Prayers for My Parish

In retrospect, it doesn’t really matter what I intended to write for today's column. The notes I had made during the week and the anecdotes lodged in my frontal lobe were shaken from their place of importance when my son Geoffrey and I sat down to watch the news early on the morning of August 16^th.  It was then we learned of the assault on four St. John the Baptist Parish deputies which resulted in the deaths of Brandon Nielsen and Jeremy Triche, and the hospitalization of injured deputies Michael Boyington and Jason Triche.

            The news jolted my community and almost every conversation I've engaged in since has included a reference to the tragedy. Sometimes, many times, I talk too much. Whether speaking to friends or praying to God, I use my ability to just go on and on filling up the empty spaces with more and more noise. The early morning shoot-out left even me at a loss for words. My heart still aches for the families and friends of the victims, for our Sheriff Mike Tregre and the men and women he leads, and for our parish as we grieve. And at times like this, my prayers become very, very simple and are most often whispers of 'help' amidst tears.

            I didn't need the command from 1 Timothy 2:1,2 to remind me to pray, but the timeless instruction found in those verses bears repeating: "I urge you, first of all, to pray for all people. Ask God to help them; intercede on their behalf, and give thanks for them.  Pray this way for kings and all who are in authority so that we can live peaceful and quiet lives marked by godliness and dignity."

            May our prayers for the victims, the families, and our law enforcement only increase.

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com

Olympics!

I'm not sure what I'm going to do when the Olympic games are over. I'm not even joking. In the short time since the opening ceremonies in London, my family has logged in many hours watching athletes compete for the Gold. The entertainment value of the games only dims when compared to my family's conversations during the events.

            The tension of a backstroke swimming race was shattered when Elise blurted out, "I can't believe we're all sitting around watching people swim backwards."

            When a member of the US gymnastics team stepped out of bounds during her floor exercise, our disappointment quickly turned to confusion as Lauren explained, "Those Chinese girls won't step on the line. They're Communists."

            Geoffrey, who remains quiet during the Olympics, and throughout life, was unimpressed as the announcers boasted of a rider in the Equestrian event. "So who gets the medal? The rider or the horse? The horse is doing all the work!"

            I managed to avoid the Olympic spoilers Geoffrey sought. He knew the results of most of the competitions before they were shown. Michael usually did, too, except for one day. It was the day Michael Phelps was swimming for his record-breaking 19^th Olympic medal. My husband asked that no one inform him of the results of the race beforehand. He spent the day without the news, radio, or internet. He should have just avoided Elise because she walked into the living room soon after the race started and said, "Is this the one he wins and breaks the record?" My family will never, ever, not in a billion years be allowed to work as sports commentators.

            I have an immense appreciation of these world class athletes, I thought as I finished off a bowl of ice cream after another gym-less day. I hold my breath when they swim, gasp when they fall, and lean forward as though my efforts will help them to cross the finish line victoriously. But although they are the best of the best, they are not perfect. While I anxiously await the judges' scoring of the performances, I thank God that He does not judge like the judges for the Olympics.

            It must be frustrating for the Olympic athletes to have trained so long and worked so hard, then judged on a performance of just a few minutes, or even seconds. I'm grateful that God is with me everyday, constantly aware of my actions, thoughts, and even my motives, then judges me accordingly. If I fall, I don't get a deduction like the gymnasts. I have the opportunity to get back up and go on, not even getting penalized if I ask for help.  The important thing is that I admit my mistake and try again. It isn't always easy to stay balanced on a narrow path, but with my God at my side, all things are possible. I also find such peace in knowing God will not choose only one winner. I am judged independently, therefore there is no need for me to compare myself to anyone else.

            What am I going to do when the Olympic flame is extinguished? I may not be sure of my life after the Olympics, but I am quite certain of life after death. In the words of 1 John 5:13, "I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God so that you may know that you have eternal life." We are all capable of winning the Gold. In fact, in Heaven, the streets we walk on will be paved with it.

