Posted on by Julie Deziel

What Does the Dash Say?


Oh my beautiful mother!  She was taken from us much to early and in a cruel way; ovarian cancer in 2008.  The day before she died I was blessed to give her a sponge bath in bed just as a new mother would give her newborn child one.  So slow and gentle and calming.  We had a special conversation that encompassed her never ending faith and the journey she was given in life.  I was still not able to accept her impending death.  She had.  She did not say, “Why me?” The Lord had walked beside her through the sickness and in every aspect of her life and knew she would be welcomed into Heaven by her Savior with open arms and her just reward would be received.  Mary Elizabeth Lunak 10/2/1943 – 6/29/2008.  She lived.  The dash says it all. 

I have paused to reflect many times over the last few months and thought about my own dash.  What will my dash look like on my stone?  Will it be somewhat curly assuming an up and down life leading to the date on the right side?  I realize the right hand date can come at any time.  Having a serious medical problem will do that to you.  I want to believe that the dash will say, “You have lived a good, prosperous life.” I though would beg to differ.  I have made a huge amount of mistakes over the years.  I would like to believe I would give up my right leg and arm to go back and change those mistakes.  But then again those mistakes are part of my journey and have been teaching moments and opportunities to grow from.  I like to think they aid in flattening out my dash and keep me on track from leaving that dash to appear like life was such a bumpy ride.  My dash shows me having survived 4 teenagers and a few moves.  It led me into emergency medical service jobs and an unfortunate car accident that left me unable to do the job thus pushing me into 911 dispatching.  After learning through some poor decisions in relationships I allowed myself to be truly loved by a man who stands true in his promises and loves me unconditionally.  My stone will hold two dashes to show our marriage dates.  That dash will have an exact date for one of us.  One of us will be alone to remember the other and all the memories we made and hold so close within our hearts. 

I have stood strong on my dash knowing who my Lord is just as my mother did and know when the right date comes I will also be greeted by my loving Father.  My dash may not tell my story to anyone walking by but those that know me may know parts of what my dash says.  I know my mother’s dash; her story.  What does your dash say?  Will your loved ones be able to tell your story one day and emulate with love that journey you took?  For me, I intend to live out my dash.  (By the end of year, Adair in the picture, who had a special relationship with her grandma, will add more love to my dash with the birth of her first child…how full of joy my mother would be holding Adair’s child).  

Posted on by Julie Deziel · 2 Comments

The Door is Open, Please Come In


I walked into your house today.  Yes, I was invited in from the moment I answered the phone but I certainly preferred not to be there.  You sat me down at the kitchen table and told me the most personal aspects of your life and your marriage,  I did not want to be caught up in so much drama.  Tonight you both have had a few too many alcoholic beverages and you have decided it was time to bring up every sin you believed your husband committed in your relationship.  These are things that should be kept between a husband and a wife.  Tonight, you as a couple could not talk it out and it became more than a talk and now you have asked me in.  I cannot unknow your story.  I see you when we are grocery shopping.  I will know you but you will have no clue it was me you let in and told all your secrets to. 

Tonight I listened to your screams and I screamed inside myself right alongside you as your loved one had just committed suicide.  I shook as I sent help to you knowing there was no hope as you had described the scene to me.  I was on your shoulder as you cried, “Why?” I walked around the house with you as you did simple things that occupied you so we could keep our minds off the horror of what had just happened in the bedroom.  Even though I was right there with you, there was nothing but my forced calm voice to attempt to bring you out of your hysteria.  We were sharing your absolute worst moment.  I was there for you but there was no one for me.  I had to go it alone.  You were going to be able to have family present to comfort you.  Surely you will not think of me but I will think of you for many years to come.

One very early morning you awoke and were forced to call me to tell me the love of your life was gone; peacefully finding eternal rest in his favorite chair in the living room.  You do not want me to hang up with you while you wait alone for those I have sent to you on your absolutely worst day.  You take me in and set me down on the couch beside you as you hold his hand and gently cry and tell me how much you love him.  I hear the story of how you met a strapping young man all those years ago at a county fair and how he has had your heart all these years and you ask how you will go on.  I ask about your children and grandchildren and hear about the immense love he had for them and the jokester that he was.  The responders are there and will soon enter your home but before they do I am witness to a very special kiss and a whispered, “I love you honey.  I love you so” as your quiet sobs are muffled against his cheeks and you leave your tears with him.  My tears are mixed with yours though you never saw them.

