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I don’t talk politics much on this blog, but bear with me, please.

For months and months, we’ve been seeing news stories about the republican hopefuls. Candidates would enjoy brief periods of popularity only to lose momentum and drop out of the race. And while it seems that Mitt Romney is the assumed eventual winner, it also seems that no one is particularly excited about the possible eventuality of a President Romney. Or a re-elected President Obama for that matter. I sense a collective, “Meh…” from the masses.

Against my better judgement, I began my Thursday morning by turning on the news. Top news story: Despite earlier reports that Mitt Romney won the Iowa caucus by a razor thin margin, it turns out that the actual winner was Rick Santorum.

Santorum jumped through every hoop possible to win Iowa. Out-financed by Romney and others, his grass roots campaign included personal appearances in each of Iowa’s 90 counties. He should have been declared the winner. He’s declaring himself the winner. But unfortunately for him, it’s too little too late, and whatever boost this news may have garnered him was quickly eliminated by Rick Perry’s announcement that he will suspend his campaign two days before the South Carolina primary and endorse Newt Gingrinch for president.

This guy can’t catch a break.

With the latest polls showing Santorum dead last in South Carolina (with the exception of Perry, who’s out anyway) and his donations dwindling, I don’t foresee him staying in the race much longer. I could be wrong. It’s been known to happen.

Maybe a victory in Iowa would have changed the momentum of the race.

Maybe tentative donors would have been convinced to give Santorum some cash which would have paid for more ads in South Carolina.

Maybe.

But maybe never happened. Despite his best efforts in Iowa, despite his apparent win which he wasn’t credited for, none of that matters now. Through no fault of his own, the might-have-been tipping point was missed.

Like many Americans, I am still firmly in the “undecided” category. Having said that, I feel bad for Rick Santorum. Really bad.

When we decide we want something–truly, deeply desire something, we cross our t’s and dot our i’s. We do everything within our control to attain what we seek and what we desire.

But the frustrating thing about life is that so much of it is beyond our control.

And it’s so unfair sometimes.

Like what happened to Santorum in Iowa, things just happen and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.

I suppose the key is recognizing what we can control and what we can’t

To think we have no control over anything is a cop out.

To think we have control over everything is delusional and asshole-ish.

To say God is in control? Okay, yeah. but again, that doesn’t mean we have no responsibility.

How do we know where that line between our control and beyond our control lies?

I guess that’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question.

Or whatever that is adjusted for inflation…

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My soon-to-be 14 year old son has never been one to ease into a conversation with small talk. Such was the case when he came into my office and asked, “Mom, what is the meaning of life?”

How does one give an adequate answer to a question that philosophers have been wrestling with for centuries? I could have given him canned, Christianese answer, but not one that would satisfy his honest inquiry. And I didn’t feel right telling him the meaning of life is to love God and love people when I don’t always subscribe to that philosophy myself. I knew he was looking for a better explanation.

Many have attempted to explain what life is:

“Mama always said life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.” – Forrest Gump

“Life is a ticket to the greatest show on earth.” – Martin H. Fischer

“Life is like a coin. You can spend it any way you wish, but you only spend it once.” – Lillian Dickson

“Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”

- William Shakespeare

“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.
Life is beauty, admire it.
Life is bliss, taste it.
Life is a dream, realize it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is a promise, fulfill it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.
Life is a struggle, accept it.
Life is a tragedy, confront it.
Life is an adventure, dare it.
Life is luck, make it.
Life is too precious, do not destroy it.
Life is life, fight for it.”

- Mother Teresa

“Life’s a bitch and then you die.” – Nas (Nasir Jones)

“Life is a sexually transmitted disease and the mortality rate is one hundred percent.” – R. D. Laing

“Life is a foreign language; all men mispronounce it.” – Christopher Morley

“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” – John Lennon

“Life is a long lesson in humility.” – James M. Barrie

“I hope life isn’t a big joke, because I don’t get it.” – Jack Handey

“Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can.” – Danny Kaye

“Life is nothing but a competition to be the criminal rather than the victim.” – Bertrand Russell

And the folks we rented a RV from over the weekend even put their two cents in:

"Life is a journey and only you hold the map."

