The Circumference of the Earth

As I walked in to the nursing home on April 12th, I was told by the receptionist at the front desk that my grandpa - who we all called Twampa for many years - had just gone in to eat dinner.

I walk into the dining room, and towards my Twampa who is sitting there in his wheelchair waiting to be served his meal.  I give him a big hug to announce my arrival. I sit with him as he struggles to drink his milk, as he chokes on his water, as he tries so desperately to eat his ice cream. "Just a couple more bites, Twampa.", I beg - hoping he can eat enough to sustain him a few more days.

My grandfather had been given a diagnosis of 3 months to live just a few days earlier.  How I was hoping that we would actually be given that long to say good-bye.  Somehow those time estimates are seldom accurate.

After he finishes eating the best he can, I wheel him into the lobby to sit and talk for a bit.  We chat about my trip to Spain and Switzerland and I mention that I was offered a job to teach English in Valencia.  After I say this, Twampa responds, "I'll really miss you when you're gone."  My heart breaks with the thought that he is planning on being alive upon my return in a little over a year.  "I'll miss you, too.", I answer but know it was for a much different reason.  Soon I can see how tired he is so I bring him back to his room.

I get him situated comfortably as he waits for the nurse to come in and get him ready for bed.  Usually, I'd kiss him and say good-bye but this evening I decide to sit next to him with my hand on his arm and watch him rest.  I cling to this shared moment as I know there won't be many more.

Out of nowhere, Twampa asks, "What is the circumference of the Earth?"  "I don't know," I answer - somewhat embarrassed, "Would you like me to look it up?"  "Sure," he responds.  I find the answer and share it with Twampa - "24, 901 miles at the equator," I say - happy to provide an answer even if I did have to look it up!  We go on talking about different facts I find about the Earth.  I quiz Twampa to see what he remembers from geography.  Not unlike what I'd expect, he knows most answers.  "Unbelievable for 95 years old," I think to myself.

After a while, I decide it's time to go.  I give him a kiss and tell him I love him and that I'll be back soon.  He says he loves me too and I walk out.

This is the last time I get a chance to speak with him.  Twampa passed away at 12:15 a.m. on Monday, April 16th, 2012.  I am grateful to have been by his side as he went home for eternity but I would be a liar if I said it was easy.

As I type this, I realize the following...Until the end, Twampa was teaching me something.  Until the end, I loved just being by his side.  How grateful I am to God for letting me call him my grandpa!!

Golden Thread

When you are born, you begin weaving the cloth of your life.  Each person you know - whether for a day, a month or a lifetime - lends color to the cloth's unique design.  There are yellows and browns, blues and purples, reds, oranges and pinks - each color representing what the person has contributed.

Every shade has been specifically selected for the individual who weaves in and and out of your cloth.  The design that is created depends on each of the hills and valleys that you encounter in your lifetime.



On the day he was born, my grandfather was given a special thread to add to life's tapestry.  His silk was of the brightest gold.  Every day of his life, he wove this golden thread through the life of all those he met.  His contribution stood out in the sea of other colors as it was unlike anything else present.

I can see what Grandpa has done so clearly in the cloth that covers my life.  Unlike the other threads which make a design of peaks and dips according to life's events, this thread runs evenly - directly through the center.

Grandpa's thread is strong, brilliant, beautiful, unyielding...

Upon This Rock...

I dreamt last night that I was with a group of people who were building a house.  I was high up in the rafters, watching them as they worked.

There was a man directly across from me who was constructing a floor within the house.  I noticed that he placed each nail no more than an inch away from the last.  My immediate thought was, "Wow!  This guy is using a lot of nails.  The floor will surely be solid - no one will fall through."

As I was trying to get down off the beam, the man motioned for me to jump over to the floor he just completed.  I told him I was fine inching my way to the end of the beam and towards the spiral staircase.

As I dragged myself slowly towards the end of the beam, I recognized the staircase to be the one from our old cottage - the cottage my grandfather built with his own father.  I instantly felt safe in my surroundings knowing that it was my grandfather who had established the foundation.

****************************************************************************

Aware that my Twampa is preparing his final journey home, I feel helpless.  I know, of course, that trying to "save him" for any purpose here on Earth is futile and, quite honestly, would only prove to be a practice in selfishness.  I know that I don't even have to try to save him as that task has already been accomplished.

God has provided my grandfather the necessary foundation and is motioning for him to take the jump from the unsafe beam to the solid ground in front of him.  Unlike the evidence of my own hesitation, I know my grandfather is brave enough and absolutely willing to take this step.

As I think of this final leap, I am not afraid for him at all.  I know that before him lies a foundation that is safe and secure and that he will surely land on Heaven's floor.

