A birthday and a lesson after death...

Yesterday was my friend Jonathan's birthday. I've known Jonathan since sixth grade. He was kind and funny and seemed immune to negativity, peer pressure, hatred or meanness. He was quite simply the kindest, most positive and upbeat person I knew. Jonathan and I lost touch as many of us Gen X'ers did (we didn't have anything like Facebook when we graduated - life was very different). One day, at some point after I found Facebook, Jonathan did too and we became Facebook friends. He would send me messages now and then (not posts on my wall but actual, personal messages that often just said "Hi Amy, how's life? I hope you're great. I'm very happy that things went well yesterday at the hospital. I'm so proud of my boy! He's going to play soccer soon!"). You see, Jon had all the reason in the world to be down-trodden. His five year old son had cancer. He and his wife did all they could to have a happy, normal life as they fought against the cancer monster and celebrated his son's little milestones in the big battle and eventual victory over cancer.

Jon died a year and a half ago, suddenly, unexpectedly. Jon shouldn't have died. There was no reason for it. He was young, he was proud of his time spent working out at the Y to be healthy, and he had a son who needed him arguably more than any boy possibly could. I attended Jon's funeral at home and reconnected with old friends. We relived the pure beauty that was Jon. We mourned, we became closer to each other and I met his wife Sheryl and his son as they were saying their goodbyes to my childhood friend.

Sheryl and I connected instantly. I wanted to do something to support her. But I felt that there was nothing I could do. I was wrong. And I am telling you this - if you are reading - because you, like me, probably need to believe in a much greater power than what you and I can comprehend. You need to know that God/the universe/an energy greater than us is always at work in our lives - just like I needed to believe.

Jon died in the fall, not long before Christmas. I felt so compelled to do something for his wife and son but I couldn't imagine what - I barely knew them and I had no idea how it would be received if I did something. I wound up shopping for Christmas gifts for them both - surely, I thought, that was acceptable and welcome. While shopping for a woman my age and a five year old boy I was utterly compelled to purchase a pink feather boa that I tried many times not to buy.  I thought it was too silly, too inappropriate, too - something. But I just went with my first instinct and wrapped it up and gave it to Sheryl for Christmas mere weeks after Jon died. When she opened the gift, she was speechless. She smacked my thigh, looked franticaly around the room and then got up, searching for something. When she came back and sat next to me, she stared at me in disbelief. She couldn't speak and I really wasn't sure what was going on. She had a pile of photographs and kept telling me she had to find one. She found it. It was a silly photo of Jon wearing a feather boa. It had become a joke the two of them shared and laughed about often. I knew instantly: I didn't give Sheryl that feather boa, Jon did. But he needed a human to be quiet enough and trusting enough of her instincts to help him give this gift to his wife who missed him so much so he could say to her "I'm here." ...And I was that human who was eventually quiet and compliant enough to take a pink boa off a wall, buy it, wrap it and give it to someone who would, unbenounced to me, know exactly who it was from.

Yesterday we remembered Jon's entrance into this world in a now-Facebook culture. Many of us posted long messages on his wall about how much we miss him, how his positive outlook continues to teach us and what a gift he was to everyone. And while Jon is "gone," he is often present in my heart and mind because he has been my teacher, both in life and in death. He gave me my first tangible experience of connecting directly with the other side, with God. I took an action that came from deep inside of me, one I could not rationalize or figure out, no matter how hard I tried. That deep instinct (Jon's urging me) persisted and I acted according to that instinct. It wasn't mine to judge, just mine to act upon for someone else's benefit. I believe that this is what we are all given every day: A strong urging to do something that we may not understand, that may not benefit us directly but something that we know comes from a place of love so we go ahead and do it anyway. And so tonight, I share this with you all to suggest that we can all hear the guidance of God and our guides if we just listen to that knowing voice inside of us which proves to always be right, even if we never receive the evidence of just how right it is.