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com

Elise's Moving Day. Take Five.

Elise is moving. Again. This is her fifth move in three years. I can't believe it, either, but her fourth year at Nicholls will be spent at yet another address.

            My daughter's packing style mimics my own. She sorts as she goes, verbalizing both her thoughts and actions. Although there to help, I spent a few minutes observing.

            "Where do I begin?" Elise began as she scanned her large bedroom. I was hoping she had a plan that was better than mine. Or at least more honest. I told her to put all the stuff by the side of the road, tell her Daddy she was robbed, and go shopping. Now, don't judge me just yet. If you had seen her room, you'd understand. It looked a little like a crime scene, and a lot like my sewing space when I'm in the middle of a project. I get it. School, work and friends leave little time for cleaning, hanging up clothes, and organizing. In the midst of this clothing chaos, a Scentsy warmer, prominently displayed on an otherwise crowded nightstand, filled the room with a sweet fragrance. I continued to watch the fifth episode of 'Elise's Moving Day.'

            "This is Victoria's. This is Victoria's. This, too," she repeated over and over as she handed me her sister's clothes. Items belonging to friends were placed in a plastic bag for later distribution. Suitcases and laundry baskets were filled with her things, and although we were far from finished in the bedroom, we moved to the kitchen. What was not thrown or given away was transported to the condo she'll be sharing with Nikki, her best friend. I was little surprised, but a lot more pleased as I watched her clean up to leave the house ready for the next tenants. (Or to get back her deposit, but please let me just believe she cleaned because it was the right thing to do.)

            If you've moved lately, you can relate. Maybe your residence has remained the same for decades, but it's likely you've still made a few moves to a new job, church, ministry, relationship, or a different season of life. Some moves we direct ourselves, many are beyond our control. Births, deaths, and other people's decisions often force changes we neither want nor welcome. It doesn't really matter. Moving and adjusting to new circumstances are part of the journey. My prayer is always for smooth transitions.

            I was a little sad about Elise moving from the larger than necessary house to a bedroom with half the space she's accustomed to. She's not. Elise is excited because she is looking at the benefits. She's moving forward and looking forward to this new chapter of her young life. When moving into a new area of life, I need to force myself to look at the positive changes.

            Elise sorted as she packed, throwing out what no longer works. Whether it's a broken hair straightener or a burnt pizza pan, unproductive methods or life-draining thoughts, only bring what you need to your next place.

            Stay flexible. To make the most of her new room, Elise's dresser will hold her TV, her desk will double as her nightstand, and her bookcase will be given to her niece, Adeline. Old relationships don't have to be discarded in new phases of life, but sometimes the nature of the friendship changes.

            And please remember to clean up. My goal is to leave every place a little better than it was when I got there. Thanks to Scentsy, Elise's old bedroom will smell fresh for a while after she's moved. May the essence of who we are linger long after we've left.

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com

A Picture's Worth

One month ago,  my husband's parents were alive. It's difficult to believe he lost both of them so quickly. An activity which has helped to ease the pain of losing two loved ones is looking through the boxes of photographs found in their home. So many memories were released as those boxes were opened. Pictures of my father-in-law in the Navy, snapshots from various weddings, stacks of photos of the grandchildren, and even a print of a younger me which very much resembles my daughter, Victoria. Poor child.

            Thirty years ago, you might have heard me say that I would always keep up with photo albums and carefully arrange pictures in chronological order. Raising five children has erased such fantasies. Having all of my boxes of pictures in one spot is my new goal. Lofty, but I think I can do it.

            In this imaginary spot in my home, I hope to include a family photo taken on Father's Day 2012. My oldest daughter, Monique, handed a camera to her husband, Frank, as she gathered us together for a family photo.

            "Frank should be in the picture, too," I told her as we found our places in the corner of the kitchen.

            "He's in enough pictures," she quickly said.

