My visit to the Holocaust Museum

Today my family and I visited the Houston Holocaust Museum. I knew long before we arrived that I get a little emotional about these kinds of things, but I don't think I knew exactly what I was in for. I have to say that had I know how my heart would break, I may not have gone inside.

As a girl, I visited the Holocaust museum in Los Angeles - an experience I may NEVER forget. If you haven't ever been, I urge you to. But be prepared. The tour includes pictures, video, audio, and documents that will move you. But there is also a section of the tour that includes an experience (or at least it did when I was there over 15 years ago). I remember it clearly because, being around 14 years old or so, it shook me. At one point in the museum tour, the guide steps away and a "Nazi" soldier comes to separate families into groups - laborers (men, mostly); women, children, and handicapped; and other "undesirables". The groups then walk to separate areas of the museum. Being a girl, I was sent into a long hallway, lit only by 3 small hanging bulbs, and I was told I was going to be "showered". The lights went out, a distant locking sound clicked on the other side of the large chamber-style door, frantic shouts in German, and the sound of spraying gas into the pitch-black. I felt the room shrink around me. It only lasted about 30 seconds before the lights were back on and we were escorted to another hallway where I was reunited with my parents. Because I was a young girl, I was told, I would likely have been executed in the gas chamber. My dad, strong and stout, went to an area where they given hand tools and directions, in loud, hurried German, for work that would have lasted all day. My mom was also executed in a gas chamber. This experience, though controlled, dramatized, and severely decreased, shook me. How lucky I felt to be born in my generation, and to be Aryan! But my pride quickly vanished upon seeing the pictures of children around my age that were not as fortunate.

Today was a little different. No gas chamber today. No separation from my family. No unfamiliar voices shouting unreasonable demands. Just row after row of faces, somber, desperate faces, silently crying out for justice. And it absolutely broke my heart.

I did very well during the tour until we came to a display with a large photograph. A Nazi soldier stood behind his rifle and prepared to shoot at a woman holding a toddler in her arms. The caption explained that in this way the Nazi would only need to waste one bullet to kill them both. I was not able to contain the tears. I tried to be discrete but it was in vain. I felt a pain in my chest that was both emotional and physical. I knew it would be foolish but a part of me couldn't help but silently cry out to God for this poor woman. I can't begin to imagine what prayers she offered up frantically in the final moments of her life - for her and for her child. I could hear in the recesses of my mind faint distant screaming of that poor baby, and the mother trying to muffle the child, hoping she might not irritate his trigger finger. How her heart must've desperately screamed out! And my tears could not be contained.

We then went to watch a brief video of Holocaust survivors. Each one told of suffering and pain unimaginable to anyone who had not witnessed it for themselves. I have no words for the stories that were told to me through the mouths of these brave souls. Part of me fought the urge to cry while another fought the urge to vomit. My heart flip-flopped between compassion and disgust. I felt waves of sympathy in between the waves of aggression. Once the movie ended, I felt so emotionally drained that I wasn't sure if I had the strength to get up from my seat.

Over a year ago, I earnestly prayed that my heart would break for the things that break the heart of God. I wanted Him to move me. I wanted Him to shake me and open my eyes to the things that matter most to Him. I wanted Him to show me how to further His kingdom, not mine. And today, I felt my soul being wrung out. As terribly sad as it is to see the kind of hatred that was demonstrated over 70 years ago, I realize that this kind of cruel treatment happens in the world today - and goes largely uncontested. If I truly want to know where God's heart is, I need to look into the eyes of His children and see how they are being treated. The children of Darfur, the children of Somalia, and millions of abused, neglected, and otherwise mistreated children of God that occupy our globe... that's where God's heart is. And it breaks for them. I imagine myself as a young child harassing my brother, and looking up into the disappointed eyes of my father, shaking his head... and I know that on a much bigger scale, my Heavenly Father must be doing the same thing.

Don't fail to do something just because you can't do everything.
-Bob Pierce, founder of WorldVision

I'm not sure what I can do just yet. I'm not sure what God wants me to do just yet. But I feel certain that I heard Him speak to me today. My eyes are open. My spirit is willing. Instructions to follow...

Meanwhile, I urge you to find a similar museum to visit. I think Holocaust museums are interesting because it's "recent history". But there are so many human interest museums you can visit. Find a way to be informed, and be open-minded. Make yourself aware and understanding to people who are different from you.