Jon, thank you. I celebrate your birth into this world and the gifts you continue to give us. We all love and miss you and I pray that we will all continue to grow in ways we cannot yet imagine because I know you are there helping us whether we listen or not.

Happy birthday, sweet soul.

Gratitude for Gratitude

Last night, I celebrated my birthday again, this time with a friend I've known for several years who shares the same birthday as me (plus a few years) and while we are very different people in some ways, we are incredibly similar in some, too.  It makes me wonder if sharing the day of our birth somehow makes us understand things in a ways others cannot.

Happy Birthday to us!

Let me tell you a bit about our evening and how it brought me to a place of even deeper gratitude for Nate and a new commitment to speaking my gratitude aloud for at least one person to hear.

When Nate and I arrived at the restaurant last night, the hostess initially seated us in a very cramped part of the restaurant.  There wasn't even room for Nate to wheel his chair under the table without blocking the narrow walkway between the tables.  Yes, it was a Saturday night, but the restaurant was big enough to have the kind of space available that someone in an electric wheelchair truly needs in order to enjoy an evening out that the rest of us able-bodied folks take for granted.  I find it easy to become vocal about Nate's needs when we spend time together.  I notice so much of what he experiences on a daily basis and 90% of it just makes me angry.  After seating us at an impossible table (and after the hostess looked over Nate's head directly at me to ask a question about him), I got angry enough to get up and ask for another table.  Eventually, they found us one and we made the great trek to the other side of the restaurant (people needing to move themselves or their chairs in order to let us through).  We were re-seated at a table in the corner near the side door which was opened often, and every time it was we nearly froze to death but it didn't matter.  We were about to have a great time, as we always do, laughing, talking about work, relationships, God, the meaning of suffering and so much more.

Something always happens when I spend time with Nate.  A part of me feels his pain.  A part of me wishes to make things easy for him, even if just for the hours we are together.  A part of me worries that I will outlive him.  A part of me sees the beauty and great humility that comes from someone who must ask for help.

More than anything, after I've spent time with Nate, I am always reminded of the miraculous capacity humans have to face any amount of suffering and move through it to a place of not just survival, but gratitude.  Nate was proud to have lived fifteen years as a quadriplegic.  Turning 1 year older was a source of pride for him, despite all that you and I might view as the pain and loss in those fifteen years.

Nate is a teacher, like me.  He's caring and compassionate, just like me.  He has the ability to engage anyone in conversation and wants to make them laugh.  Last night complete strangers came over to speak to him - some offered to take our photo (Nate would tell you that it's because we are the two most attractive people in the world - unfortunately, that picture didn't save so we only have a few dark camera phone self-portraits to prove his theory).  Our waiter even thanked us for making his night a little bit brighter after struggling with a challenging party of 20 people (they were right next to us - between the camera flashes all night and, apparently, the bill divided 20 ways, I can imagine what a headache the night must have been for him).

While we would have stayed out much later talking about the reasons that our souls chose the paths we are on in this lifetime, Nate had to return home.  Before we said goodbye, though, we made a commitment to something.  We even pinky swore on it.  Nate and I agreed to post one thing on each other's Facebook page that we are grateful for every single day.  We decided that there is always something to be grateful for.  Even the tiniest thing.  And sometimes, the things that we can be grateful for aren't so tiny - like a night that was more fun than any other we've had (that includes the Sox-Yankees game I got to see with him because he can get tickets in the handicap section).  I could have chosen to focus on the rough start to the evening because Nate's unique needs were not considered but instead, I choose to think about how the evening ended up to be quite wonderful - for Nate, for me and a waiter named Jason.

And just so you know a bit more about the kind of person Nate is, here's one final detail about last night:  I started to get indigestion toward the end of the evening from all of the spicy food we ate and he insisted on asking the waiter where the nearest drug store was - and then going out in the cold himself to get me Rolaids.

So, gratitude for gratitude, that's what I'm sharing with Nate.  May you, too, find someone to share your gratitude with.  This is a way for us to keep each other thinking positive and remembering to always find something to be thankful for, even on our darkest days.