When faced with the question of the meaning of life, answers reveal more about the person responding than they do about its real meaning. In answer to his question, I told my son he will probably spend a lifetime in an attempt to answer that for himself, and that if he figures it out I would be grateful if he shared his answer.

Funny, my favorite quote about life comes from “Author Unknown”. Probably because rather than answering the what of life it addresses the how. Which I suppose also says much about me.

“There are many things in life that will catch your eye, but only a few will catch your heart . . . pursue those.” – Author Unknown

What is the meaning of life?

And what does your answer say about you?

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On the morning of September 11, 2001 and the hours and days immediately following the terrorist attacks, life as usual for U. S. citizens came to an abrupt and collective halt. We eventually resumed our lives, forever changed but cognizant of the fact that life does indeed continue. Such will be the case for the people of Japan and other places around the world touched and forever changed by natural and man-made disasters and acts of violence.

As difficult as large scale disasters are, there is a degree of comfort in shared tragedy, knowing you are not alone in your suffering. But what of personal tragedy? How do you deal with life around you moving forward when the life you know is suddenly ripped out from under you?

I’ve been pondering this question quite a bit this past week. So much so that a friend suggested that I would hear something at church Sunday morning that God needed me to hear. My friend was right. Jeff’s sermon, which he had planned long before personal tragedies touched the lives of so many of our church family last week was “Hope in Suffering”.

One of the songs we sang was Matt Redmond’s “You never let go”. We’ve sang this song numerous times, but the lyrics meant much more this time:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Your perfect love is casting out fear
And even when I’m caught in the middle of the storms of this life
I won’t turn back
I know You are near

And I will fear no evil
For my God is with me
And if my God is with me
Whom then shall I fear?
Whom then shall I fear?

Chorus:
Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me

And I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
A glorious light beyond all compare
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
We’ll live to know You here on the earth

Chorus:

Yes, I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
Still I will praise You, still I will praise You

If you are walking in the shadowlands right now, please know that God has you in his grip and he will never let go of you. He is close even when he feels a million miles away.

“He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.” -Psalm 147:3

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Monday marked the first day of FREEEEEEDOOOOOOOM!!!! the kids going back to school after their week long spring break. It was nice to have everyone home last week, but I must confess that towards the end of the week all that togetherness was starting to harsh my mellow. Me likes my alone time.

Since it’s now officially springtime and whatnot, I decided it was high time to spruce up the front porch. I’ve been wanting to get some rocking chairs to put out there since we moved into this house. And since we’ve lived here for 8 or 9 years, I thought I would find some over the weekend, thereby missing the official 10 year procrastination mark. Besides, I figured I could enjoy my morning coffee out there for the next couple of weeks before temperatures and humidity rise to levels capable of melting my face off.

After two unsuccessful shopping ventures Friday and Saturday, I finally found two black arirondack rockers at Garden Ridge Pottery on Sunday afternoon. If y’all don’t have a Garden Ridge Pottery in your neighborhood, I suppose the best way to describe it would be Hobby Lobby meets Pier One meet Oriental Trading Company. Sort of. They sell furniture, plants, silk flowers, housewares and “miscellaneous”.

"miscellaneous"

Once we got the chairs home, assembled and out on the porch, it became evident that the new addition didn’t really complete the look I was after. The term “putting lipstick on a pig” comes to mind.

The front door needed refinishing, the windows were dirty, the large pot of dirt out there needed filling and the impulse buy of two ferns from the grocery store needed to be hung. An ambitious project, but I was ready, willing and able to accomplish everything I wanted to accomplish on Monday. I went to bed Sunday night with every intention of getting to work on my project bright and early Monday (mid) morning.

Yeah…

That was before I woke up in-explicitly at midnight and couldn’t get back to sleep. I tried reading. That seemed to work until I turned off my book light, set down my kindle and shut my eyes. Wide awake again. I eventually got up and went to the couch, figuring I would fall asleep watching the television. Three and a half hours later, I was exhausted and a little perplexed why Animal Planet would devote a 30 minute time slot to Mike Tyson and his dream of pigeon racing. But I digress…

from nypost.com

My point is (and I do have one), what I wanted to do was get the kids off to school and go back to bed. I was tired, grumpy and completely out of sorts. I didn’t feel like going to Walmart, buying hooks, potting soil and something to put in the pot of dirt. I didn’t feel like doing all that stuff I told myself I was going to do. And honestly, my world wasn’t going to come crashing down if I chose to go back to bed and leave all that stuff for another day.

