Fall has come upon us and with that the start of a busier season at the bridal shop. We are now open on Sundays, a very smart business move, because we have been very busy.
I've been trudging along steadily in my rehab of sorts, accepting appointments with more willingness and patience. I've done okay despite some challenging brides testing my tolerance level.
Back in September, I worked with a bride who spent the entire appointment texting on her phone. At least while she was in the fitting room with me. In a small fitting room, made smaller by all the "poofy" wedding gowns she wanted to try on. And in a small room with no circulating air, so it was warm which made me sweaty.
So there I was, in this rather small space, door shut, big dresses everywhere, no air, sweat dripping down my nose as I laced, zipped and buttoned this distracted bride-to-be into gown after gown. She would lift her head from her phone to pull her hair up for me or to glance at herself in the mirror, once the gown was on, to offer her (non-expressive) opinion.
Now, one thing I must tell you; if I was at my "real" job, as an RN, I would have words with this chick or any patient who was too busy on their phone to engage in conversation with me. Your time may be valuable, but so is mine, as well as the other patients that are entrusted to me. You can talk/text to whomever you want, just not when I need to work with you.
It may sound like a "power" trip, but it's not. There are just certain things that have to get done as soon as possible, in a medical setting, and those things trump some one's need to be on the phone. Nurses just can't keep coming back to a patient, to check if that patient is available yet. Time and the law don't allow for that.
In a bridal shop setting, however, being an assertive RN, doesn't make for a good appointment or for happy owners. There were several better ways to handle (delicately and tastefully) this dis-engaged bride, but I took the most non-confrontational route and didn't make the phone an issue.
For one thing, I simply chose not to make it an issue...she still was a client (with a rather big budget) and I didn't want to make the appointment any worse by pointing out her rather rude behavior.
Secondly, I was having a hard time remaining professional with all the sweat dripping off my face from the close quarters in which I was working. Thank God she had her face down to her phone so she didn't see me literally wiping the sweat onto my sleeves. Thank God I had a busy print on, to hide the make-up smudges.
And thank God that I remembered to use deoderant that day.
What was more remarkable was that even after probably the most awkward appointment I've ever had, I was able to find a dress that she liked. Although she didn't buy that day, she did bring her mom back a week later and bought the dress. Not only did she buy a $1600 gown, but she told the owners that she really enjoyed working with me!
There is a saying that Christians share with others, to comfort them. They say "What Satan meant for bad, God will use for good."
It's a paraphrase of Genesis 50:20; "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives."
Christians take from Romans 8:28 as well: "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
This past summer, my husband and I witnessed the power of those verses played out in a wedding ceremony that shouldn't have happened. And one to which we should have never have been invited.
Let me explain. The bride involved was not a bride from our shop but rather, like my daughter, an unfortunate victim of sexual abuse by the same man.
Prior to the start of the investigation that led to this man's arrest, this girl's family and ours went way back, connected by the mutual "friendship" with the man's family. Although the families got together from time to time, our two families never really associated together without the other couple.
We discovered, during the police investigation, that the couple had managed over the years, to keep all of the couples (involved with the case) from associating with each other separately, by telling lies and half-truths (about each of us) to the other couples. We had tolerated one another for the sake of the kids.
When our family and this girl's family were thrust together into the same nightmare, something unexpected happened. It wasn't "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" kind of reaction, but rather the realization that what we had believed about each other for so long, had been wrong.
There grew to be mutual understanding and support for each other as (together) we dealt with the humiliation and embarrassment of being deceived by two people whom we trusted.
Over the course of the four years since the investigation, the silence that had been created between this girl's family and our family had been replaced by the chatter of frequent phone calls and text messages to see how each other was doing.
Then it came...the invitation requesting our presence at the wedding ceremony of the couple's beloved daughter.
The very same daughter who, at the sentencing hearing of the man who molested her, was just a tiny shell of a human being, with no light in her eyes. We all cried in that courtroom as this girl, through her tears, told the judge how she didn't want to live anymore.
Now, this same girl, who four years ago, had to break-up with her boyfriend because she couldn't stand to be touched, had come far enough in her recovery to let love in again.
So there Cliff and I were, guests at a wedding that shouldn't have been, had the devil won.
Rather, there we were, eating and laughing with the bride's parents, hugging and wishing the newlyweds all the best in the world...and knowing that the only tears shed that day were happy tears.
