Lost and Found...

Hello my blogland framily!!!  I hope you've all had a wonderful week! 

Last week went by and found me dealing with a blood pressure flare up.  Let me give you background:  I've always had low blood pressure; never higher than 116/65-70.  One Saturday in November 2014 found me not feeling well and I had no idea what was wrong.  I talked to my sister, who's a nurse, and she suggested (strongly) that I go have my blood pressure checked.  I finally found somewhere to have it checked and it was super high (that was right in the midst of some personal life drama), ended up in urgent care, had a follow-up doctor's appointment and ended up on a low dose of meds for 4 months.  Had full bloodwork done - nothing.  It went back to a (new) normal, then it flared back up again in December 2015.  I had an EKG and a stress test at that time and all was well with my heart. Fast forward to last Monday and I started not feeling well, took my blood pressure and it was up. I left early to get some rest.  Tuesday it was good, but Wednesday I was feeling terrible again, and when I got home and took my pressure, the bottom number was up to 96 and was rising!  (*sidebar* I sound like somebody's Big Momma, talking about "my pressure," lol!)  I drank some NASTY apple cider vinegar water and it went down enough for me to sleep.  The next morning, it was right back up, the bottom number got up to 100 and my doctor told me to come in immediately.  Long story short, I'm back on meds again, for a few months, then another round of bloodwork to come so we can try and find out what the cause is.  All that to say, you all keep me in your prayers; not feeling this full scale revolution thing that is happening with this over 40 body of mine!!!  

Onto the subject of my post- as you know, this past Sunday was Father's Day.  At first, I wasn't gonna be able to hang out with my dad because his schedule was chock full.  So I was a little disappointed, although I didn't tell him that, but I said ok.  I sent him a Father's Day text early in the morning before I started getting ready for church and he called to say that he thought about it and he was going to make the time to hang out with me. Yay!  See, the thing is, I'm thinking I'm kind of a daddy's girl...

I was not fortunate enough to have my parents growing up, due to grown up drama that had nothing really to do with me.  As a result, I didn't have a "daddy" per se (I've stated before that I lived with my grandparents from the age of 8 until I got married and moved out when I was 23).  I struggled with not having my parents, despite having very loving grandparents.  I had a very tenuous relationship with my parents; I didn't really have a relationship with either of them until I was an adult.  Then it was almost like tug of war between them for awhile, which kinda sucked!  When I had my kids, I sat both of them down and asked them to just be the best grandparents they could be.  And you know what?  To their credit, they have been AWESOME!!! My mom, "Little Grandma," and my dad, "Grandpa-pa," have surpassed my wildest dreams - they love my kids and my kids love them.  Awesome sauce! 

I took my first photo with both of my parents in 2006... I was almost 35.  Let that marinate. Anyway, fast forward to 2010 when my grandmother was sick, hospitalized and later died.  I ended up spending a lot of time with my mother and a shift happened in our relationship.Slowly, but surely, she began to fill the void left by my grandmother.  She can't replace grandma, but she has definitely been my mom when I needed her to be.  And for that, I am forever grateful...

But this post is about my dad.  So my parents were young when I was born and it was pretty scandalous in the early 70s for young, unwed, church folks to end up pregnant.  There was a lot of drama going on at that time and unfortunately, I lost my dad in the process.  That had a lot of repercussions, (which are not the subject of this post), but I always wanted and NEEDED my dad.  Over the years, I reached out several times and would "catch and release." When I really grew up, I reached out again, and we both decided to try this thing again.  And you know what?  We haven't looked back since that day!  Now, sometimes things are a little wonky because we're not used to being there (ie. - he's not used to having a daughter and I'm not used to having a dad), but we are working on it. 

I've learned (scratch that, still learning) that I still need him, even though I'm 45 and have my own kids, I still need my daddy.  Only daddies can have righteous indignation when someone does their daughters wrong!  Only daddies still want to protect their "baby girl" when she is hurting.  Only daddies (and mommies) can feel the anguish of not being able to help when they know their child is in trouble.  Only daddies can make their daughter feel like a princess when he gives her unexpected gifts, takes her out for dinner, bakes her red velvet cake and sweet potato pie on request, makes paella, does tequila shots with her for her birthday, and honors her requests for selfies (even when you hate the way you look in pictures because you know that she scrapbooks and pictures are important to her)- - - wait, maybe that's just MY DADDY!  And we've made a commitment to getting together at least once a month (last month for birthday dinner, and this month for Father's Day lunch).  All of that is a good thing and I've been loving the extra time with my dad.  And I'm loving that we've been able more and more to have one-on-one time to just be.  And you know what? I've learned that my dad kinda needs me too... (but that's not the subject of this post either).

