Red

Today, he wore red

And reflected the hue of his heart…

My mom, in her matching attire.

Their photo was clear

But his mind was not

And my heart felt the weight

Today, I wore red

It adorned my lips…

As a reflection of my parents’ love

And the button

Of the car seatbelt

Was Red… and the only way

Dad remembered how to

Unbuckle it and free

Himself from that which bound him

If only there was a red button

That when pushed

Would free his mind of this disease

The color Red

Has many shades…

Of Love and Sorrow.

Brilliance

I was probably a teenager when I began to realize just how intelligent my father was. Before that, he was just this amazing hugger, the man who held me above the ocean’s high waves, caught me in his arms when I jumped down the stairs in our house and loved me fiercely in so many ways that were seen each day. When I began to notice his intellect, I began to see just how high it was.

My dad could add columns of figures in his head. He had the ability and foresight (I would now even call it a prophetic gift) to look to the future and accurately “see” where different choices/paths would likely lead. People of all socio-economic, ethnic, religious and professional backgrounds came to my dad for his wise counsel and advice or for an authentic hug or honest deal on the furniture and floor coverings found in his family-owned business.

He was on numerous boards, councils, fund-raising groups, leadership teams, and pastoral search or deacon committees. He served as a leader or president of the Chamber of Commerce, the Lions Club, the Girls and Boys Homes of N.C., the State Merchant Association and more. 

In summary, my dad was brilliant, in the way a diamond is… there were so many facets to the man whose heart put God first, his family second and his work and community third. He considered a primary calling to be a steward of the resources he was given and gained through working six-days-a-week-for-40+-years of his life.

Growing up, it was an honor to be known in our community as Lionel Todd’s daughter. He was not perfect, but he was a man who lived a life of integrity and purpose to the degree that he took his multitudinous responsibilities more seriously than anyone else I knew.

Even today, after Todd Furniture Store is closed and Dad is not as actively involved in the community, I still hear stories of how my Dad helped that person, guided this project or gave of himself to this group or helped lead that effort. This was just the way my dad walked out his life led by his Lord.

Now, my father has Alzheimer’s and Vascular Dementia. The brain that could add up columns of numbers in his head often struggles to zip up his coat, put on his seatbelt, or remember details that give dimension to life. His thought processes are much simpler; his sentences aren’t often logical and his conversations are not frequently coherent. And there are more and more times when the diseases in his brain short-circuit his communication or suffocate his personality.

Therefore, is he still brilliant? Well, maybe not in the way he was. Yet, when I see him tell people he loves them or when a song or scripture moves him to tears or when he just reaches out and holds my hand while I’m driving or walking or just being with him during the days… then I realize he is manifesting a different kind of brilliance… that which is eternal and permeated by love… love from him and the love of God through and around him.

So now that I’m older and life with my dad is so much harder, how does it feel to be Lionel Todd’s daughter? Am I still proud to be the daughter of man who doesn’t always remember my name or where I live or what I do?

You. Better. Believe. It.

My Heavenly Father knew just who needed to be my earthly father. And nothing – not even the hellacious season that dementia dictates – will ever change the honor it is to be the daughter of my dad.

Fuchsia Pink Muffintop Moments

Today, I tried on the fuchsia pink lacy short dress my parents gifted me with for my recent birthday. As the great-granddaughter of a tailor-talented seamstress, I was wise enough to put on the  “right foundation garments.” (Y’know the best things to wear underneath your clothes to smooth out and “make the most of what you have.”) They helped. But they didn’t erase the extra curves I’ve acquired since I’ve come home to help care for my dad.

These days it is often true: I experience muffintop moments.

As a woman who’s always warred with her weight, well, at least since I was 11 or 12, I know - with a great deal of practice and intimacy - the ways my body loses weight… and gains it. I know that exercise helps my body and especially my brain…IF it’s exercise I enjoy, like dancing or late night walks.

