Dancing with Barak

So the next president of the United States of America is a couple miles down the road making history. NOW. He's here NOW. Why did Barak Obama decide to come to my present home town on the same night as the grand finale of Dancing with the Stars?

If Kristi Yamaguchi doesn't win, it will make no sense. She's charismatic, inspiring, and she transcends race. Plus she can dance. I mean, Hillary did a great job and all. I didn't caucus for her but let's hand it to her for what she has accomplished. Girl power! But evidently men tend to always win the dance competition. I don't know why, maybe people just like watching big football players do ballroom dancing. There is a charm to it, I admit.

But how can anyone beat a Olympic double gold medalist?? Even John McCain, who has an amazing history with being a war hero and all -- which I highly respect. And up until recently he actually was an independent thinker. Eight years ago I would have voted for him. But now, well, he's got problems, for example finding out that one of his top aids has ties with Burma's military junta. Now that's a catastrophe.

Mr. President, thank you for coming to Des Moines, yet I hope you called in last night to vote for Kristi.

Thanks for coming over, friends! Take care.

With love, T

Stunned with Gratitude

Amanda and I went through a box of cards, all given to us during Bob's illness last year. Could someone please always remind me that I have no right or reason to ever complain ever again. Not after that intense show of sustained love that was freely given to us over the course of an entire year. Honestly, even now I think about that and how beautiful it all was -- the cards, gifts, food, prayers, visits, thoughts, empathy, bake sales, dinners, flowers, prayer shawls.

I mean, people suffer much worse than we ever did and they suffer alone. And they're never counted. And they're nameless. That has to be the worst thing.

To suffer with family, friends, and strangers accompanying you is actually quite beautiful.

Once my dear sister, Margaret Obaga, stopped by our apartment exactly when Bob was retching, a time when we would especially want to be alone because of the sounds and smells and our desperate clatch to dignity. No, no, no, not Margaret. East African's don't do alone. She basically walked right through the front door, as did all our African neighbors, and showed me what to do. Sprinkle flower on the bottom of the brown bag to buffer it all. If we were in Kenya she would pad with dirt. Cool a cloth for the palms of the hands. Another cloth for the face. Margaret literally held the bag as Bob coughed up bile. Soft words. It's OK. It's OK. A prayer. We were blessed in the retching.

And it would be these kinds of visits that would string us along like a lifeline for months.

And how quickly we go from holding vigil with a host of angels all around us -- to a mundane everyday life where the smallest irrelevancies command the spirit. I'm reminded of the time I longed for the mundane. When I wanted nothing else but utter boredom. And yet it seems that my long-term response to all of this is some kind of inner restlessness as though the adrenalin of it all never really went away. The boredom I wanted so badly back then now feels quite uncomfortable.

So anyway, thanks everyone. I truly feel blessed to know each and every one of you. I wanted to close with a portion of the prayer, the St. Patrick's Breastplate, which you may remember I reduced to a simple mantra of "Christ here, Jesus near" during the most nerve wracking times.

Christ to shield me today
Against poison,
against burning,
Against drowning,
against wounding,
So that there may come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me.

The funny thing is I still use this chant. I can't believe how often I still can wrack up such nerves that would warrant this prayer even these days. I mean no one is immediately dying in this house. Our security is not threatened. We are surrounded by all things beautiful, including Bob's call to ministry at St. John's that also stuns me with gratitude. Still other things that seem so important take hold. I hope the prayer will give you strength and hope. And I thank you so much for coming over to the Charmer blog.

With love, T

Photo: anniversary flowers from Bob