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 "As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those that fear Him; for He knows how we are formed..."                                 Psalm 103:13,14a

Growing up I was a geek. If I received anything other than an A I was devastated, and I was the teacher's pet who actually DID the extra credit work.  I had the weird haircut and dark rimmed glasses, and was so skinny a light breeze could blow me over.  I was passionate about writing poetry, writing my first poem in the second grade.  I kept a pad at my bedside in case inspiration occurred during the night. I also had a passionate interest in photography, asking Santa for a camera at age nine. I was classified in school as "gifted and talented" – a label that guaranteed social suicide.  I became the kid the "cool crowd" picked on at the bus stop and at the playground. If it weren't for the fact that I enjoyed learning so much, I would have HATED school. I was always outside the popular crowd looking in, and there was seldom a day that I did not have to endure hurtful remarks and sideward glances from those that thought they were superior.

But then I would go home…and Dad would be there. He always called me beautiful and told me how proud he was of me.  He was forever bragging to his friends and co-workers about my accomplishments.  My reports cards or art projects would be on his locker.  Dad was also affectionate…my sisters and I were guaranteed an abundance of hugs and kisses.  His hugs were the best…strong and engulfing.  I always felt safe in his arms.  It was a place where no one could hurt me.

My senior year of high school…this was going to be my biggest accomplishment yet…Dad would be so proud he’d just explode! I'd be moving up from Cadet Corps to Senior Corps on the volunteer ambulance squad. (God bless my mother – the emergency pagers would blast the silence from the night, and both Dad and I would run for the door, Mom standing there half asleep holding out our coats and shoes. I ran to the squad building and Dad drove to the fire house.) I was nominated for full scholarships to both Boston and Douglas Colleges; earned several academic awards; I was chosen to sing a solo in the Spring Choir concert; and I'd be graduating in the top 10% of my class! 

Then February 6^th, 1981 my world came crashing down… as I was making my way upstairs to bed, after saying goodnight to my parents, I heard my mother scream.  I ran downstairs to see my father slumped over at the table.  Dad was a man of tremendous stature, but I somehow found the strength to lift him onto the floor.  Doing a quick check of his vitals I determined he was experiencing a massive heart attack.  I instructed Mom to call 911, but she was too hysterical.  While doing chest compressions on my father, I held the phone up to my ear with my shoulder and told the dispatcher to send a rig for a "Code Blue." I’ll never forget the horrible sounds Dad made as the life was draining out of his body.  The ambulance arrived and my fellow squad members took over CPR.  The fire chief drove Mom, my middle sister, and I to the hospital. My youngest sister stayed with a neighbor. We waited in the waiting room for what seemed like an eternity.  A nurse opened the door and asked us to join her in a side room, where a doctor was waiting to tell us what we didn’t want to hear…Dad was gone.  His aorta had ruptured and there was impossible to save him.  Panic grew within me…this couldn’t be happening!  I demanded to see my father, and was brought into the room where they had valiantly attempted to revive him.  He looked so peaceful, as if he were sleeping.  I pleaded with him “Daddy, you can’t go!  I need you!  You have to see me graduate!  You have to take me to college! I can’t handle anything without you!"….but he didn’t answer.   Shock set in and I became numb.  The one person who made me feel accepted, safe, secure, NORMAL was no longer there.  I never felt so empty and terrified in my entire life.

After the funeral I continued on with school.  I received the awards for academic excellence, but they didn’t mean anything to me anymore. I sang the solo in the concert, but my heart wasn’t in it. I resigned from the ambulance squad…serving the community was something Dad and I did together. I received my scholarships for college, but I returned them.  I didn’t want to leave Mom and sisters.  Mom was an emotional wreck, my middle sister's behavior was absolutely wild and out of control, and my youngest sister was only five years old.  Truth of the matter was, the desire to better myself and succeed was gone.  My biggest cheerleader wasn't there for me anymore.

I'd never realized how much my mother couldn't cope with the loss.  She had decided to take her life…she couldn’t go on without my father. Several months after Dad's death, Mom put a bottle of sleeping pills next to her bed…as she reached for the water; she spotted a Scripture pamphlet that someone had anonymously mailed.  She picked it up and read it – and at that moment God reached into her heart and removed all the pain and despair – she fell to her knees and cried out to the Lord.  Immediately Mom’s life was changed.  She was filled with peace and joy, and it showed.  I began attending church with my mother at her request. I was confused by and somewhat jealous of the life Mom now had…she appeared totally content. How could she be happy without Dad?

I moved into my own apartment, got a full time job while continuing with the part time job I'd had since I was fourteen.  I thought working would fill the void in my heart. My passion for writing and photography was extinguished. I wrote an occasional poem, and I took photos at family functions, but there was no emotion involved.