Scripture tells the parable of the prodigal son over in Luke 15:11-32.  If you're not familiar, here's a recap:  a father has two sons, the youngest of which asks for his inheritance early. the father gives it to him, and he runs off and spends it wastefully, ends up in a famine, all before deciding to go home, beg for forgiveness and ask his father if he can be one of the hired servants.  Instead, his father sees him on the road, welcomes him back and prepares a feast for him, including a fat calf that was generally reserved for special occasions.  The older son refused to participate, noting that he had never disobeyed his father or left and he had never had so much as a goat prepared for him and his friends!  The father reminded the older son that everything he had would belong to him but that they should still celebrate the return of the younger son, because he was lost and is now found.  This parable is the last of Jesus' parables on loss and redemption, about how the Father always welcomes home his lost sheep.

So why on earth did I choose this passage of scripture?  Well, as usual I thought I was writing about one thing and was led to go in a completely different direction!!!  This post was (so I thought) going to be about me and how I'm a new-fangled, 45-year old daddy's girl. But He had other ideas apparently!  What it's all about is lost and found.

Yep, that's right.  Lost and found.  Like my regular blood pressure.  LIke my parents, specifically like my daddy.  And yes, I am 45 and I call him "daddy" not "dad."  But more so like when we leave from under the covering of our Heavenly Father and He always welcomes us back with open arms.  Jesus compares Himself to a shepherd and we believers are His sheep.  John 10:11 says that the "good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep."  That is exactly what Christ did for us when he lay down his life for us on Calvary. He's always standing there with open arms ready to welcome us to Him, when we repent and accept Him.  And just like my daddy wants to be my helper, protector and treat me like a princess, so does our Heavenly Father want to do the same for us.  If we just return to Him, like the prodigal son returned to his father.

So all that to say - I'm a certified Daddy's Girl, both for my earthly Father and my Heavenly Father.  Just as I thank God for being returned to my earthly father, I also thank God for being returned to Him, because I was one of his lost sheep.  And that, is very good news!!!

So framily, have a great weekend and if you have strayed from the flock, consider going to church this Sunday and returning.  He's waiting for you!!!

Don't forget to Holla @ Darvi and be blessed! xoxoxo

P.S. - Here's some pics of me and my daddy, from my birthday dinner and Father's Day!

 

What's in a name???

Annnnd it's Wednesday - good day people, good day!  So the Chicago area has been SWELTERING for the past few days (although I dare not complain as winter is surely a'coming and faster than I would like)... Sometimes the first thing people miss in the heat is staying hydrated - so please lay off the sugary drinks and make sure you drink plenty of water.  That's my PSA for the day.

So today we're going to talk about names.  Not as in baby names (although I do fondly remember those days), but more along the lines of what your name says about you.  That was the subject of the eulogy at Mrs. Harris' funeral that I attended over the weekend and it's stuck with me ever since.

When it comes to names, I've had a love-hate relationship with mine.  As a child, it was very difficult living with a nine-letter name that your mother had made up as opposed to just opening a book and chose.  It was a mouthful to say and to this day, whenever I'm in a new environment, I always know when people get to my name because they pause to try and wrap their minds around the pronunciation of it.  My response?  I usually smile and say "that's me."  Then when asked, I say it for them and immediately shorten it to my nickname to make it easier for them.  They are, more often than not, visibly relieved for the reprieve...
As I've gotten older, I've embraced my name and the time that my mother took to really think about it all and giving me such a unique name - thanks, mom!  I am almost 100% guaranteed to NEVER run into anyone with the same name in any setting; it belongs to me and me alone. 

But even acknowledging that, the question remains - what's in a name?  I'm talking beyond the superficial cuteness of the name or your different spelling of a common name.  I even mean beyond what society has determined that your particular name means (and if you want to check yours, you can do so here).  What I'm talking about is the real nitty-gritty; as in when people hear your name, what does it mean to them. 