The ring of a phone and the simple line of “911, where is your emergency?” brings law enforcement, an ambulance or a fire department but it first brings a dispatcher, the true first responder, into your home, into your life, into incredibly personal moments.  You hang up.  You shut the door that you so willingly unknowingly had me walk through.  I was there for you; never leaving you alone in your time of need.  You more often than not will not think of me again…but from this moment though you do not leave me.

Posted on by Julie Deziel

Sing and Dance Me Out

What happens when you hear your favorite song on the radio?  Does it make you smile, reminisce, take a step back in time?  Does a quiet tear slide down your cheek remembering a lost love?  While I sat with my husband at a vocal jazz ensemble concert that our grandson was performing in I had each of those emotions.  My heart also swelled to see the immense amount of love he has for music, for you see music has played a significant role in my life since I was 5 years old.

I started taking piano lessons when I was 5 years old.  My mother made us all take lessons AND of course actually practice which I thoroughly enjoyed.  My piano teacher’s name was Ann Buckmiller.  She was a kind, patient teacher who did not incorporate the norm of having to memorize music for recitals but more taught the skill of being able to read music off the cuff.  Through that skill I was able to bring that to my many years of being a church organist, accompanist for various vocal and instrumental groups throughout the area, weddings, funerals, and as a choir director.  I started playing flute when I was in 5th grade, taught myself to play a little trumpet, took guitar lessons, and now learning to play violin.  

A road trip or a simple drive home from work and hearing that “one song” can bring me back to a specific time in life or even to an exact moment or a special person.  I can hear “Hold the Line” by Toto and instantly be transported back to high school and cruising Main Street in Fertile or hearing Garth Brooks’ “Friends In Low Places” and picturing one of my best friends, Sean Weibel standing on the stage at Rooters (now known as Crooks Club) belting it out with his witty smile and unique Sawyer Brown moves.  It could be Michael W. Smith and “Breathe” which I have the first line of the treble score tattooed on my right leg.  I hold a Heart song extremely close to my heart that simply is tucked away with a very special smile when heard.  

I have found that music will trigger memories that I had simply lost (and my grandson is happy to let me know that is called, “Short-term memory loss, Gramma.”). But we also know that music is good for our well-being also.  It can aid in stressful situations, help in healing, and reduce pain.  It is simply good for our body, mind, and soul.  Oftentimes you will find me cruising down Highway 102 and County 41 with my Bose stereo cranked rather loud listening to Ozzy’s Boneyard or Hair Nation dodging the deer.  This allows for release of what I heard, cried over, laughed about, and was frustrated over during my 10-hour shift as a 911 dispatcher before I walk through my back door of my house. The loud music with pounding bass gives me peace; oh how ironic.

The strands of the love and talent of music continues to be weaved through our family that I know stemmed from my great-grandfather Viker and now seeded deep within the grandchildren.  My heart is warmed through the vocal and instrumental concerts at their schools and the little concerts at a family gathering.  As for me, I will quietly play my piano which gives me peace and brings back special memories of a time when my children were little sitting next to me on the bench as we played a “duet.” I will blast “Crazy Train” on my way to work and Five Finger Death Punch and Motörhead on the way to the races.  As  I am escorted on my way to heaven, music will play an important part of the service.  Of course there will be the necessary “normal” Christian music but I cannot leave it there.  A funeral is a celebration and I know that music brings joy.  So on that “note” my family knows my wishes so there is  request from them to have one particular song to be played.  Sing and dance me out to AC/DC “You Shook Me All Night Long.”   Turn it up, turn it up very loud and dance as if no one is looking!  

Posted on by Julie Deziel

Hold On. It’s the Phone . I Better Get It.

How many times does your cellphone ring a day in which you can simply hit the “ignore” button?  How many times does your office phone ring and you are able to look at the caller ID and say to yourself, “No, I will call them back later when I am back from my morning meeting.” At times it is a blessing to be able to just pick and choose which calls to answer.  I would be correct that most often the ones chosen would be the ones that come from your best friend, your mother or significant other and they may each leave you feeling good when you hang up; more often than not you are smiling or laughing at some point during your conversation. Imagine answering phone calls that brings at most times a high level of stress every time you answer that special ring; that ring that sounds like a siren to alert you that this is a special call.  A phone call from someone experiencing one of the worst moments in their life.  I do not have the option to ignore that call.  I do not have the option to call that number back after my lunch break.  I must answer that call as I am 911.