I married my boyfriend, Jimmy, a year after graduation. The beautiful wedding was overshadowed by the absence of my father. I cried when my uncle danced with Mom…it should have been Dad. Jimmy and I had a gorgeous baby girl a month before our first anniversary.  I was happy with my life, but I not at peace. Without Dad, I still felt empty and insecure. His absence was ever-present in my joys and sorrows.

Life continued on…I was grown up- but still a “geek.”

I always was one step behind in fashion; always at least two steps behind in hairstyles, and I wore LARGE eyeglasses. I was uncomfortable in group settings without my husband – I was self-conscious. I was convinced that people were talking about me and mocking me, just like my school years. I felt insecure. I wanted to be secure, accepted… like I was with Dad.  The void was still there.

In 1984 a neighbor told us about a local church with many family activities, and we began attending. We enjoyed our time there each Sunday. I learned about the Bible, but it was all head knowledge – nothing had reached my heart.

One week there was a guest speaker at church. When he was introduced and stepped into the platform, I looked up and couldn’t breathe!  The man looked just like my father!  Not similar – but exactly!  I was totally engrossed in every word as he spoke about the love of God and His acceptance of all who believe in Him – no matter who you are.  He spoke about God’s mercy and His unfailing love.  He quoted Philippians 4:6-7 – “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” My husband whispered in my ear "Are you alright?" I was crying!  I was overwhelmed with wanting the peace he spoke of…the peace that Mom experienced.

When the speaker concluded, I approached him and asked “Would you do me a favor?”  He replied, “Certainly, if I can.”  “Can I have a hug?” I asked him.  Instead of giving me a puzzled look, he smiled, almost as if he understood, and gave me a great big bear hug – just like my Dad.  It was at that moment my heart changed. I realized I had the love and acceptance of a father, my heavenly Father.  He would proud of all my accomplishments, He would comfort me with His loving arms when I was hurting or afraid.  The void was filled – my heart was whole again.

Life has been drastically different since that day. My passion for writing returned…although the free time to cultivate it is rare as the mother of three girls! I found a new muse in my love and faith in God. He provides me with unlimited subject matter with which to express myself in prose and rhyme to inspire others.

My interest in photography was renewed; I take photos to chronicle the girls' lives, and to capture the memories of our vacations and special events. My passion has progressed since I was introduced to scrapbooking.  I traded in my 35mm camera for digital, as hundreds of photo opportunities have turned into thousands.  I want to capture the beauty of the Lord's creation from my perspective. I hope to one day publish a book containing my writings and photographs. 

I still haven't developed a sense of fashion, and my girls often say “Mom, you’re not going out dressed like THAT, are you?!”         

I'm a geek-and God loves me!

It was Thanksgiving Day in the early 1990's, and we were living in a small ranch home at the Jersey shore with our three girls.  I had cleaned and stuffed the turkey, and was waiting for the small wall oven to preheat to the desired temperature.   Mentioning to my husband that I thought the turkey he purchased was a bit too large for our oven; he insisted everything would be fine. I began vacuuming and putting away toys, as we were expecting family for dinner later that afternoon. The oven timer buzzed and my husband said he would put the turkey in the oven for me.

I went into the kitchen to check on the turkey a short time later, ready to give the bird it's first basting.  Opening the oven door, I noticed that the turkey took up every inch of the small space.  I called to my husband and informed him that in order for the turkey to properly cook, it needed some air flow around the bird.  Again, he insisted it would be fine.  I don't think he was prepared to eat those words!

About an hour later, I was startled by the sound of the smoke alarm and a burning smell permeated the house.  I ran into the kitchen to see flames shooting out of the closed oven door and licking up the cabinets towards the ceiling.  I screamed and my husband came running in from the yard, where he had been playing ball with the girls.

 "Where is the fire extinguisher?" he yelled.  As I grabbed the closet door handle I remembered, "We gave them to my uncle last month to recharge!" I yelled back.

I picked up the phone and began dialing. My husband was a local volunteer firefighter, so instead of calling 911, I contacted the firehouse directly.  Sean, one of my husband's friends, answered.  I told him our oven was on fire and we needed some help.  Expecting he would come over with a fire extinguisher, I thanked him and hung up the phone.  "Honey, I called the firehouse and Sean is coming over!" I shouted into the kitchen from the living room.

 "NOOO! Call him back, I put out the fire!" he replied.  My husband dialed the firehouse to cancel the call, but he was told that Sean dispatched the entire department and four trucks were on the way! I cringed…this was going to be quite embarrassing.

Within a minute we could hear the sirens and rumbling engines of the fire trucks. They pulled up in front of the house, and over a dozen firefighters jumped off the trucks and ran towards the house.  All the neighbors were out in their yards watching. 