Here is our Gratitude for Gratitude, day 1:

Amy: I'm grateful for honest friendship.

Nate: I am thankful for good food, good friendship, and good conversation!

Time with Mom... and making her proud.

There is not a blog site with enough of space nor a book with enough pages to allow anyone, ever, to write everything there is to be written about the complex and holographic relationship between a mother and daughter.  I'm not even going to attempt anything of the sort.  Instead, here's what I have to say (starting with a concise list of twenty items)...

In five day's time, my mother has:

1. Celebrated the return of my 26th birthday (again).
2. Reminded me and informed several others that she spent two days of hard labor "bringing me into this world."
3. Watched me speak from the heart to a room full of people.
4. Met people who love me.
5. Met people I love.
6. Met some of my friends who are now her friends on Facebook.
7. Stayed up until 4:00AM, on purpose.
8. Made me cookies.
9. Conspired to marry me off.
10. Burned cupcakes.
11. Bought me $3.00 gourmet cupcakes.
12. Ate sushi for the first time.
13. Decided she doesn't like sushi and has no use for chopsticks.
14. Made a commitment to a monthly donation to my favorite cause.
15. Meditated with a group of women she'd never met ...and me.
16. Did not learn how to upload photos on her new laptop despite hours of my coaching.
17. Spent too much time on Facebook.
18. Made me laugh.
19. Frustrated me.
20. Made me wish she lived closer.

She'd have to make her own list of things I've done since she's been here but I'm pretty sure her list would be just as ridiculous.  And I know that she would add one thing, and it is this:

I've made her proud.  

She tells me that a lot these days.  She would be the first to tell you that she should have told me this a lot more during the first 20 years of my life.  But she and I have learned a lot and come to appreciate the fact that our greatest challenges with each other - in this most sticky relationship - are exactly the challenges we both needed to go through and overcome to become who we are today.

Somewhere along the way in life, I learned that motherly love can come from anyone.  I tell my students that they've made me proud because everyone needs positive reinforcement and the kind of love that comes from hearing these words.  I know I do.  And I think we should all affirm one another often as we can.  We should all say "You've made me proud" more often than we do.  This is not necessarily just a mother's job, of course, but I think many people assume that others get this kind of reinforcement at home and that's enough - but it's not.  And what's worse, we don't think it's necessary to commend one another.  Far too many people do not have mothers, fathers, partners, families, colleagues or bosses in their lives who can give them this kind of gift.  But you can.

There's a great deal of love, gratitude, power and magic in telling someone that they have made you proud.  So go ahead and tell someone that he or she has made you proud.   Today.

Thanks Mom.  You've made me proud.  ;-)

Gratitude is more than words...

I had the most wonderful weekend for 32 orphaned girls in Mtwapa, Kenya.

My birthday party for charity on Saturday evening at my friend Alex's house was a fantastic success.  It was a fun, happy and inspirational event attended by a diverse crowd of people who all care about things bigger than themselves.  They now, too, care about what is happening in Kenya.

I was delighted with the turnout, the money raised, and the awareness generated for my favorite charity, One Home Many Hopes, but these are just words and they cannot begin to express how I feel about what was and always will be a lovely moment in time.

Photo courtesy of Graham Marley, www.grahamwinslowphoto.com

My heart has expanded.

My hope has been affirmed.

My dreams have taken root.

My belief in humanity has strengthened.

And I've seen once again that something bigger than us 

brings us together in love.

As Thomas Keown, OHMH's founder, said to me as we slowly made our way to the door at the end of the evening, "the money raised is only a part of what is to come from this evening."  The seeds planted and the energy put into motion will surely bring us so much more - an immeasurable amount more.  This is the kind of hope that has led so many people to build OHMH into what it is today.  It is also exactly what I know and believe to be true and magical about the human spirit.  We dropped a pebble in the pond on Saturday night.  Now it's time to watch the fantastic journey of the ripples created by that pebble.