I go to work.  I walk through the back door after swiping my card and enter the building.  I swipe my card once again, take a deep breath and cross the threshold and listen to the room to get a feel for what my shift may entail.  I am in the 911 dispatch center.  I go to my locker and smile as I look at a picture of my granddaughter Harper Grace held there by a butterfly magnet.  I hang up my coat and put my food in my cupboard and fridge and take my mouse pad that has a picture of sweet Juliana as Little Miss Thief River Falls, my special pen, and my headset and I walk around the corner into the center and see where I will be spending the next 10 hours where I will orchestrate the activities throughout the county.

One aspect to this unique job is that it no day is the same and for the most part I thrive on that.  A dispatcher may simply take phone calls mainly dealing with property crimes and dependent upon which officers are manning the many miles of the county and city streets, take on many traffic stops.  Most days bring an ambulance page for an unfortunate family having a loved one facing a medical emergency and then there are the “regulars” that can bring a smile or an occasional eye roll.  Myself and any other dispatcher simply cannot ignore the ringing phone and have no clue what is coming with those rings.  It was recently that the phone sent a siren out signaling a 911 call and before I could even get the words “911, where is your emergency?” out I knew this was a call that would impact me.  Not necessarily in the same manner the caller was impacted but certainly would haunt me.  Her pain and agony could not be dismissed through the screams.  My own pain was difficult to hold in.  It brought forth foreign feelings that I did not know how to handle.  I have had difficult calls in my 19 year career previously that were difficult and similar in nature and did, unfortunately, awake these same types of feelings.  For the first time ever I could admit that the “struggle is real.”  The things that dispatcher “hears” are entirely guttural and agonizing.  Those calls do not go away as a property accident does.  It plays over and over.  In my mind I paint a picture of what is occurring or did occurr. I disconnect from that sad, difficult call and take a walk to get myself together as this night I am lucky enough to not be working alone as most often we do.  Those 10 quiet minutes alone are a blessing. I am 25 minutes away from the difficult call and 911 is ringing again for a plane that had to do a emergency landing which sends the center into high gear.  There has been no true time to deal with the difficult situation and now we are in hyper mode.  Andrenaline is at a high level.  All I ask for is a moment to catch my breath. But for now I cannot do that and I move through the chaos.  Hold on a second, its the phone. I better get it.

Life as a dispatcher…one phone call away from life changing; not just for the person calling but for the one picking it up, “911, where is your emergency?”  

Posted on by Julie Deziel

Stand Tall Dad


I gaze out from the living room window and see the cold January wind blow the fresh snow across the field.  The fresh snow that had fallen so silently the night before and settled upon the ground and left a carpet of white is now on the move into the brush along the lake shore and into the trees along the edge of our property.  The beauty of that snow did not last long as now it is drifting across the driveway and roadways and creating challenges in life.  Peeking from the snow I am able to see an occasional left over stalk from a plant fighting that wind to ensure they are not victim to its strength and become lost from its home throughout its growing season. 

The stalk standing strong against the wind reminds me of my dad.  He married my mother in 1968 and adopted my brother and I in 1974.  There was never any doubt that he was our dad.  He loved us as he loved our sisters born during their marriage.  He worked hard to give us everything we needed and have the fun stuff also.  We snowmobiled, went camping, and even had a little motorcycle that I unfortunately could never master.  I had my own car that he taught me to drive and worried about me when I was out late.  He rarely yelled and he often laughed.  He loved my mother with all his heart.  He was a strong man and could battle most any storm that life blew his way.  He was always able to take them in stride.  He was able to find a way to fix many things; most often with duct tape.  He is a good man.  I remember him like that.  My siblings remember him like that.  Some of his grandchildren even remember him like that also.  Sadly he does not remember who he is any longer.  He is the face of Alzheimer’s. 

He is the stalk left standing in the snow and lost as to what is happening around him.  Things change around him but he does not know why.  Things pass by him and he does not know what they are but he still stands tall.  Just as the wind and snow try to blow the stalk over, Alzheimer’s tries to do the same to him and in a way it has but we who love him so do not let the storms overtake him as we still know him from the inside.  We know his laughter from his silly jokes and his love of black licorice and Snickers.  We know his passion for golf.  We know his heart.  

So stand tall Dad.  You may not remember you but we could never forget you and we love you so.