I know these things, so I truly don’t really need anyone - no matter how authentically loving and “helpful” - to tell me more than once about a new way to get healthy or say: “If you would just do… such and such, you’d so and so…”  Now, I say “more than once,” because I am not closed off to people sharing things they think are important or helpful. However, I do have a decent intellect and recall, so I usually remember such things after being told once… and if I don’t, I’m definitely comfortable with asking questions or seeking reminders. For those who care and encourage and do not criticize (me or anyone)… may you have stars added to your crowns. J

I say all this because in this current season, I’ve realized losing weight is just not going to be the top priority. Therefore, while I don’t want to gain any more (but I may), I’m also striving not to get all uptight and bothered by the fact that my 42-year-old body doesn’t look like it did when I was a teenager, or the last time I lost significant amounts of weight (in 2008/9). And I’m certainly endeavoring not to let others’ differing perspectives, Hollywood’s definition of beauty – or my negative self talk – add weight where it’s most dangerous, in my heart and emotions and self-image.

Today, the pastor of my church spoke of how the Enemy (who, you know, has a job description that is to “steal, kill and destroy”) knows exactly when to tempt and to attack. My temptation, in this season, is to agree with his insidious criticism and/or to berate myself for not being what society oft’ says is preferred physically. As attacks go, it can do some damage.

But the truth is, grieving my dad’s Alzheimer’s, adjusting to a life that took a radical geographical and professional re-locate from where I thought I’d be after graduation, caring for my mom and helping other family members… and just living each day within the choices I’ve made to be “present” in this season… is enough for my mind and emotions to take on. Added denigrating mental trash to the mix, is just that – garbage.

Because part of being “present” in this season is to be ready at the drop of a hat to help my mom and to create adventures and opportunities for my dad during most afternoons and evenings. Many of those are food oriented. Tofu and carrot sticks don’t have the same Southern sensory relativity, as do waffles. He doesn’t respond well to random rides around town or to “Let’s go eat a salad,” the way he lights up when it’s “Let’s go to Waffle House” or “Hey, why don’t we have coffee at the local pastry shop?” or “Dad, you want some burger and fries?” Destinations matter, be they the library, the lake, or a local restaurant.

Now, I will always likely find it tempting to war with my body by mentally struggling with my physicality, regardless of my parents’ health or other circumstances around me. It seems to be a thorn that doesn’t get removed from my flesh, regardless of how I pray for and work towards its retraction. Like today, when I tried on the fuchsia lace dress, I noted that my tummy reminded me of my paternal grandmother’s, my face looked really round, and my unmentionables weren’t able to make all my imperfections magically disappear.

Then I decided to once again tell the Enemy “to go to Hell” (that’s his home anyway) and my own negative self-talk to cease and desist. And as for the echoes of others’ previous criticisms or the foreshadowing of future criticisms I may hear… I think I’ll just say, “Love you, but you can take your verbal and mental trash and shove it… into the landfill where it belongs.”

For you see, when I wear that lacy fuchsia pink dress and dance the night away in my oh-so-high wedged platform sandals that show off my gams, I’m going to be grateful I have a body that can move, a mind that can think, and a heart that can love… and well, my hips will just show one of the ways I do so…

That’s okay, cause that’s how I roll. J

Invisible Indelible Ink

The triple “I” of Alzheimer’s…. Today, I watched my father sign the checks for the business in which he and his dad and granddad have all played a part… first in furniture, now in mini-storage and real estate management. Each pay roll period, Dad still goes and signs the checks for those who are working within the family-owned and operated company with a foundation laid over 75 years ago.

Now, at 72-going-on-73-years old, my father – whose brain and body have been impacted by both Alzheimer’s and Vascular Dementia – pauses with his pen over each payroll recipient and looks at the typed out name of his business so he can remember how to sign his name: J. Lionel Todd.  The J. and the Lionel come relatively easy for each signature, but the Todd gives him a moment to remember and review how to write and spell it.

My heart aches... and struggles not to shatter.