Just as there are not tools to measure the impact of my birthday fundraiser, there are not words for me to express my gratitude to all who were involved, all who gave, and all who will continue to give.

So for making my wish come true, I'll simply say

Thank you.

Loving someone you've never met...

No, I'm not talking about online dating.  I'm talking about a contagious Love that has caught me and so many others completely by surprise.  It is the Love for 32 orphaned girls in Mtwapa, Kenya that exists within a community of volunteers for an organization called One Home Many Hopes.  This is a community to which I happily belong.

I've worked with underprivileged children for as long as I can remember.  In many ways, I was one myself, receiving the support of kindhearted church-goers who funded summer camp for me and my sister, and the like. I have been working with, loving, and going out of my way to take care of children who need me since I became an adult and I don't see an end to that but I've found myself in a state of awe for the Love that exists in the One Home Many Hopes (OHMH) community.

When I attended an event in May of 2010 at the request of my friend and OHMH volunteer, Tracy, I was surprised to find well over 200 other people in attendance.  I wondered to myself if I had somehow missed the boat.  How had I not heard about an organization with this kind of following in my own town?  I brought my mom to the event which was a great experience because she was able to witness what turned out to be my Love at First Sight moment with the organization.  We sat in the front row, directly in front of the projection screen where I first saw the faces and voices of a group of girls I will now do anything I can to help.

By the time the time Anthony Mulongo (the Kenyan who rescued and housed each of these girls) was finished speaking, I was in tears and I had been changed for life.  I had fallen in Love.  I hugged the man I'd never before met and promised to do anything I could.  And I am.

I brought home magnets with the girls faces that night and put them on my refrigerator.  I now look at those beautiful girls each time I open the door.  I smile at them, talk to them and tell them I Love them.

To those who know me, this isn't much of a surprise - or very far out of the ordinary for me.  I care.  A LOT.  But there has been something special about the way I feel connected to OHMH and these girls that I can't quite explain.  And then, today happened.

Today I asked another volunteer, Cristina, to tell me her story about what drew her to OHMH.  Cristina sent me the link to her story on the organization's website, and I was amazed to learn that volunteering for OHMH is the reason she decided NOT to move out of the country.  I mean, people move for all sorts of reasons and they are typically not come upon lightly.  Some of us have even left behind relationships, families and best friends for the promise of something greater.  But to STAY for a nonprofit that can't pay you for your dedication?  That's unheard of!  I had a wonderful chat with Cristina who is equally in Love with the 32 girls who live in an orphanage in Kenya that she, too, has not met.  I thought this was a pretty incredible moment in my day.  After all, I'm giving my birthday this year to the girls, Cristina gave up an international relocation...  Really! What is in the OHMH water?

But Cristina's story was not the end of my amazement today.  My sister, Suzie, fell in Love with OHMH today, too.  Now, you should know that my sister is as about as opposite from me as she could be.  I'm a woman of words and emotion, she is a woman of images and thought.  I'm a teacher, a writer, and a motivator to causes.  My sister is a photographer with a dry wit who rarely shows the kind of gushy, mushiness that has long been part of my trademark.  Case in point:  She finally posted a response to her only sister's blog yesterday for the first time.  The entry she commented on was the deeply personal essay I wrote about Setting Boundaries.  What did she write, you might ask?  And I'm quoting her here:  "hey. that stop sign is in my neck of the woods."  Yup, she commented on the photograph I used to illustrate my deeply poignant message about boundaries. Oy.

Suzie and I have come to appreciate our differences and I love that my sister shows the world through her lens what is in her heart - and she's damn good at it!  She photographs the unique love of families, pregnant women in their most joyful moments, and babies who don't give a damn about the camera - and somehow each image manages to capture a moment in time that I'm pretty sure her subjects weren't even aware of.  You would understand, then, that I would never expected to get an email from my sister today with a two-page heart-felt letter written to every single one of her friends explaining her Love for the girls of Mudzini Kwetu. 