Posted on by Julie Deziel

An Empty Chair


The kitchen has bright yellow walls and pristine white curtains.  In the center of the room sits a large table with cushioned seats on enough chairs to sit many guests for coffee.  There is a plate of molasses cookies with thick white frosting that were just retrieved from the freezer where they were stored for just this day.  The sun shines through the west windows and creates a room filled with much warmth.  The true rays of sunshine though come from those that sit around the table; a mother, a daughter, a grandmother and a great-granddaughter along with chatter from the living room where the men have taken their respective spots and are sitting and talking about their workweek with the smell of a pipe wafting into the kitchen.

That kitchen is one of my most early memories of family gathering around a table.  I could not help but feel so big and special sitting there with my loved ones as I listened to the women’s stories while eating the best cookie ever.  I was twelve years old when my great-mother Julia passed away and joined my great-grandpa Oscar in heaven.  This ended the time in that warm yellow kitchen even though it had been some time prior since she had entered the nursing home.  This solidified the fact I would not sit with her eating molasses cookies again or around a big table with them and the rest of the family on a Thanksgiving day.  There was an empty chair for a simple morning brunch forever.  Over time more of the chairs around the table very sadly became empty.  The family gatherings went on and the chairs were filled by a young child who had grown up to an age to sit at the big table but the presence of each of those special people that are so loved were and are missed immensely and the emptiness was felt through the memory of a special laugh, luscious pie or thoughtful gift that is cherished and holds a place of honor in the china hutch.  

Along with the clock life moves on.  As I built my own family new traditions and chairs around my table were filled as was my heart with much joy and love.  It was an extra bonus to bring in extended family where we would need additional chairs which was so heartwarming.  I anticipated that one day  my children as adults would gather around it at times when my movements were somewhat slower and some additional wrinkles in my face.  I love the picture in which it would is myself, my daughter, her daughter, and God-willing a great-granddaughter. There may not be molasses cookies but I can provide them with much laughter, freezies, and an occasional caramel roll.  

As my children have aged and have their own families it is not so easy to fill the chairs.  Often times a chair or two is empty now due to the children being too small to sit in them.  Now as they build their own memories with their families and significant other’s families or grandchildren visitation schedules, I am now watching more and more of the chairs becoming empty.  I can only believe that my Grandmother Julia felt that way at a point in life during holiday gatherings as they slowly became a little more lonely each year.  So in my wanting to watch my chldren embrace their new traditions which feels good, it has brought up those feelings I believe each of my grandmother’s and mother felt.  That is what I have always wanted for my children; to build their traditions and I am extremely warmed to that fact.  

One day I will watch from afar cherishing and laughing along with them and wondering when each of the grandchildren grew up so fast.  That day I will be the empty chair.

Posted on by Julie Deziel

A Life That Is


On the days following my mother’s death I remember hearing the classic phrases such as, “She’s in a better place,” “What a blessing that she is no longer in pain,” and “She was such as wonderful person.”  Yes it was a blessing that she was no longer suffering from the cancer that overtook her body and who could deny the fact that she was in a better place; heaven.  She so looked forward to her eternal gift of being a faithful servant and being with her loved ones, especially her mother.  So it was not so difficult to hear those words from those who tried their very best to comfort her loved ones who felt so lost and alone in those days following her death.  The phrase, “She was such a wonderful person” though would strike something deep inside me.

From October 1943-June 2008 my mother lived a life.  She was alive.  She raised 4 children, loved her husband, and worked in nursing for many years.  She  was able to take a different path in her work life by taking a job as a church secretary.  She welcomed 12 grandchildren into the fold and was able to extend her love even more to two great-grandchildren who meant the world to her.  She lived a life where she gave much love and was loved immensely.  On a sunny Sunday June morning at approximately 7:05 a.m. she gracefully slipped into eternal slumber.  On June 28th she was living and on Jun 29th she was dead.  We would never hear her sweet voice, never feel her mom hugs again, and never see that most precious smile again.  Yes that wonderful person was no longer living on this earth.  We then started to hear others talking about her in the past tense and the classic phrases of comfort; more often than not using the word “was.”  Did it have to start that day where she became  “was?”

As that faithful servant she was she knew the reward of eternal life with our Maker.  She knew that her life would continue serving Him in heaven.  We know that our life does not stop once our physical life here on earth ends if we have faith and believe.  Due to the fact that we no longer can see them and their hearts no longer beat it is easy to say, “She was a beautiful person.”  We revel though in the fact that each of their lives are still alive even in death.  What a fantastic concept that are reflected with the words of “they are not a life that was, but a life that is.”