The last two blogs kind of zapped my energy so I took a break, sorry.
I will say that once I pinpointed the issue of my bridal-associate funk and got it out in the open for me to see and finally deal with, I felt much better about work. Even though work had nothing to do with the problem, it was effected by it.
I'm not going to speak of the Jerry Sandusky/Penn State scandal anymore except to say that the chaos that has followed is what happens when human beings choose not to do the right thing. Innocent people get hurt. Everyone suffers the consequences.
OK, enough of that. Work at the bridal shop seemed to have new life in it as my lack of motivation dissipated and I found myself in a better mood with an actual desire to work with people again.
The lucky bride to encounter this newly restored attitude was a bride on a very limited budget. And a limited time schedule as there were cupcakes in the back of her car and it was July.
Although she was very big-chested, the rest of her was tiny. In addition, the dress that she really loved had several layers of chiffon softly draped down over the chest. The rest of the dress was plain chiffon and she just looked like an inverted triangle.
Now I should have been more of an advocate for another style, since this particular pattern made her look even wider at the widest part of her. But she was so in love with it, I didn't push the issue because there wasn't really time to do so.
I did get the chance to steer her in a better direction when she made another appointment two months later, and requested that I work with her. She had really appreciated the time I spent with her.
(I bet that was God arranging the whole thing any way, to get me back on track, being among people, and not hiding from them.) He was throwing me a bone.
We revisited the same dress again, but I did encourage her to try on different styles, to give her a chance to see herself in other simple, yet elegant dresses within her budget.
I put her in a classic bridesmaid dress (they all come in white or ivory and will save any bride tons of money) in which the bodice crissed-crossed below a slightly plunged neckline. What a difference a v-neckline and some ruching makes on a well-endowed woman! Oo-la la!
She liked the look, but kept coming back to the very first one. At this point, when the client seems set on dress, I'll have one of the owners come in to see if she can offer any suggestions on how to make the dress better for the bride, if it can be done. The owners have way more authority with the brides than I do!
Of course, the owner simply came out and told the bride that the draping on the first dress made her appear "wider," which was the truth. I kept that fact to myself because she loved the dress, which wasn't in the best interest of the client. My mistake and now the owner knows it too.
A small reprieve came when the owner did agree with the classic "X" shaped bodice of the other dress. I left the two of them alone as the owner gave a strong argument for that style verses the draped bodice style of the other one. In the end, the bride saw the light.
I can't blame that mistake on being a rookie. I knew better. Being an RN and a mother for 20 years, I've gotten good at advocating for what is best for the well-being of the individual. That is true even when what the person or child may want is not what they need. It's my job to step up and help them to see this reasoning.
I weakly did my job with this bride, but the owner stepped in and made the case, and the bride left happy.
Nonetheless, what I didn't do weakly was go into an appointment with a bad attitude. And it seemed to be the case with the other appointments that came my way. I didn't get annoyed. I truly enjoyed hearing brides explain their visions and tried to help fulfill them, bringing in the help of the other associates when I couldn't see where to go next.
My dread for interaction with others continues to wane and it shows by brides returning for second appointments, asking for me. I've even sold a few dresses, without even making that my goal. I don't work on commission, so it doesn't matter who gets credit for the sale any way. I'm just thrilled that I am helping the owners build their business.
And I think they're just happy that I'm back in the saddle again.
As much as I loathe the church and school involved in our own Sandusky nightmare, I must state that (as far as our case was concerned) no criminal acts occurred on church or school property. That fact must be understood.
My vile contempt for those two institutions has to do with what they did once they knew there was a predator on their campus. Let this be a warning to us all, if we want to be counted as decent human beings in a civil society...it's one thing if you do not know that something is happening. It's a whole other ball game if you know something and then choose to do nothing about it.
It's what you do once you know that counts. For our civil society to remain civil, we all must be held personally responsible for our actions. And there must be swift accountability and justice when our actions affect the most vulnerable of our citizens...our children.
Edmund Burke said it so powerfully: "all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." I guess the administrators at Penn State and those in our situation didn't understand the heart of the statement. Or just didn't care. Whatever the case, they made themselves perfect examples of it's truth.
Unlike any of the above mentioned people, I know that I can go to bed at night with peace in my heart, knowing that I did all that I could--once I knew what was going on--and my children know it. If I live to be 84 and am diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, I will not be saying "I wish I had done more."