After all, in the end, we meet our fate together.

Mom Blog

If you thought blogging was a complete waste of time and energy, read this article:

Companies pay mom bloggers thousands

I have enjoyed having a forum where my personal and private thoughts can be used as guidance for someone else. But I gotta tell you, making a few spare bucks for having given my opinion sounds pretty enticing. I'm not sure that I would like the idea of feeling pressured to agree with claims made by a particular marketer or manufacturer, but the idea seems appealing nonetheless.

But fear not, friends. I'll not be selling adspace here any time too soon. I think this space is reserved for my pen only.

Something Beautiful

Three and a half years ago, my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. She had gone into the hospital after feeling short of breath and complaining of wheezing in her chest. Doctors x-rayed her chest and found evidence of pneumonia... and a tumor. She was treated in the hospital for the pneumonia and sent home with orders to follow up with her physician regarding the other diagnostic scans they performed.

This all took place the week of Hurricane Ike. Being a Houston resident, I was evacuated to Oklahoma at my dad's house. Once the storm had safely passed, I packed up my things and left Oklahoma and headed east to my mom's house in Alabama. At this point, no doctor had actually given a clear diagnosis. The word "cancer" seemed taboo.

I went with her to follow up with her family doctor. After what felt like hours and hours, the doctor came in. So sterile and cold with his pressed lab coat and creased slacks, he delivered news that I feel certain any man would dread. "Ma'am, you have a malignant tumor." She nodded her head and seemed virtually unaffected. My step-dad grabbed her hand and squeezed. I felt my jaw lower to my chest. Part of me deep inside had known this was the truth - and probably had been for some time - but I had buried it beneath layers of hopes and wishes for a different outcome. The doctor shook our hands and recommended a few oncologists he knew, then, as cool as he had come, he left the room. The harsh metallic clinical echo of the exam room door shut so loud in my ears, I felt as if my eardrums had burst. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but they were too confused to fall. My mom seemed as though she must've heard a different message than I did. Her face was expressionless and her demeanor suggested that she hadn't quite absorbed the information. No one spoke.

I spent several days with her discussing the options. Her oncologist felt certain that she should immediately begin chemotherapy. Her scans had shown that she was already in Stage 4, meaning the cancer had spread. Tumors occupied her lungs, liver, kidneys, bones, and brain. Doctors told her the treatment would be intense and severe, but that aggressive treatment would be the only way to yield results at this late stage in the disease process. Mom got her chemo port put in and began her first round of toxic medicine.

The process was draining. Her weight dropped significantly. Her appetite was non-existent at best. She became weak and sick. Chemo took it's toll on her appearance, too, turning her skin gray. Her eyes sunk deep in her head and her hair began to fall out. The scans at first seemed somewhat positive, showing the chemo had at least slowed the growth of the tumors, but doctors wanted to press on with even more intense therapy. Mom was a trooper. She proceeded.

After losing half of her hair, she decided to shave it all off. She said, "I don't want cancer to take this from me. I want to choose to let it go." She was so brave, in my opinion. I bought her several scarves, one of which I still have. She learned to wrap her head. She also had several hats, one with a crown on it. So typical. In all of this, she kept smiling, even though no one would believe for even one moment that there was anything to smile about.

We had a family event two weeks before Christmas - one that Mom had invented several years back, called "Thanksmas", which combined the best of Thanksgiving and Christmas. Being in between the two holidays made it easy for my siblings and I to get together to celebrate together. This year, we held Thanksmas at my oldest brother's house. Mom normally took charge of cooking, but was too weak to do it this year. Just a few days before hand, she was unsure if she would even be able to make it. She was just too sick and too weak. Thankfully, she did make it. These are the last pictures we have of her - one family picture, and one of just her and I.


The next round of chemo proved to be less effective. The cancer was spreading much faster than the chemo could kill it. Surgery wasn't an option. In fact, options were very limited. Mom called me one afternoon. I won't ever forget it. She said, "I've decided not to go forward with any more treatment. I'm tired now." She didn't want to discuss it further, and to be honest, neither did I. It was at this moment that I realized something incredibly painful: my mom is going to die.

In the days that followed, our phone conversations became rarer and rarer, and when they did happen, I could hear my mom's voice tiring easily, and she became winded. She did a lot of listening, and not very much talking. The irony is that all I wanted to do was hear her. She told me that in 2 weeks, a hospice nurse would come to the house and set up a place for her to "be comfortable".