            Before I could respond, Frank was instructing us to "look at the camera. One, two, we're having a baby!" And with a few clicks of the lens, he captured our reactions to the wonderful news.

            We weren't even finished with our congratulations when Monique asked us to keep it a secret until she was further along in her pregnancy. The secret lasted less than a week. Monique walked into Paw Paw Michel's hospital room bearing bandages from her blood work and three failed attempts to locate a vein. Without hesitation, her Maw Maw looked at her and said, "You're pregnant." I wish I had a picture of that moment.

            In the absence of a photograph, this memory will have to be recorded in the journal I've yet to begin for this new addition to our family. Actually, I haven't even bought it, but I will. Soon. Even before I start rounding up my boxes of photos. And in this new baby's journal, I'll be sure to include several stories about his/her great-grandparents.

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com

Maw Maw Michel

Every week, I relate an episode of my life. I always imagine us sitting down with a cup of coffee and chatting for a few minutes. Silly, I know, but it's the way my mind works and I'm learning to embrace it. This morning, however, I find myself sharing something that, although factual, does not seem real. Since our last visit, my family, still raw from the death of my father-in-law, has buried my mother-in-law, Claire Michel.

            Prior to July 8^th, had you asked me about my in-laws, I would have described their role in my children's lives. You would have heard me mention walks on the levee, spaghetti and meatballs, feeding the hunting dogs, gumbo, trips to Taco Bell, cheesecake, and many, many other things, but you would never have heard me say, 'a real life love story.' Not that it wasn't true, but I never thought of them in that way. I guess they were too busy showing love, and didn't find it necessary to sit down and discuss it.

            Minutes after Monique was informed of the death of her MawMaw, she did a little Math and sent me this text: "MawMaw and PawPaw were married for 23,867 days and she only lived 16 days without him." She used that fact in her eulogy, which I'm sharing despite being able to contact her for permission. That's okay. I'm not sure she reads my column.

            "23,867 – that’s the number of days my PawPaw and MawMaw Michel – or as you may know them, Charlie and Claire – were married. 23,867. A couple of weeks ago we were in this same church for a very similar reason. My MawMaw sat on that second pew over there. She may have greeted you. I know she smiled at you if she saw you. She was much braver than I ever imagined she could be. She was strong for 16 whole days- her first 16 days alone in 65 years. And 16 days is a long time to live with half of your heart already in heaven.
            "My MawMaw was one of the most nurturing people that I’ve ever met. She truly just wanted everyone to be comfortable. She was always ready to serve…always ready to put other people’s needs first…and always ready to cook something up for you if you were hungry. Actually, she was always ready to cook something up for you even if you WEREN’T hungry.
            "Sunday night brought the kind of news that made my eyes immediately sting. It literally just took my breath away for a few seconds. It just hurt. But you know my very first thought was, she's been with PawPaw for hours. Because if she can't be here with us...then that's where she's supposed to be.
            "I don’t know how time works in heaven. I doubt that in eternity there’s a need for clocks or calendars. It gives me great comfort as I think that, although PawPaw was gone from earth for 16 days, he must have just started to look around heaven when he found his bride. 23,867 days were a whole lot to be married…but nothing compares to an eternity together…and that’s what they have now.
            "MawMaw’s life, including her marriage, proved that the greatest joys in life aren't by accumulating more stuff, by having the most glamorous jobs, or by taking the fanciest vacations, but by simply taking the hand of the person that you quite literally can't live without and holding onto the only thing that you can take with you...your relationships.
            "I MISS her. And I miss him. And I can't wait to get to Heaven and see them waving through the gate in the only way that they knew how...together."