My sister told me that her letter, and her Love for OHMH, came to her this morning while she was at church.  The message of that sermon was simply that "faith always has a plan."  I wish I had heard the rest of that sermon but I'm pretty sure her minister was talking about the kind of plan that built OHMH and has brought so many of us to have the kind of faith that allows us to Fall in Love with the girls, the cause and the community it has created.  I'm pretty sure that faith's plan is to show us all this kind of Love - the kind of Love that allows you to devote yourself to someone you've never met - and the kind of Love is changing the world.  


Have a OHMH Love Story of your own to share?  Send it to OHMHLoveStories (at) g m a i l (dot) c o m!

Give Your Birthday for Your Birthday

I'm sure there's a movement or a website for this kind of thinking because I love it so much.  If not, then I hereby declare this the beginning of the Give Your Birthday for Your Birthday Movement.

It started as an off-handed idea.  I have a friend who said she was planning to do a service project for her birthday and it got me thinking about throwing a bash for my birthday that raised money for my favorite cause, One Home Many Hopes.  I put the idea out to the universe on the universe's favorite communication tool, Facebook, and everything fell into place.

Some of the girls laughing and playing at their new home in Kenya.

I'll be throwing a fabulous party with the help of some very generous friends and I ask only that folks come to learn about the organization's mission and what is happening half a world away in Kenya.  Oh yeah, and that they make a donation. One Home Many Hopes (OHMH) is an organization founded by two amazing human beings, Anthony Mulongo (a Kenyan) and Thomas Keown (an Irishman) who work tirelessly to house, love and educate abandoned, abused and orphaned girls in Mtwapa, Kenya.  It's a small movement with immeasurable impact on the lives of girls who are just like you and me:  full of hopes, dreams, talents and important contributions to give this world.  Girls who WILL change the world.

I've found that my birthday party fundraiser has attracted more people than I expected and it's brought people together in a way I hadn't imagined.  OHMH is run by volunteers and this has brought several new friends into my life which is a gift in and of itself, but the richness of this entire experience is even deeper because it has opened a part of my soul that I hadn't yet tapped into.  I HOPE you take a moment to learn about OHMH as well.  Watch this two minute video and you will see first hand that the girls HOPE you do, too.

I dare you to Give Your Birthday for Your Birthday and see just how giving this special day away to those in need can bring you far more in return than what you would otherwise bring to yourself.  It's all about giving, loving and opening your hearts, people.  This is a perfect way to begin giving and commit to giving for a lifetime.  After all, you're going to have a birthday each year, every year.

Need more reasons to do this?  I'm great with lists, so here you go.

1. There are countless children on our great Earth who do not know their birth dates, let alone celebrate them.
2. The money spent on celebrating YOU can feed, house or educate SOMEONE ELSE for far longer than you think else where in the world.
3. We are here on Earth to love, to give to and take care of one another.  There are nearly 7 billion of us - that's far more people than you know and who can come celebrate with you.  
4. There are countless children in the world living without parents, without shelter, without food and without anyone to love them tonight.
5. You'll never forget your birthday so you'll never forget to give.
6. You're living in a part of the world that allows you to read what I'm writing right now and while you are doing so, someone is providing light, electricity, and internet connection - and probably even a little heat or air conditioning to make this a comfortable experience for you.  Do you know how many people CANNOT do what you're doing right now and never will?
7. You could have just as easily been born somewhere in the world where you would never celebrate your birthday because survival would be the only priority you'd ever have.
8. There are so many organizations doing wonderful things to help the people I've made you think about here and they COUNT ON donations from people like me and YOU.
9. Your friends will inspired by you to give back as well.  They will love you a little more and will probably make your birthday an even more rewarding experience for you.
10. To give is to receive.  Love is all there is and I promise you that the more you give, the more you get in return.

Want to give to OHMH for my birthday?  I HOPE you will.  Click here.  And I thank you very, very much.