A week later, I got a phone call from my step-dad. He said, "She's not well. You should come." I've never packed a bag so fast in my life. I hit the road and began the trek across 3 state lines. I don't know my speed. I honestly don't remember how I got there. But in the early hours of January 10, I made my way up to Mom's hospital room in Montgomery. My heart was racing. My vision was blurred. I turned the corner to the nurse's station and blurted out some words that must've made perfect sense to someone, and they directed me to Drew Burkett, RN, the hospice nurse, and one of God's angels on earth. He explained everything from her hospital discharge, to her daily care, to her final moments. He told me that we could have anywhere from 24 hours to 24 months. I swallowed a lump and he took me to her room.

She recognized me, as I saw her eyes light up, but she couldn't speak. She was in a hospital gown, her bald head bobbling under it's own weight. Her hands were cold and her skin was dry and gritty. She was drooling and gasping. She had lost almost all motor function, and had little control over any of her parts anymore. I fought back tears and embraced her, but she had no reaction. I felt my heart break into 10,000 little bleeding pieces. My mom had never not hugged me back. I knew it wasn't her fault, but that didn't hurt any less.

She was transported to the house via ambulance. My brother and I rushed back to her house to get it ready. A hospital bed was delivered. Drew, the hospice nurse, came to make an assessment. Around 1600 that afternoon, he told us that he believed she had 24-48 hours.

Having had nursing experience, and having taken care of patients in the end-stages of life, Drew entrusted a lot of responsibility to me. I felt that I would be more than capable of handling it. But I was simply unable to shift from my daughter hat to my nurse hat and back again. My brother took over giving her morphine for comfort. I stayed at her bedside. Her respirations fell to around 6 per minute, and were labored. She began what is called the "Death Rattle". Essentially, she was drowning in her own secretions. We took turns saying our silent good-byes. I held her hand. I looked at her and said in a whisper, "I love you, Mommy," just like the toddler I felt like. She squeezed my hand! I invited the family in close to pray. It was hard for my mouth to form the words, but I asked God to be merciful. Hungry for air, her body fought to draw breath, but could find none. Holding her hand, she slipped silently into the night. Drew declared her around 2020 on the night of January 10.

The next few days are a blur to me. We prepared a funeral, transported her body to Georgia, and arranged for her closest friends and family members to come. The phone calls were hard. I felt as if I had gone through a forest of tissues! Pastor Kenny called and we prayed via telephone. I called my dad and my husband.

Her service was exactly as she wanted it. Mostly a celebration. She would've hated all the crying, though. A few of us spoke at the graveside. Her flowers were gorgeous, and she would've really treasured that. I still have the roses. There were lots of kind words and loving embraces, and that was wonderful. But I missed her so much.

My longing for Mom turned into anger at God. I had always heard that He would use all things for good. What good would ever come out of my mom having to die, me having to suffer, or any of us having to experience this pain? God, if you're going to use this, you need to let me in on what's up here! I just don't understand...

A few months later, my husband gave his life to Christ. He said he now understood that he was unable to comfort me in my mourning because he lacked understanding about life and death. He couldn't give me love and peace he didn't possess - the kind that "transcends all understanding," and "will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:7).

I am currently walking in a charity walk for cancer research. I hope that you will help support me in the 2012 Houston CureSearch Walk. You can make a donation online if you click here.

I hope that you will help me turn this terrible event into something beautiful...

Gossip Column

Being an adult is much harder than I had anticipated. I assumed that the drama and childishness would stop by the tie I reached my 30s (not that I have! Ha!). Surprisingly, many women I know find the catty drama and back-biting to be a normal part of everyday life. Some of these women are rather emotionally high-maintenance and attention-hungry. But it's disheartening and overwhelming to someone like me who requires little emotional attention and requests no drama. In fact, I'm absolutely okay with being completely boring. Lame is good. This is a concept, however, that is totally foreign to many women I know. I just have no need for something to be constantly stirred up.