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com

Emotional Theme Parks

I envy those who say they're on an emotional roller coaster. While vocalizing sincere empathy, I refrain from saying, "That's it? A roller coaster? I feel as though I'm stuck in the whole theme park!" In addition to the emotional ascents, then plummets of the roller coaster, do you ever feel like you're in a bumper car? Me, too. As much as you think it would feel good to strike back, it won't. Even on that silly amusement park ride, I feel guilty if I bump someone. While real life is rarely spent in one of those cars, it is lived around people, and some carelessly use words that hit and hurt. I use Psalm 141:3 as a prayer, "Set a guard over my mouth, O Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips." I also try to heed what I once read, "When you throw dirt, your hands get dirty and you lose ground." Then there's the Tilt-A-Whirl, which in my life translates as Tilt-Our-World. I would like to think my family is spontaneous and flexible, but who am I trying to fool? All I did was switch from red Solo cups to Styrofoam and everyone had something to say. "Well, this won't last," said one disgruntled family member. "I guess you didn't see the garage," laughed my sister Kay. "She bought a box of 500! We're stuck with them!" Only my youngest child, Victoria, approved. "That's the kind Karleigh's mom buys. I like them." Later that night, Kay returned for ice cream. Ice cream she had bought to keep at my house. "I think I'll put it in a Styrofoam cup tonight. We've got to use them." Geoff just laughed and said, "I think these will turn out okay." And, no. Disposable cups are not the only changes to which we're adjusting. This summer began the season of firsts and lasts in our household. Victoria is entering her final year of high school, and we have had her last Cheer camp, her last participation in Cheerleader mini-camp, and her last yearbook picture, an experience I may never be brave enough to write about. At the same time, we are just beginning with my granddaughter. Adeline's first milestones: her first smile, sitter, and Fourth of July have been documented. She may be able to roll over by now, but she'll have to escape from our arms to prove it. These firsts and lasts remind me of an experience on a carousel. It's a gentler ride, with ups and downs as certain as the circle it travels. And as we go round and round, it's always comforting to find that familiar face in the crowd, the parent, friend, or sister who keeps your freezer filled with ice cream, smiling and waving in support. I have no doubt we will meet the challenges of the future. We even survived Styrofoam cups! Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com

PawPaw's Eulogy by Lauren and Elise

Elise - I never thought this day would ever actually come. PawPaw was with us our whole lives and it's strange to be surrounded by so much of our family today, and not have him here. Lauren -We've spent the weekend telling favorite Paw Paw stories, and sorting through photographs, pausing with each one, to share our memories. When we would visit PawPaw, if we had a complaint, whether it was a stomach ache or a headache or a zit, Paw Paw would go to his medicine cabinet and find the remedy. He always wanted to make things better for us. Elise-I remember the long walks on the levee, picking up cans with a stick, and whining when we stopped walking and I realized how far we were away from home. I never thought I'd make it back, but PawPaw always made sure I did. Even if it isn't after one of those long walks, there's still something comforting about turning down E 19 St. I never knew what PawPaw was going to say. I walked into the kitchen last Thanksgiving and he immediately told me, "Elise, it looks like your boyfriend has been feeding you well." When we would compliment MawMaw's meals, he would quickly tell us that he was the one who spent hours cooking it. He once told my cousin that he was once a major league baseball player. But PawPaw never had to tease us about cooking or being in the major leagues to get our respect. He was our Hero just because we knew how much he loved us. Lauren- I'll never forget all of the Taco Bell he used to bring me on Saturday nights. It's still my favorite food group. I'll never forget his smile, or the last time I heard him tell me he loved me. I'll never forget watching him reaching for my MawMaw's hand. I'll never forget how I felt when I heard he died. I'll never forget my PawPaw. Elise- I'm so grateful for him teaching my dad how to love his wife, raise his kids, and support his family. He was a fighter and one of the best examples of what a true man is. I cannot even say how grateful I am to have spent the past 20 years with him. I love him forever. Lauren- It's strange to go to his house now and not see him It's been hard.. really hard. He would have loved to have been with us when we gathered together at his house-with his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren... and of course, his wife, but when I think about it, he WAS there… in the legacy he left behind. Without him, we wouldn't be here. I'm so thankful for my Paw-Paw, and I hope he has fun in Heaven because after dealing with me as a granddaughter, he deserves it