Posted on by Julie Deziel · 1 Comment

Hold On and Hold Fast

I took a look at my hands the other day and realized the age in them.  They look similar to what I remember my moms looked like.  The suppleness is starting to disappear. Elasticity has waned.  Fine lines have settled in.  I have been blessed not to have arthritis within the joints but after a long shift within the 911 dispatch center they are tired.  My hands have loved 4 beautiful children and welcomed 11 grandchildren into the world and held them so close and whispered into their ears how very much they are loved.  I have played many years of piano and led many worship services on the organ.  I have played beautiful songs on the flute and am slowly teaching myself violin.  I have stirred, whipped, beat, rolled out many dinners and desserts for my cherished Christmas gatherings.  My hands held my mother’s hand as prepared for her quiet and graceful journey to heaven. I have wiped many tears away in times of sadness but also in times of pure joy.  My hands have served me well. 

It is not uncommon as a mother to take hold of their youngster at a crosswalk and say, “Hold my hand.  We are crossing the road.”  The little one reaches up and takes hold of their mother’s hand and begin their walk to the other side of the road.  The little one felt safe entering the crosswalk and mom certainly wanted to enstill that concept. That is our job as a parent  from the moment of their birth until our death ensuring their safety or lessening their fears.  This is simply accomplished through the holding of them close as a baby, taking their hand as they walk into the elementary school for their first day of kindergarten or sitting beside them as they learn to drive.  As they grow we slowly let go of our tight hold and watch as they start grasping the hand of their friends and we see them skipping and running into life with a smile on our face knowing that we still hold them close within our heart.  We watch with trepidation as they embark on their first love with hands held tight with a teenage crush that will lead to that ever special first kiss and onto that first love.  

Then we as a young couple stands at the altar facing that one very special person we plan on spending the rest of our lives with we reach for each other’s hand and look lovingly into each other’s eyes and say our vows.  We place a ring on their hand that symbolizes our undying love that has no beginning and end.  The pastor raises his hand above us as a married couple and blesses us and the congregation claps their hands. As a young married couple we walk down the aisle out into the future hand in hand.  Through this ceremony alone the hands symbolize a significant amount of dedication and love.

So much is gained from a hand that is held and we can feel that nothing bad can happen but that would be living life with rose-colored glasses on.  Life lays much within our hands that must be dealt with; good and bad.  As Mercy Me sings through their song “Hold Fast”, the words resonate melodically how taking hold of our Lord’s hand and His word will aid us during those most difficult times.  They sing, “Hold fast help is on the way. Hold fast He’s come to save the day. What I’ve learned in my life, one thing greater than my strife in His grasp so hold fast.” It is difficult to turn to our loved ones when we struggle and hold on tight.  It can be during those times that we seem to let go, almost easier to let go than simply hold on tighter. 

We all need a hand to hold onto no matter what point of life we are in; a new mom bringing a new life into the world, a little child learning to skate on the new ice on a sunny winter’s day, an elderly woman facing an ovarian cancer diagnosis.  A hand offers so much to one person; friendship, peace, safety, strength and unwavering love.  Simply close your eyes as your loved one interlaces their fingers with yours or simply lays their hand on yours. Simply hold on and hold fast to the hand that may be needing the exact feeling you are receiving. 

Posted on by Julie Deziel

Looks Are Deceiving

Autumn is nearing its end.  Most leaves have left their perch on the tree and blown across the yard.  The sun has moved across the horizon along with an earlier setting time each day leading to long shadows across the lawn.  The fields have given up their crop and now lay wide open awaiting the first freeze of season.  The wind brings an ominous howl warning us to be prepared that winter is just around the corner.  Through the ugliness of the end of autumn will bring the beauty of winter through the snow coming down against the moonlight and the crisp sound of the boots on the fresh fallen snow.  

I am a shy person.  There are many people that would look at me, laugh and say, “Yah, right!” I hid in the shadows throughout my school years and was not noticed by many.  Social situations throughout my life created significant anxiety that at times have left me trembling or caused me to say no to many invitations.  I blush fiercely and many have found much humor in it and I joked my way around it by saying, “It’s my intelligence shining through.” My insides at times can feel the same ugliness that the end autumn can bring but there is so much more to me than my shyness, my social anxiety and my blushing. 