"Breach this wall, bust out the windows in the front!" were the commands bellowed out by the Chief as he laughed his way to the front door.

"Watch where you step!" I instructed the guys as I scrambled to place paper towels on the light blue carpet under their feet.  Everyone was having a hearty laugh at my husband's expense.  I found out later that it is considered taboo for a firefighter to call the fire department. Oops!

My husband's friends placed fans in the windows and did their best to ventilate all the smoke out of the house.  I walked into the kitchen to find a blackened oven, scorched cabinets and ceiling, and gray soot from smoke on all the walls, floors, and furniture in both the kitchen and dining room.    Company was due in two hours and they would be expecting a Thanksgiving feast.  Phone calls were immediately made to the family.   Fortunately my mother had been cooking all morning the free turkey she had earned at the supermarket in order to enjoy Thanksgiving "leftovers" during the week.  She agreed to bring it to our home instead.  Other family members brought mashed potatoes, gravy and rolls, stuffing, cranberry salad, and assorted pies to round out the holiday feast. We all pitched in and scrubbed the walls, floors, and furniture before sitting down to enjoy a wonderful meal together.  My husband was truly amusing as he recounted the morning's events to the family.  We laughed, ate, and enjoyed good company.  We had much to be thankful for after all…and I never told my husband "I told you so!"

HEADLINE: 160,000 US students miss one day of school per year because of bullies. Many children worry about not fitting in, especially because of the teasing and bullying that can go along with it. Intimidation and bullying cannot only rob your son or daughter of self-confidence, it can become violent

A voice called from downstairs "Tess, it is time to get up for school."  Oh, those awful words!  She dragged herself out of bed and into the shower.  As the warm water cascaded down her face and back, she tried to put the memories of yesterday's school day out of her mind.  Could she possibly face another day at school? Tess allowed the comfortable spray of water to shower her with a momentary sense of peace.  Then that voice again..."Tess, hurry up, you're going to be late!"  She turned off the water and stepped out of the warm shower, greeted by a chill from the bedroom.  She forgot to close the window again. She slipped into her robe and hurried to stop the rush of cool October air.  Tess liked having the window open when she went to bed, lying there listening to the sounds of the night. . . the distant traffic on the freeway, an occasional airplane flying overhead, the breeze rustling through the trees.  It was a soothing lullaby to help her tune out the events of the day and eventually fall asleep.

Tess put on a white cotton shirt and green plaid skirt, slipped into a pair of flats and grabbed her sweater from the chair.  As she passed by the mirror, she realized she hadn't combed her hair.  "I'm gonna be late for sure today." she said to herself.  Quickly she brushed her hair back into a ponytail and scampered down the stairs.  Waiting for her on the kitchen table was a glass of orange juice and a piece of buttered toast.  Tess ate as quickly as she could, grabbed her lunch and bookbag, and then began the dreaded walk to the middle school.  It was only three blocks, but it always seemed like three miles.  Would they be waiting for her again today?  Maybe she was running late enough to miss them. . .but before she could complete the thought, Tess spotted Rowden and Dina.  They were coming straight for her. "Hey geek, you got lunch money?" Rowden inquired as he leaned towards Tess.  Tess just looked at the ground and replied "No, I brought my lunch today."  Then she felt a tremendous blow against her chest and she fell backwards onto the ground.  "Don't hold out on us, geek, or you'll regret it!" yelled Dina while she ripped Tess' bookbag from her shoulders.  She unzipped the bag and dumped all its contents onto the ground.  "I told you, I don't have any money!" cried Tess, "Please leave me alone!"  Dina threw the bookbag to the side and kicked Tess' books and papers into the street.  Rowden came face to face with Tess. "You better bring money tomorrow or we'll beat the crap out of you!" he said and then he and Dina walked off towards school.

Tess stood up and brushed off the mud from her skirt and sweater.  She gathered up her books and papers, placed them bag into her bookbag and continued her walk to school.  Rowden and Dina will be sure to let the others know of their "encounter" with her and she would have to face teasing and tormenting for the remainder of the school day.  She hated school. Why did her teachers allow the other kids to treat her like this? They weren't blind or deaf.  Tess was tired of being an outcast, the "geek" who had to endure being shoved into lockers, having books knocked out of her hands and kicked down the hall, and hateful thing written about her on the bathroom walls. Why didn't her mother listen to her when she told her why she didn't want to go to school?

Tess approached the main door and reached to pull it open as the bell rang.  Oh great! Now she was late and would have to stay after school in detention, 30 minutes in a room full of the same people that tormented her throughout the day.  Tess wished she could just turn around and walk away. . . to keep going until she found a place where she would be safe, where she could be happy.   She walked through the door of the school, sighing heavily.  She knew that place did not exist, at least not for her.