Although I will always carry the guilt of having not protected my child, I will be able to die with a clear conscience regarding this matter because I did the right thing, once I knew.
The only regret I do have is not allowing the "mama bear" in me to come out sooner. I was stupid and naive to think that I was dealing with like-minded decent people, who believed that the safety of children was more important than the rights of a child-predator. My bad.
Just a word to anyone who dares to mess with me now: I'm what you get when you crossbreed a female Kodiak grizzly bear with (Hugh Jackman's) "Wolverine." I can't show you a picture of it, but I can guarantee that you will not survive an encounter with me.
I hate to say that about myself now, but being screwed over by people who call themselves "Christians" has made me so. My rose-colored glasses are off now, and you're only a christian if you can prove to me that you're a decent human being first.
Thus my beef with church...not so much with God anymore, but rather with those who claim to represent him. My biggest struggle is learning not to throw out the baby with the bath water, so God has me learning that lesson in a little bridal shop in town. Little by little he's giving me small doses of true Christianity in the friendships I've made with the ladies at the shop.
Our oldest daughter actually had the job before I did. These ladies were there for her while we were going through our personal hell, and they've been there for me, patiently, as I recover.
I guess anyone who is in rehab of any kind needs a sponsor...I have three.
In attempts to move forward, I must pause and face reality for a moment. And by allowing you to see what has been my reality-my life-for the past several years, you can better understand the real me.
The best way to start is the good old "Law and Order" way and "rip" it from the headlines, mainly from the Jerry Sandusky/Penn State scandal that has been the headline of the news in Pennsylvania lately.
I'm not speaking from the prospective of a victim, but from a parent of a victim. If you just substitute the name of our daughter's predator and the name of the christian school/church for Sandusky and Penn State, you get our story, basically.
Before I turn off any Penn State fans out there, I want to speak frankly about something. In no way, do I lump all of Penn State people into this issue. In fact, I applaud not only the jury (made up of mostly Penn Staters) that convicted Sandusky, but also the students that stood in solidarity for the victims last fall. That's the true reflection of who and what is Penn State.
My issue is with those who knew and yet willing chose to do nothing to protect the well-being of innocent children. Those in authority at Penn State thought they were above the law because of a football empire that seemed, for so long, untouchable.
For that reason, a few powerful men chose not to do the right thing because of what would happen to this dynasty if word got out about what Sandusky was doing. They chose to protect themselves and a pedophile over the welfare of children. Testimony and e-mails prove it and that's what makes me want to vomit.
And this is the reason why I have been distracted lately. For the past 4 years, my family and I have been making great strides in overcoming our own "Sandusky" tragedy. Due to the immense strength and courage of our daughter and seven other girls, their monster is now in prison.
Time has gone by and we have been doing our best to move on. We've struggled with the tremendous burden of grief, but somehow, have managed to be functionally dysfunctional while we have tried to make sense of what has happened.
Then the headlines light up with the whole Sandusky thing, and there you find yourself reliving your own experience again. Your child has nightmares and overwhelming anxiety. Your own anxiety heightens because you feel helpless as you watch your child struggle with her demons, once again.
And yet, no matter how broken or shattered we should be from the immense pain that crushes us over and over again, we remain standing somehow. I think this is what is known as God's grace and we seem to be the poster family for it.
I guess that's all we can ask for right now; to continue to be as whole as possible in the life we have been given.
Well, after six weeks of recuperating from my broken leg, I have returned to the bridal shop. The ladies are glad to have me back and I am even more happy to be back with them. I've missed being with them; missed being appreciated, accepted and called friend.
I haven't really missed working with brides though, as I found myself busy helping different brides-to-be in their quest for that one special dress. I still haven't been able to regain that pep that I used to have when working with someone. I find myself once again, just going through the motions of trying to sell a dress instead of focusing on making it a memorable experience for the bride.
I am working on this issue and have made strides in exceeding in customer service since I've been back. One notable example of outstanding customer care was with a bride that I had no desire nor intention of helping at all. I didn't really care for her or her family and when I saw her name on the schedule, I even told the ladies that I would not be dealing with her, so someone else would have to do it.
Of course, nothing ever goes as planned with me, and the bride's mom spotted me and started talking to me, and the next thing you know, I'm telling the bride that she looks lovely in her dress, and her shoes are perfect, yada yada yada.
