A Baby Changes Everything

                     
                   

                         

 

sign-Man: . . . but by the Grace of God there go I

Two years ago last month a friend of mine, Jane Day, kindly asked me to accompany her to interview a homeless person.  Her concern & curiosity led her to investigate those who are looking for a hand-out or maybe a hand-up.  She wrote about it in her blog called The Akron Dignity Project.

This was my response to the experience.

March 2, 2011                                                                                          Charlene DiFonzo-Holmes

sign-Man

. . . but by the grace of God there go I

The sun deceived me this afternoon as we walked toward sign-Man. The depth of the cold and wind poking, took me by surprise.  Sign-Man was surprised too; birthed in Boston Heights, a product and graduate of an affluent, quality Hudson High School, yet, he was on the street.  He shook his head in disbelief of his own history and ‘standing in society’---he said it was degrading;  I shook my internal head at his standing in mud all day. 

With kindness, Jane talks her language of questions.  I stare at his face--it is lined hard for his 43 years travailing this sod. Some walk this earth on plenty of Chem-lawn green grass, he is slogging his way in the mud.  My eyes move to his . . . they are clear blue windows tucked under a ball cap, hat and hood.  His parents are still living, but he has no relationship with them.  

For the second time, in this short interview, a car cautiously slides its window down a hand width, to give one, in the form of a dollar bill. He moves toward the vehicle reaching for that hand and says “God Bless You.”

*Does his Mom ruminate on her blue-eyed sign-Manchild.  

*Are his Dad’s dreams for his son bitterness on his tongue?  Or---were and are they both lost in their own slogging. 

*How do his parents navigate the knowledge of their child living on the  street, living in a plywood-hidden tent when the wind-chill is below zero?  

Maybe the bigger question is how does sign-Man, and I and you and them and all, go from a helpless babe to hapless Man?  I don’t have a clue of the steps, but I do know those steps are lined with sin disguised in what looks like plush carpet. Whether the sin of Man or of society, it is ultimately the deception of Satan, the consummate counterfeiter, the ultimate illusionist that has us so buffaloed that we are the proverbial frog sitting in the pot of water . . . or maybe even the sign-Man standing in the mud.

Sign-Man requests to be nameless and faceless.  We took our off centered pictures, then showing him to confirm their facelessness.  Before we parted I asked if we could pray with him.  He seemed most comfortable with this idea.  So with Jane to his left and I to his right, our hand resting on a shoulder, he warmly reached out to us and placed a hand on each of our shoulders. In the midst of a busy highway exit, biting cold and mud, we three bowed to the womb weaver of us all, the lover and redeemer of all our souls.  We bowed to the One who loves us equally and redeems equally no matter where we stand.  By Gods grace . . . 

WOOHOO-Baby!!!

Sunday, January 20, 2013 at 11:13pm
Copley, OH

We learned today that a new portal to eternity was recently created! We will meet this new addition to the universe in September because . . . my baby (Christen) is having a baby . . . wow. Not unique by any stretch of the imagination, but the wonderful announcement is unique and untried from this aging right hand.

The Joy in my heart burst like fireworks upon learning such blessed news. It took a few moments for me to decipher the signs mixed in with some papers I was asked to look over.  (You ssnnneeaky kids!)  I was trying to  decoding the license plate "AKA-GMA" thinking it was someone's new educational designations--- turns out they were my new designations!  This education took 53 years, undergrad degree was in husband-ry for 30 years and a 
Masters in growing-up 3 daughters!  Finally, I'm being accredited with my GMA! What wonderful and exhilarating news.  

We feel like & talk like it is going to be a boy, but in 8 months (7 now) we will either say, "I knew it!" Or "I'll be a monkey's uncle!" Either way, it will be glorious.

There is now---One more to pray for, one more to trust my Savior to, one more reason to lift my voice and have thanks and praise pass over my lips.  One more reason to acknowledge "Allswell" in this painful world. One more yearly celebration and gifts to buy.  One more to scoop up in my arms.  One more cheek to kiss in staccato.  One more to teach "This Little Light of Mine", "Jesus Loves Me" and John 3:16 too!  One more wee pair of Nike's to buy and "Jonny-jump-up" to set up. One more to read too in my silly voices and teach the only Italian song I know "Con Gesu, si amo ...", One more to love, to hope and dream for.  One more to be reunited with in heaven.  One more personality to capture a moment from the past ----and transport it to the here and now.  One more opportunity to glimpse a recognizable twinkle, smile or mischief from days gone bye.  One more, of several more--Lord willing, to steal and never return to me--- my heart.