But you know what?

I went to Walmart.

I refinished the door.

I potted a fern in the pot of dirt.

I hung the ferns.

I even dragged the spring wreath out of the garage.

I did all the things I set out to do. And yes, I was even more exhausted when all was said and done. But sometimes you have to suck it up and do the things you set out to do. You keep your promises and follow through with what you said you were going to do. Even if those promises are made to no one else but you.

Now, to get some flowers planted!

Sometimes especially then.

My first new visitor.

This post is part of the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival: Goals, hosted by my friend Peter Pollock. To read more posts on the topic, please visit him at PeterPollock.com

I’m standing in front of a wall at the Kluge Center, an offshoot of the University of Virginia’s Children’s Hospital. My family and I travel here every three months so the friendly doctors and nurses can do some unfriendly things, namely poking and prodding my daughter, Molly, to make sure her diabetes is still under control.

I’ve never been a fan of hospitals. They tend to be drab and dark and they have a smell that can only be described as suffering. But it’s refreshingly different here. As this facility is exclusively for children, there are bright colors and fish tanks and a huge playroom complete with a Helen, the nice lady who doles out to the patients construction paper, crayons, and plenty of oohs and aahs.

I’ve come to learn that sometimes you have to be a good actor in order to be a good father. You have to embellish from time to time. You have to sometimes convince your kids that some things are fun when they most definitely are not. Things like school. And broccoli. And coming here to get poked and prodded.

But Molly’s a trooper. She’s tough (like her old man) and also soft-hearted (also like her old man). She must live twenty-four hours a day with a disease that has no cure and can at a moment’s notice strike, but she also wears a perpetual smile and thinks God gave her diabetes so she can write books for diabetic children. Still, it’s not fair that my daughter has to suffer through this. Not to me. Not fair that her tiny arms are bruised by four shots a day and her fingers pocked by the scars of glucose checks.

The sound of her laughter turns my head. She and Will are playing in the big plastic castle that is part of the playroom. She’s the princess in distress, and he’s the knight trying to save her from the dragons. My job usually–saving her from the dragons. But the ones I’m protecting her from are real.

I go back to studying the wall. Which, as it turns out, is really a window. But the view of the grounds and the railroad tracks across the street has been replaced by a better one. Taped to the window is artwork from the tiny patients who pass through here every day, many of whom are afflicted with things far worse than my daughter’s broken pancreas. Though Molly’s diabetes is incurable (and let’s all pray that will change), it is manageable. Medical science has come a long way, and I at least have the comfort of knowing she can lead a somewhat normal life. For some of the children who colored these pictures, that’s not the case. And that makes staring at them much harder.

What kind of a world do we live in where children are stricken with disease and die? Where the most innocent of people suffer? It seems so unfair. So…wrong. We all have a right to live. A right to grow and learn and love, a right to create a life for ourselves and find our God-given purpose. But that’s just not going to happen for some of these children. What’s worse is that many of them realize this.

But I’m puzzled. Confused by the knowledge that though many of them know the realities of their lives, they are still joyful. These crayon-scribbled pieces of paper do not convey a sense of despair, but of joy. These are not obituaries, but love letters to life. Rainbows of every color shoot across the pages of many. Sunshine beams down on brightly greened grass. Flowers sprout and grow in fields of golden hues. Stick figures smile and laugh and hug.

These are pictures of lives embedded in eternal Spring.

Pictures drawn and colored by children who may be dying, but who are more alive than I am.

True, their innocence may be protecting them. Many can’t process what’s happening to them and don’t feel the need to question or blame. What they don’t know can’t hurt them.

A blessing, I think, in this case. To be ignorant of life and death.

And then I spot in the middle of the display a small sheet of paper. Written in pencil are the words of a twelve-year-old girl named Sarah. Words that make me question just how ignorant these children really are, and shame me with both a smile and a tear:

“The world is a beautiful place and everyone should shut up and enjoy it once in a while.”

Yes.