I found myself actually enjoying the conversation, catching up on family stuff with the mom. Then I willinging helped them check out so they didn't have to wait for the seamstress. I gave advice about the best time to pick up the dress before the wedding.
And to top it all off, I found myself saying words that I never ever intended to say to these people: "It was so good to see you guys today!" Then I smiled and said something equally sweet like "take care, and congratulations!"
What in the world did I just do and say?! I was pleasant and kind and acted like I cared. And honestly, it wasn't all that hard to do. I really was trying to be nice and it worked. I think knowing that my behavior was a reflection of the shop, helped keep me in line. Plus, I'm really more bark than bite, when it's all said and done.
When I relayed what had just transpired to the owners, one of them had said that "God was working on my heart." They know, as well as God, that I have allowed it to become hard over the past few years. I've not only built a wall around it, I've built a tower around it, added a castle and a moat. No one is ever going to be able to easily get to my heart again.
Although, I think being around these beautiful bridal ladies must be doing something to me. Somehow they've managed to get me to soften up a little, thaw a little, so that God's' mighty chisel can finally start to put a dent in the wall of the tower, in the castle that I have built to protect it.
Maybe one day my heart will be out on my sleeve again, rather than in a kingdom far, far, away.
"Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!" That was literally the predicament I was in three weeks ago after a dog ran full-force into my left leg, knocking me down like a bowling pin and leaving me unable to get back up.
And to top it off, I was stranded on the ground for two and a half hours until a neighbor saw me and came out to my rescue.
What started the whole ordeal was my 10 yr old yellow lab, Macguyver. He was sniffing around in the field with his canine friend, Koho, when he spotted the vultures. There were about 30 of them, flying low, circling slowly above the corner of the field.
Let me explain to you about "Guyver" (as we call him) and vultures. You could be anybody; the UPS or FedEx guy, the mailman, or any stranger for that matter and he would let you come right up to the door.
An exception has to be made for the Amish on their scooters or roller blades; he doesn't like them and will follow them out onto the road and chase them. I think he somehow knows that they are not kind to their animals, and therefore feels the need to vindicate his fellow animals.
Getting back to the vultures. Guyver will let anyone, basically, onto our property, except for vultures. He absolutely goes nuts when he sees them in the air. Now we are surrounded by farmland, so there are always vultures in the air, patrolling the fields for any good pickins'.
Guyver will bark and run all around the yard, "chasing" these birds out of our air space. He goes nuts. I guess he feels he must protect his family and property from these creatures of the air.
And that's exactly what he did out in the field 3 weeks ago. He started barking at the air, running after the vultures, who didn't really seem to care. Then Koho, who thought Guyver wanted to play, got all wound up and started to run around, and in all the excitement, barrelled right into me, head-on.
Koho, probably knocked silly by the impact of his head with my knee, immediately laid down next to me.
Guyver, the nut case, still obsessed with ridding the air of these winged pests, was oblivious to the chain reaction that he had just caused.
Consumed with excruciating pain in my left knee, I went down in the grass, eyes shut tight and breath held.
I swore a little too. I knew something was terribly wrong because I couldn't move my leg without unbearable pain. Which meant that I couldn't get up and couldn't get help. My daughter was in the house, but dead to the world, off in la la-land, and was of no use to me.
You see, the real problem, which everyone points out to me, was that I didn't have my cell phone. Yes, that would have solved my dilemma. But I'm someone who doesn't live and breathe by having my phone attached to me.
I still have a flip-phone and absolutely cringe at the thought of having to get a smart-phone or any other touch screen kind of thing. Touch screens make me think I'm ordering a sandwich at Sheetz.
Regardless of what kind of phone I like or don't like, I didn't have mine with me, and therefore, laid on the damp grass, with two dogs, for two and a half hours until I was saved by my neighbor lady.
I tried to crab-walk, drag my left leg, crab-walk my way to the house, but only made it about forty feet down the grassy slope.
I stopped and pulled out two stakes (that were keeping newly planted trees upright)
and used my jacket to make a splint (thank God for my days at Camp Batawagama) but had to ditch the idea when I felt the pitter-patter of lightly falling drops of rain.
I remember thinking to myself, as I was unprotected from the elements now, damp and muddied by my fruitless maneuvering, "Well, this sucks." I had to abandoned my make-shift splint and put my jacket back on.