I think I’m ‘okay’ with how God is allowing my beloved father to spend his last years on earth, and then something as simple (and yet not) as a signature has me fighting tears and swallowing hard over the lump in my throat and the one in my chest that seems to constrict my breathing.

So, I send up a prayer silently. I dig deep for the peace that only my Abba can give. And I realize that no matter what earthly ink tries to smudge across my emotions with its struggling signature… the ink that is indelible, yet invisible… is the ink of love that can never be erased from my heart.

It’s the love of my Heavenly Father and for my earthly father… it’s a love that is ever and always… without end.

Amen.

The Season ‘Tis

NOTE: This is the first time I’m writing about why my current life is “bi-coastal.” I haven’t wanted to write about it until now, because words on paper made it more concrete, and the day-to-day living of it was hard enough. But, it’s time to start taking the path of sharing what I believe many others have, or will, experience similarly. Silence is not always golden. Sometimes, it’s suffocating.

Though this path is not easy, often is not pretty, and seldom is not shadowed… it still is a path where I, and we, are not walking Alone. Even in the grey, God is there.

I’ll write more as the Spirit leads…

The Season ‘Tis

“Tis the season”… it makes you think of the holidays, yes? For me, this time in my life  – and in the life of my family – is not all about “jolly” and “fa-la-la-la-lah’s.” In fact, it’s a time when – while worshipping our Savior and remembering His birth – we mourn my daddy’s disease and remember the life he had… while ever adjusting to the life he – and we – now have in this season. 

My father has Alzheimer’s. He also has vascular dementia. One of those damned diseases is enough. Two of them just slam into his mind and our hearts like a freight train ready to wrought its destruction. When one who is beloved is besieged, there's such a plethora of emotions...

I remember the day the disease made its defined debut in my life: August 1, 2011. I had been looking at empty shelves and empty bank accounts for a good while and then had the provisional blessing of enough money to pay rent (and then some) arrive within days and hours of “rent being due.” I was about to deposit the funds into my financial dessert so I could buy groceries, textbooks and such… when the call came.

“The tests say, 'Dad has Alzheimer’s,'” my sister stated as she continued to read the reports gathered from finally getting Dad to take tests that would quantify all the qualitative changes we’d been seeing in him for a number of years. She continued to read, but I don’t remember the words. I just remember later sitting in the bank parking lot and sobbing.

Here I’d been so aware of how hard it was to have to live with no money, and I knew my father was likely destined to have to live with no memories. And I just wanted to throw things, roll back the clock, find a cure, curse at God and various and sundry other responses.

Yes, that’s right, curse at God. Me. A Seminary Student. On the path to ordination…. And I wanted to tell the Creator of the Universe where He could stuff it. If you wondered about all that lightning striking in the parking lot of the North Hollywood Ralph’s on a clear blue LA day… I caused it, with my authentic agony as Alzheimer’s got given its name in my family.

No, really, there was no lightning. And actually, even while the intense inner ache reverberated through my soul, I knew God knew I was not cursing at Him but at the reality that the world He created had such evil entities in it as Alzheimer’s and other types of dementia. (Later tests would show the frontal lobe of my dad’s brain impacted by vascular dementia as well.)

There’s much to say about the days and months that followed. When I graduated and after I was ordained, I didn’t stay in L.A. to develop the media and ministry interests I thought I’d take a year or two to pursue. Instead, I accepted the call to be in N.C. with my family and to help during this time of transition. It’s an honor and a privilege to be a part of caring for those who’ve cared for me so well and for so long. It’s my turn to give a small portion back from the large portion bestowed on me in love for all my life.

However, it’s also a season of pain within years of sorrow. There’s a beauty midst all the changes that my Dad and family are experiencing. A beauty that happens because God does redeem even the most awful ashes of the fires that burn through the brains and bodies of disease. You see, redemption doesn’t always come in cures….

It comes in just taking it day-by-day and trusting in the Divine and His promise that earth is not the end and restoration and eternity walk hand and hand. My family holds onto to that and other promises from our Triune God…

… even when the season… ‘tis One that breaks our hearts. 