But what I find even more distressing than the constant drama is the amount of gossip that goes around. Admittedly, I am guilty of gossip. I'm not sure that I know of anyone who has never done it. But that has to stop. It's not Christ-like at all. Paul warns the Colossians, "Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone." (Colossians 4:5-6, NIV) I actually like The Message version of verse 6 best: "Be gracious in your speech. The goal is to bring out the best in others in conversation, not put them down, not cut them out."
Growing up in a Latter-Day Saint environment, I was told that gossip is, essentially, anything you wouldn't say directly to the face of the person of which you speak. This definition had managed to get me through the difficulty of middle school and high school without too much issue. However, in adulthood this presents its own set of problems. The trouble is that many adults will say hurtful things to another person's face. Let me just say to those who would cut down another person in this way that there are other faces watching, other ears hearing, and other hearts judging you. Your actions may influence how a non-believer perceives those of us who would call ourselves Christ-followers. I think this is what Paul warns of in Colossians. "Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders," he says, because they are kicking the tires of Christianity based on your actions. Whether that is right or wrong is beside the point. The fact of the matter is that they do. In fact, twice this week I have had friends - one of whom is a Christ follower, and one of whom is a self-proclaimed Atheist - tell me that they feel that Christ is hardly represented in groups claiming to be formed in his name, mostly because the actions they most often see modeled are not representative of Christ's nature at all. How sad is that?

Gossip is the Devil's radio.
- George Harrison

I have come across a poster recently that made me stop and give thought to it a moment. Gossip is so uncool. My best advice is this: before you open your mouth, please stop and THINK:

T - is what I am about to say true?
H - is what I am about to say helpful?
I - is what I am about to say inspiring?
N - is what I am about to say necessary?
K - is what I am about to say kind?

If what you intend to speak passes these filters, I think it is a perfectly reasonable thing to say. But if it doesn't, I would hope you would reconsider. Gossip has the potential to ruin relationships. Once you've said something, it is out there and can't be taken back.

In this I claim no perfection. I'm guilty of saying something untrue or not-so-helpful, all the while claiming to be a friend. But this year I resolve not to. I've adopted a new mantra for the year: say what I mean, mean what I say. I've added a "sub-mantra" to include getting the heck outta situations where gossip is starting -- to be perfectly honest, I just don't ever want my name to be attached to those kinds of conversations.

I hope in this new year you will all join me in working to communicate like adults. If another person has created drama in your life that you are less-than-appreciative of, be a "big girl" (or boy) and approach them like a rational adult. Back-biting and rumor-spreading isn't going to help any situation, and it certainly isn't going to give you resolution in your relationships.

Be impeccable with your word. Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your word in the direction of truth and love.
-Miguel Angel Ruiz

Spare me the drama...

I have learned a lot over the years through bumper stickers. I know that the back side of a rusty pickup is not the best place from which to glean wisdom, but sometimes you read a line or two that seems to put things into perspective in a way that, perhaps, you had never before considered. Today, I came across such a bumper sticker. A white late model Ford pickup was in front of me on the corner of Highway 6 and Brooks Street. I pulled up behind it and happened to glance at the blue sticker with white writing - the adhesive of which was likely at least partially responsible for holding the tailgate in one piece - and it read: "Drama is NOT the fruit of the spirit"

I wanted desperately to find out where this sticker was purchased. I loved the message. It said, rather plainly, what I have been trying to say for some time now.


I have friends, and a few family members, who thrive on drama. Something has to always be going on. And if nothing is going on, they make something up to get things started. They crave the chaos and insanity that comes along with crisis. Me? I'd rather be lame and boring. In fact, I really like it when my dad calls and asks what's going on, and all I can talk about is the weather. There is a lot to be said for boring. Especially when I know I have folks in my life that are in a frenzy over something... all... the... time.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
Galatians 5:22-23

Not every situation you experience should become a Lifetime movie. Sometimes, even when things are uncomfortable or awkward, you can just move past it without making it a bigger deal than it needs to be. Drama is just Satan's foothold - it starts with being dramatic, but then you forget where your blessings come from... and Satan starts slowly weaseling his way into your heart. Don't give him the chance. Don't roll the welcome mat out for him. Instead, when things get tough, get going... to God.

Friends, if the fruit of the spirit is, as Paul describes, love, joy, and peace, then let us eat of that fruit. Let us partake of the fruit that brings our hearts closer to God, not closer to ruined relationships. Let us see the positive in a situation, emphasizing not how we were wronged or what injustices we see, but how our Heavenly Father must think we are strong enough to endure these challenges. Let us not take pride in the sufferings of others (or ourselves), but rejoice in all that God has done that is good. The fruit of the Spirit is NOT drama. It is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control... so exercise some: save the drama for the movies.