As I aged I have learned to work through some of the tougher aspects of those ugly points.  There is much beauty within my life through my children and grandchildren.  I am at a point in my life that I no longer want to allow drama in life to consume me.  I have a handful of close friends and a few work friends.  My husband is my best friend.  I am a very simple person.  I am not one to feel the need for 1,000 friends on Facebook nor do I want to be sitting in the bar every weekend or socializing with the neighbors or co-workers every weekend. I excel at my job and am proud of what I have accomplished in my line of work.  I, as most, have my weaknesses.  A few of those include being passionate when it involves my job, extremely self-critical, and emotional. This past week I had a reality check of how cruel our world can be that shook me to my core. Who I am and how I present myself seems to be an issue with some people.  Me, who I am.  

My mother taught us to always be kind and I have always tried my hardest to live up to her expectations.  I will show my kindness with a simple hello or a smile but with my shyness it at times is difficult to move beyond those things.  That can cause others to see me as unwelcoming.  I am uncomfortable with new people and do not know how to start conversations very well so that leads me to being quiet and leaves others not knowing how to take me.  I am now presented with the dilemma of facing the challenge of having to move into a realm of changing how I present who I am.  The mask I may have worn in the past now has to be dusted off and placed back on.  The comfort behind the mask may be familiar but feels like how the cold, barren tree looks; ugly.

The tree stands there looking ghastly with its barren branches; cold, worn and old which it is.  You could imagine that the tree would lay dark, long shadows.  It certainly does not look as if you would want to put up a tree swing and hear the giggle of children enjoying a beautiful summer day.  The day this picture was taken though the sun was shining with a temperature of 65 degrees.  The lake behind the tree was showing its blue colors as a light breeze caught a few remaining leaves on nearby trees.  The sun was beginning to come down in the western skies and left a gold glow along the top of the trees and let the green grass shine like a blanket waiting for a family to put out their picnic basket.  We live in a world where when you are not known you are judged on your appearance.  Just as the picture of the tree has a mask applied, many of us including me now live behind a mask showing a false presentation to give a more positive appearance for those around us so they feel comfortable.  First appearance would show me as simple and quiet and maybe not so welcoming as I shy away from someone I do not know.  Once you know me though I am funny (at least I think I am), intelligent, caring and kind.  Each of us is who we are and no one person has the right to make us feel that who we are is not acceptable unless it is harmful to another.  We should not have to hide in the shadows to fit into any environment or have another say that you are not accepted just as you are.  Right?  “Was I not a good person before?”  “How do I now change to fit into your world?” 

Had you not known the beauty of the true picture you would have most likely judged it on its appearance as the color was taken away.  I purposely deceived you.  I hid the beauty from you.  As for those of us that wear a mask, our true beauty lies beneath the mask; behind the shadows.  The right people will look and find our true colors and be most accepting.  The others…well does it matter?

Posted on by Julie Deziel

The River’s Journey 


A river takes a journey, quite a journey.  It is a journey of rises and falls, twists and turns, with little streams feeding it and through smalls channels feeding it into a much larger and stronger river. There are bends that come up where the unknown lies beyond.  Much life lies within that river but also much can lost within it.  To me a river can mimic a friendship.

I have been blessed to experience the joy and wonder of many friendships throughout my life.  As an elementary student they consisted of small neighborhood kids feeding and molding what friendship looks like.  For the most part those friendships were a simple game of tag. riding our bikes together, carefree and at times wild but never stretching our wings too far from home.  High school brought me into different channels with a new school and new friends that I hold dear to my heart to this day. We had fun; a lot of fun.  I at times hid my vulnerabilities behind their confidences and I want to believe that is what made us the friends that we are.  We had the same likes and dislikes be it boys, music, and really what else is there in high school to dwell on?  As life moved on and more adult relationships evolved and children came into my life there were not as many opportunities to explore those adult relationships as deep as I would have liked.  Those children’s needs, work, and housework all called my name.  Days (and nights) were chaotic and the currents of the friendships or lack of at times seemed to pull me under.  It seemed that many days I thought the only friend I had was in the form of a little blonde child who never left my side.  I was starved at times for adult conversation and was richly blessed to be able to call my mother and grandmother both my friend and they were actively in my life to which I could lean on them for friendship and find some calm.  As the children grew older and more independent I was able to once again look to build relationships with some special people that remain so very close to my heart to this day and found my head above water and floating peacefully along with the current.