Hidden in Dreams – Worth Seeking Out

I read every page.

Davis’ Bunn’s new novel, Hidden in Dreams, was the first book I read just for the joy of it in June … literally within an hour of finishing my five-year seminary season (earning an MDiv in Los Angeles). To many people, noting that you read every page of a book may not seem that significant, but to me, it represents the caliber of the content and the effective capturing of my attention because I relished every word.

You see, this is not often the case with me. I learned to read in kindergarten and by sixth grade (after several years sans a TV due to my father’s edict), I had become a voracious reader. I was perusing Reader’s Digest Condensed books in middle school and eating up anything lovely and literary on which I could feast my eyes and my emotions. There were some unfortunate side effects to what some might say was the edifying educational pursuit of near-constant reading… because not everything I read was “true, noble right…” (Phil. 4:8).

Bunn has long been one of my favorite authors. To a woman who has been known to read more than one book a day, yet who actually found herself with a unexpected aversion to reading during grad school -- his novels blend spiritual edification with romance and suspense; his superb character development is most often seasoned with intellectual savvy.

A NC native, and current resident of both Florida and England, Bunn is an author with a tremendously eclectic collection of genres. As a writer with future aspirations of being an author, I once found that a bit intimidating… how does he “do” all the different styles so well?!? Bunn has been especially effective in his books echoing his experience in the world of international finance, and which also include his own ever-growing walk of faith.

Hidden in Dreams is a book about the need for discernment. Yes, I know it’s about a group of people who are all having the same dream. Their sleep is disturbed by what seems to be a prophetic message, especially as it relates to the world’s banks and overall economy… but at its core, it’s about knowing the Creator God and affirming that the message you are hearing is truly from Him and not from some fraudulent “other.”

I’ve heard it said that the most effective tool of the Deceiver is to use a lotta truth and a little bit of  “lie.” I believe dreams can be prophetic because I believe Jesus as The Word is the same yesterday, today and forever (Hebrews 13:8) and if it happens in the Bible, it can happen today. However, I also believe that just as Bunn’s main character, Elena Burroughs - a psychologist, author and dream interpreter – had to learn to interact with divine discernment not only her mind, but her spirit and her siblings in Christ…we as humans need to acknowledge that just because something seems implausible doesn’t make it impossible.

We walk by faith, not by sight, says II Corinthians 5:7. What seems real may not be. And what seems far-fetched may be just the avenue God’s using to get us in alignment with His Will. In Bunn’s book, the question is: Which is it? Truth or Travesty? Divinity or Deceit?

For me, a former seminarian and recently ordained pastor who also writes and acts, I love when a book appeals to all the parts of me. Hidden in Dreams does that. It is a page-turner, a faith-builder, a mind-stimulator, a spirit-grower and an overall well-written book… which in my experience, is just the way Davis Bunn “does” his books. He’s not too heavy-handed with the faith component, but it shines throughout. I believe his books have an appeal for both believers and those who wonder if this whole “religion or relationship” thing needs to be investigated further.

I was given the book in advance (published by Howard Books, a division of Simon and Shuster), and I agreed to write a blog in response. But, I must be transparent. I would have wanted to tell you about this book and this author regardless. In a literary and textbook world where I learned to be an expert at skimming books or jumping to the ending after I read the beginning and before I decided if it was worth reading the middle… I reiterate this fact: I read every page of Hidden in Dreams… in consecutive order… while my eyes were burning from lack of sleep at the end of my arduous exam season and seminary life.

It was a gift to my brain to do so.

I think your brain would like it, too. Go on, give it the gift. J

Welcome to In the World With Wallyce

Greetings. It's a new season in my life, so at its advent, I'm starting a new blog... and as a lover of books, I think its quite apropos that my first actual blog will be about a book written by a first-rate author... enjoy! And expect more entries to come... #myeclecticlife. :)