Autumn Morning...

It's morning...it has been for hours but my eyes just allowed the light to peer in like the eyes of a parent whose young child anxiously awakens them too early.


It's a breezy autumn day and the windows are cracked open allowing a soft wind to blow the curtain. My absolute favorite kind of beginning...


As I breathe in the crispness of the autumn, I am drawn into another world. A world where the forms made on the curtains come alive. The trees sway... slowly at first...then faster and faster as the wind grows stronger. I imagine Baryshnikov or Balanchine and their lilting prima donnas. They glide and twirl and leap into the arms of the cavalier.


My mind applauds the grace and beauty of their performance. I am thrilled to have a front-row seat and am grateful to have been invited to attend.


The show ends abruptly as the sound of real children at play outside amplifies. I recall those days of fall as a child and my soul is warmed by the purity and the happiness of my youth that still lives tucked inside. I imagine their smiling faces, their childhood thoughts and cares that I'd exchange for my own without a moment's consideration.


What the presence of a child adds is immeasurable and is one of the only things that can shed light both externally and within. I am instantly invigorated and ready to start the day with a lightness of heart that I haven't known for awhile.

Crossing the Alps

Crossing through the Alps, I am reminded of a book my mother read me as a child.  I recall trying to envision the beauty of the place where Heidi lived but could never have imagined what I see now.  This sight before me brings the book alive and transports me to my youth.

As I stare skyward, I imagine Heidi and grandfather.  I can almost see Peter tending the goats.  I wonder which of the chalets might belong to the old man.  Is he crafting a new piece of furniture?  Heidi is surely picking wildflowers in bunches to adorn the plain, wooden tabletop in grandfather's home.  Peter's grandmother is waiting for him to return from the mountain. 

It is sunny and although snow caps the very tops of the mountains, it is surprisingly warm...comfortable.

In the town below, you can see the church steeples poking out from the crowded village.  You know that there is life inhabiting that place but it is so far away, you cannot see movement.

The mountaintop is the only life you can imagine now...the only life you need.  On the mountain is grandfather, Peter, the flowers, the animals and the very clear presence of God.

Mañana de Otoño

Es por la mañana, lo ha sido hace horas, pero mis ojos tan solo permiten pasar la luz como los ojos de un padre cuyo su hijo pequeño lo despierta demasiado temprano.

Es un día ventoso de otoño y las ventanas están entreabiertas permitiendo que un suave viento agite la cortina. Mi manera preferida de empezar. 

Como yo respiro la frescura del otoño, yo me siento atraído por otro mundo. Un mundo donde las formas hechas por las cortinas cobran vida. El vaivén de los arboles ...lentamente primero ... entonces más y más rápido conforme el viento se va haciendo más fuerte. Yo imagino a Baryshnikov o Balanchine y sus armoniosas prima donnas.

Mi mente aplaude la elegancia y belleza de sus actuaciones. Yo estoy emocionada por tener un asiento en primera fila y yo estoy agradecida de haber sido invitada a asistir.

El espectáculo acaba de repente cuando el sonido de los niños reales jugando fuera se amplifica. Yo recuerdo esos dias de otoño como una niña y mi alma se calienta por la pureza y felicidad de mi juventud que todavía vive dentro de mi. 

Lo que la presencia de un niño añade es inconmensurable y es una de las única cosas que puede arrojar luz tanto externamente como interiormente.  Rápidamente me vigorizo y preparo para empezar el día con una ligereza de corazón que no he conocido durante tiempo. 

Seed of Silver Floss

Have I faded in your memory?

Like a dandelion's silver floss that is picked up on the wind

and flies away...never to be seen again.

Where does it go?

Is its seed planted in your heart? Your soul?

Will something beautiful grow from it

or was the flower plucked and discarded?

Trampled underfoot to die amongst earthly remains?

One day you found the flower's silver floss

and breathed it on the wind across my heart.

It is planted deep inside me and from it grows

the beauty of the kindness and love you shared.

"I Write You Letters by the Thousands in My Thoughts"

These words, originally written by Beethoven, have been a constant thought that has crossed my mind for years.  They strike me with such power now - as they did when I first read them as a young girl.

The thought that a singular man could be both beautifully lyrical and musical at once is far beyond my comprehension.  How I've dreamt of such talent over the years.  I suppose there are those who have the talent and others who must resign themselves to admire the talented.

I imagine Beethoven penning this to his "eternally beloved".  He pauses only momentarily to think of the perfect words - the way a genius would - before he begins to write.  He sits at a desk with his quill and ink as he fluidly circles the letters on parchment. His muse has inspired him in the same way that his own music inspires others.

When he finishes, he seals his note and sends it on the air to his love...