As a river at times have rapids, friendships gothrough tumultuous times.  There unfortunately have been friendships in my life that simply have run their course and I miss those people immensely.  They served a purpose and I am thankful for the time I had them in my life.  I am a firm believer that the Lord brings everyone into our lives for a reason, most often for those lessons learned.  As I have gotten older though I have learned that I do not need to have an immense amount of friends or 1,000 Facebook friends.  The ones that hold me as close to their heart as I them and the few that I can travel along the river of life peacefully and know they have my hand when I need to be assisted through the rough waters of the river of life is what is most important now.  So as I look at this picture of the river I see the friendships that have flowed along just as they have in my life.  There are some that did not get in the water but remained on the banks and cheered me on.  The paths of the rivers were not always straight and we entered some unknowns with winding curves and hit some big rocks that rocked us to our cores. Often we had to adapt to the ever-changing current and bends along the way which simply brought strength and at times a new chapter in my life and the life of my friend.

What is your goal in any friendship that you may have? Are your friendships genuine and important enough that you open your heart to them willingly?  The river has one goal and that is to make it to the sea.  If you look at any river’s path to the sea you see it’s not straight; it has quite a journey to get there.  Any relationship each of us takes on in life is just as tough and certainly full of strong currents pulling you in every direction and a bend that leads to an unknown.  I know that in any of my friendships it would be my aspiration to have made a strong impact that when I was to leave this earth my friends would still look to me as a friend, one that they hold close for a lifetime.  I would have reached my goal; such as the river having made it to the sea.

Posted on by Julie Deziel

A Chance Meeting


October 12, 1995 was a sunny fall morning.  It started as any other morning.  The children headed off to school on the bus and Paul and I hopped in the car for school; “Seatbelts, Norman, seatbelts.” Who could imagine that a mile and a half down the road there would be a chance meeting between three people?  How would I know that in just a few minutes life as I know it would change in a chance meeting of a Honda Accord and a farm truck?  A chance meeting that would bring me to so many different realms within myself and beyond in my life.

How many times in life have we each forgotten something and had to run back into the house or took a wrong turn?  It could simply be that life is just so busy that we cannot get it together or maybe just maybe, if we are one to believe in it, it could be “divine intervention.” When that meeting of those two vehicles occurred, those three people met, what happened that morning bringing them to meet at that exact moment.  As the driver went around the truck and checked it out, if he would have went around one more time our car would have been through the intersection and would have moved through the day as any other day.  The truck driver would have continued on with his day and would not have had to live with memories of the accident from that day forward.  What are the chances that we were to meet that day?  Did God lay it out specifically the way it happened so I could have a chance to see what lies ahead?

I was blessed to not remember the accident.  What I do remember is driving down the road with my son and talking and singing with him and then waking up laying up across the seats of the car with him patting me on the head saying, “Mommy, Mommy.” Between that time I experienced another realm of life.  I was given an opportunity to know what’s beyond the stars; what is beyond the end of our lives.  I was not given the 90 minutes in heaven or given a chance to have all the unknowns answered.  As I now sit next to my fireplace and feel the warmth from it, it cannot even begin to warm me as much as that moment did.  The warmth I felt can only be described as being hugged from the inside out.  I did not see a light at the end of a tunnel.  I did observe a color though; a magnificent yellow.  There is only one word for it…indescribable. I have spent 21 years searching for that color in paint palettes, magazines, pictures, and in the sky.  I have simply come to the conclusion that it will not be found until I reach heaven.  I did not speak or see anyone but felt the presence of another; a loved one.  I felt them touching my shoulder in such a the manner to lead me back to my life.  What I felt though was a feeling of no regret.  I had no desire to return to my life on earth; that that present was where I wanted to stay.  The overwhelming sense of calm and peace is continually sought still today and so anticipated.

Our chance meeting was not by chance.  Even though the accident brought significant amounts of pain, many surgeries, a scarred body and having to give up a job I loved it enabled to enter a branch in my career path that still allows me to aid others just not in the way I was doing it.  I lost my independence for a period of time but in a roundabout way I gained strength and self-worth.  Most importantly the question of “is there life after death?” was answered that strengthened my faith more intensely that allows me to reach for it when it feigns at low points in my life.

A chance meeting?  I think not but more of a gift; a gift from above.