Charlene DiFonzo Holmes, GMA

Transitions

Transitions

2013.02.01                                                                                                             Charlene DiFonzo Holmes

Late this morning I met with a my friend, Rhonda, whose home is as charming, warm and inviting as she is. It’s southern appeal and large front porch made it appear as though it was plucked right out of northern Virginia and plopped right into Ohio. My friend kindly agreed to look over some of my writings to give some critique and direction. She did just that with kindness and intelligence. She gave me several suggestions one of which was the need to be careful with my transitions, that sometimes I can be hard to follow. I need to consider the reader with the information I am giving them. Will the reader be able to clearly follow me to the destination I am taking them? Finally as we were wrapping up she reiterated, "transitions are difficult."

Well, that was a mouthful . . . aren't they though? Whether referring to putting pen to paper or the daily vicissitudes of life, transitions are difficult. Even good transitions are at best disruptive.
From big transitions that are drawn-out, such as moving to a new home, getting married or having a baby, to momentary transition that take a few hours, minutes or moments, such as reorganizing my closet, driving a different car or putting on my flannel sheets -- all call for different levels of internal accommodations. For myself, even moving my flatware to a different drawer is tough--how many times will I reach for the old drawer before I remember it's new location.

My life, I’ve concluded, is one continuous transition. Each day brings something new. If only I were to consider the day itself . . . I am dealing with a new day. I am one day older. Is the rain transitioning to snow? Is it morning or has it transitioned into evening? Did I wake with a new ache or pain and transition into accommodating that irritation for the remainder of the day? Did I discover we are out of milk after I filled my bowl with my favorite cereal and now I need to transition my thoughts from Cheerios to toast?

I've deduced that the better I handle transition the less frustration I experience in life. Unfortunately I fight transition tooth and nail. I hate it because it makes me think and thinking takes energy. I love doing tasks by rote; in fact I love doing life by rote. I don't have to think, I just do it mechanically. I can move through my day absentmindedly, throwing in a load of wash, packing the dishwasher, driving into town and even walk through my home in the dark without incidence----unless of course, I’ve rearrange the furniture, then I’m doomed.

Schlepping through my day mindlessly and through my life regularly fighting transition reminds me of the Israelites. They fought change from the moment they left Egypt through the 40 years wandering the dessert. God called them a ‘stiff-necked’ people because they fought Him at every turn. Like me, they enjoyed the security of knowing what their day held, even if it was miserable. It is comforting to know when my food is coming, where it is coming from and what it is. There is stability in finding water for the day’s need in the same place every day. But in the wilderness? Life was unsure, unsafe and undefined. The reality of my life is also unsure; control is a myth of titanic proportions that I buy into regularly.

But, God is not a God of rote, or being mechanical or mindless. With each day and each moment, transition awaits me and my perception of its goodness or badness determines whether or not I embrace it or fight it. By missing even the smallest transition, I can easily miss what God has called me to on this day. I may miss the “divine appointments” or the “coincidences” from the One who creates them. My preoccupation with life’s modified agendas predisposes me to miss the joys in the details of life, poignantly placed by the most magnificent and extravagant of detailers--the Creator.

Accepting transition, even embracing it means I must let go. It means sitting in a wagon being pulled by a half dozen wild horses without reins--without the resources to control them and go where they take me. It means SURRENDER. Accepting and embracing transitions is allowing my will to be molded to His will so I am free to see what is around me, who is around me, the nuances of those I love. It moves me into position that allows me to notice a new beauty that surrounds me, like soft falling snow, because I’m not preoccupied with bucking the transition. I might notice the not-so-obvious needs that are in front of me, like a child with tears behind their eyes. It means “letting go”, and refocusing my eyes so I may see life in all of its glorious dimensions. It means I must resist living by rote and thoughtfully embrace my transitions so from moment to moment, day to day, year to year and ultimately from gravity to glory, I can clearly follow the Lord to the destination He is taking me.