Ouch.  Yeah, I know that for some people, that is a matter that they don't even want to think about.  But the reality is, whether you think about it or not, it is a valid assessment and it will be made, with or without your permission. 

I grew up in my grandparents' house on the far south side of Chicago.  My grandmother was the matriarch of our family (both sides, imagine that!).  Additionally, she was very active in her church, serving continually on the board of trustees, the missionary board and until her death in 2010, as the "Church Mother" (some of y'all have no IDEA what that is, lol!).  Besides all that, she served as a confidant, friend and advisor to many people far and wide.  Reflecting on my life in my grandparents' house (I lived there from 1979-1995), there are several things that stick out:

1) Our door was always open.  Literally.  As in our front door was unlocked from 9am- 10pm every single day.  That used to freak me out sometimes, but in reflection I understand that it was two-fold:  a) my grandmother's name carried so much weight in our community that no one was going to enter our door for harm and b) the door was always open and anyone was welcome to enter.

2) Many people relied on the advice and counsel of my grandmother:  relatives, friends, neighbors, church members, past co-workers, her children, their friends, her grandchildren and their friends.  At her funeral, person after person stood up and said how they had a personal relationship with her, how wise she was and how she gave advice without judgment, no matter what the circumstance.  She logged many, many hours on her phone talking to people late into the night about whatever issues they were sorting through, again, without judgment but just offering advice.

3) One could always gather 'round our table for a meal, family or not.  If you walked through our open door for some of her advice around dinner time, you were going to be offered a plate.  Now, we weren't rich or even middle class (got that rude awakening in high school, but I digress), but we always had food on the table and a plate to share (it may have been mismatched, but it was a plate).  I watched my cousins' friends enjoy the holidays with us, and as I grew up and brought friends over during high school and college, they joined us at the table also.

I hope you see where I'm going with this - the value of a name.  My grandmother had a good name.  It meant something, no matter what circle she was in.  It meant something on our street - no one was going to bother "Ms. Givens" (because no one could figure out how to pronounce our last name, lol!  For the record, it is spelled Givhan and pronounced "Give-ahn").  Additionally, everyone knew that they could go to Ms. Givens' house and get a meal, get a few dollars, or get a ride.  At church, everyone knew they could count on Mother Givens to support the ministry, to be fair and decisive on the trustee board, that she could be trusted with the money and that she would give sound counsel without judging.  So when she became sick and subsequently died, we were flooded with visits, calls, food, cards and money from all of the people she had touched during her life.  Most of them always led with the same thing:  "I heard and just had to come and see about Ms./Sister/Mother Givens."  At the funeral, there was standing room only and even the vestibule was full of people who felt that they just had to come and pay their respects to Ms./Sister/Mother Givens. 

I felt good and proud to be related to such a person; someone whose name alone held such esteem and value in her community.  People still ask me if I'm "Ms./Sister/Mother Givens'" granddaughter.  And I always smile and say yes, knowing that is a good thing.

It's also how I felt while sitting at Mrs. Harris' funeral on Saturday and listening to her family, her daughter's friends, her church family and the eulogy.  Mrs. Harris had a good name - it was epitomized by how she carried herself:  in kindness, in gentleness, with a smile, through helping others - all characteristics that will live on longer than she did.

This is also something I've spent more and more time thinking about as I get older - what does my name mean?  I've done good things, great things even, and some not so good things.  I've had successes and failures.  I've given kind words and I've given harsh words.  Yep, I'm pretty much human, just like everyone else!  But the real question is what will the lasting effects of my name mean, and that's what I try to work on every day.  I work daily on doing more good than bad things, having more successes than failures and more kind words as opposed to the sometimes harsher words that are having a party in my head!  I am a work in progress!  But know that I am working...

I've said all of this to make one simple statement:  you control what your name means.  You alone.  Even if it is less than you want it to mean at this moment I have good news:  you still have time to change that!  Every day that you wake up is a new opportunity to work on changing it.  So if your name currently means bad attitude, selfishness and negativity, you can change it to pleasant, generous and upbeat.  If you are the type of person who makes people cringe when you walk into a room, you can work on becoming a person that everyone is happy to see.  If your name is associated with dishonesty and untrustworthiness, you can change that too.  At the end of the day, it's all up to you.  Know that your name is indeed your legacy.  So I ask you - what's in YOUR name???

Has anyone else ever thought about this or am I by myself? Holla @ Darvi!  Be Blessed!