I was able to drag myself to tree cover, only after crawling through tick and poison-ivy infested grass. I thought to myself that after I was rescued, I was going to write to Animal Planet to try to get on that show "I Shouldn't Be Alive." I may not have had to cut my leg off, but I did feel like I was gonna be a gonner.
And you know the whole time, being with a lab whose breed is known for service, I found myself thinking where was Lassie when you needed her?
All I got were face sniffs and licks from two dogs who, occasionally felt the need to check on me. They would lay down next to me off and on, before getting back up to sniff the ground, pee, and eat grass.
The one good thing about me moving to cover, was that the dogs followed, then went ahead of me. In doing so, they were spotted by my neighbor, who was looking out her window. She thought something might be up and was able to catch sight of me on the ground. She came out to see if I needed help and I was saved!
And that's when the infamous words "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" came out of my mouth. I knew she wouldn't have been able to help me get to the house, so I had her call 911. I used her portable phone to call my husband.
Knowing that crazy stuff like this always happens to me, to cause him more headaches, I just came out and told him that I was going to be going by ambulance to the ER.
The phone cut out before I could explain what all had happened, and within about 5 minutes, old Cliffy g was there, shaking his head at me. His boss followed behind him, to catch a glimpse of the freak show.
Good thing they came, because it took them, the neighbor lady, her daughter, and the two paramedics to push the stretcher up the wet, slick grassy slope to the ambulance.
The whole time this was going on, Guyver kept trying to jump on the stretcher with me. He even tried to get into the ambulance, bless his heart. He's my buddy, and I could never be mad at him for causing all this ruckus in the first place.
It turns out that my husband was home, putzin' around, at the time of my incident. He told the ladies at the bridal shop that he actually saw me on the ground, but thought that I was picking flowers. How perceptive.
Any way, I didn't have my cell phone, so it was all my fault, and let this be a lesson to us all.
During my trip to the ER and after x-rays of my leg, it was determined that I had a probable fracture of the bone directly below my knee. Apparently this is not an uncommon injury that is seen in the ER. I was given a knee immobilizer, a prescription for Vicodin and was instructed to see an orthopedist for further treatment.
The following day I saw a surgeon who called my tib/fib fracture a "crack" and told me that no surgery was required. Then, after being wowed by all the swelling of my knee and thigh, he stuck a syringe with a very big needle into the side of my lower thigh and drained 100cc of blood out of it.
It was not the most pleasant experience of my life, but my knee sure felt better. He told me I had to wear the immobilizer at all times and use crutches until he saw me again in 2 weeks. I was given the OK to walk, drive and work, with some minor limitations.
So, once home, I was a captive to the family room, living out of a little suitcase my daughter packed for me, and sleeping on the couch for the next few weeks. And of course, I was limited to sponge baths, and washing my hair in the sink.
Cliffy g did his best to keep things running normally. He's really good at housekeeping (after all, he is German,) and he took in stride the extra duties that were required of him.
The wonderful ladies at the bridal shop came to our aide and provided delicious meals for the first week. They sent flowers and cards, letting me know how much they missed me and that they were praying for me.
The kindness and caring acts of my bridal shop friends made me miss church. A church that reaches out to those in need is a church that truly understands Christ's mission and purpose. A church whose members come alongside a hurting fellow sister is a church who gets the concept of love.
The ladies at the bridal shop get it.
However, since I was shown more love, loyalty and compassion by two dogs than by those in my previous church, I won't be stepping foot inside any building of God, in the near future, though.
I'm thankful for the words of Paul, in Acts 17:24-25: "The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by hands. And he is not served by human hands, as if he needed anything, because he himself gives all men life and breath and everything else."
Those words really struck me about a year or so ago, when I was really really angry at the church. When you come out of a cult-like environment, like I did, the truth of those words was the magic key that unlocked the chains of legalism in my heart and mind.
And they got me thinking that God must be way bigger than I thought he was. And despite my feelings about church, I've haven't branded God with the same failing grade. The ladies at the shop are helping me with that.
So, as I convalesce at home, I'm grateful for the non-seriousness of my injury, for a loving family, for caring neighbors, and loving friends.
And for a loyal, loveable and silly dog, who kept the air free of vultures, who may have mistaken me for their next meal.
