in New England. One moved to Texas. Another lives in Switzerland.

Their father recently passed away. It was sudden and unexpected. We came together as a family to love, and hold each other tight. Such an event is never the easiest way to reunite. The occasion brought us together to celebrate his life, and our lives together.

Our lives are different from the characters in Louisa May Alcott’s novels, but track closely all the same. We grew up together. Shared triumphs and disappointments. And have experienced life, and loss, together. As adults we continue to be more than friends. We are family.

We are our own Little Women.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor.

Inheritance

When I hear the word “inheritance” I think of an estate; where someone has died and bequeathed a financial benefit to a relative. According to Merriam-Webster, the definition of inheritance includes “the acquisition of a possession, condition, or trait from past generations.”

My mother recently moved into a Senior Living Apartment. My sister and her friend did most of the heavy lifting when it came to the move. They packed things in boxes, identified furniture to move, and disassembled the various electronic devices that went with her. I helped with some of the packing. Some.

Sorting through my mother’s things afforded us an opportunity to inherit items that she wanted us to have. There were items that she was not going to take with her, but we had given her as a gift so we “helped ourselves” to the inheritance. At some point, we will have a family gathering to sort through items that others may want. I am sure there are gifts my brother or niece gave her that they would like to keep for themselves.

Sorting through my mother’s vast collection of coffee mugs was interesting. I hope that those she left behind will be inherited by family and friends.

Over the years, there is one mug that I always used when I visit my mother.

I assumed she would take it with her to her new apartment so that I would have “my mug” during my visits. Instead, she asked that I take it with me. It is my inheritance.

Of all the items I could ever inherit, this mug will mean the most to me. My mother is still alive, and I think of her every time I see it. I treasure it when I use it. And I am aware that there will come a time when this mug will be all that I have left as a tangible reminder of my mother’s love for me.

For me, this is the greatest earthly inheritance a daughter can receive from her mother.

Thank you, Mom!

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor.

Other Gods

You shall have no other gods before me.

Deuteronomy 5:7 (ESV)

This past week there was a national scandal in higher education related to admissions at several elite, private schools. The short version is that wealthy parents used an intermediary to bribe someone so that their child could get into the college or university. There are several layers and different scams, but ultimately it is all the same. Bribery.

One of those parents is Lori Loughlin. When I read the “breaking news” (that came as an email into my in-box at work) I thought: this can’t be! Lori Loughlin? How is this possible?

Many know Ms. Loughlin for her role as Aunt Becky in Full House. Some know her from Hallmark Channel’s Garage Sale Mystery. I know her best as Abigail Stanton on Hallmark’s When Calls the Heart. What shocked me most was that the roles she plays are always so wholesome. Additionally, I have seen her on interviews in which she comes across as someone with good ethics and moral standards. I first heard of When Calls the Heart in an interview when she talked about her relationship with Hallmark and how fortunate she was that they let her set a family-friendly schedule of filming so that she could be home more with her children.

I am not devastated. That is too harsh. However, I was disappointed. How could this honest, trustworthy actress who plays these upstanding characters that seek justice and uphold noble standards possibly have done this? Yes, we are all sinful and have fallen short. I am sure she has personal flaws. We all do. But something this big, and this bad, was completely out of character.

You see, I had come to equate her television characters with who she is as a person. She could not possibly be any different from the roles she plays. And while I don’t think James Spader actually is a con man who manipulates people and industry to get what he wants, somehow Lori Loughlin was Abigail Stanton.

However, my heartache is not because Lori Loughlin is human. It is because I created an idol.

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