Facebook Profile Picture

Last Sunday our pastor asked this question--

If you had to replace your Facebook profile picture with a word—one word, what would that word be?

A word did pop immediately into my mind. However, the next moment my mind began to wander. I didn't hear much of the rest of the sermon. I pondered his question...I still am.

Why did I pick that picture for my profile picture?

It's a picture of my husband and myself. We're in NYC. We were there on vacation for a few days.

But why that particular picture? Is that how I think of myself? Half of a whole? Why isn't the photo just of me? I have changed it a few times. However, 90% of the time the picture has been of the 2 of us. It's perplexing.

Am I afraid of being alone, is that why I posted a picture of the 2 of us? Not quite whole without him?

Is that how I want to be perceived? Look at me I have someone. I'm not all alone.

Does a picture of just me paint the entire picture that I have of myself? Probably not. But I am married. And I love being married, and I am a mom, grandma, daughter, sister, friend, etc.

And he is the other half of me. For the most part, I think it is how I want to be perceived.

One word—OK, daughter, sister, wife, mother, grandmother, friend, neighbor—or are those just the masks or hats that I wear? I think there is more to me than that. Sure those are definitions, but maybe just of the outside.

But, what is the true definition of the inside of me?

I'm going to stick with my original word. It encompasses not only the outside but my insides as well, all my masks, hats, and definitions. The true sum total of my being. It's the reason I'm here and the reason I strive to live—fully.

Gandhi said--I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.

Christian. A follower of Christ. In the purest sense of the word. Nothing added, nothing taken away.

Just Him. And me. Inside and out—it will always be all about Him. That's my word. Call me anything else, call me everything else— in the end it still boils down to one word.

Christian.

He is Number 4

One week ago I became a grandmother for the 4^th time. He came into the world weighing 7 lbs, 9.5 ozs. He looks like his mommy but has his daddy's feet. Cute as a button and so tiny. I just met him and yet the love I feel seems like it's always been there—just waiting for him to be born. He's the baby of my baby. My youngest son's first born.

Grandchild number 1 came a little over 9 years ago. I couldn't wait to see him, we had to fly across the nation—he was so far away. From the minute I held him in my arms, I loved him. In my heart, he was mine. My very first grandchild, the son of my daughter. It felt to me as though I had given birth again, only to ask my daughter to raise him for me. It was a strange new emotion. I knew intellectually he was hers and yet at the same time he was part mine. I was the grand mother—not the mother. And when I held him, he fit. He was made to be rocked by me, his grandma. And so I did. I rocked him and sang to him and prayed for him and told him how much I loved him. He was my grand baby. He will always be my first--we were meant to be, a perfect fit. Our relationship is special.

Two little granddaughters came afterward, one for my daughter and then one for my middle son. Two adorable little girls, they are 5 and 2 now. They are a little more independent, they are future women. I can already see the progression of their little personalities, I know they will be strong. Being female-- well, we have an instant connection. I know what little girls like to do, I know how they think. I used to be one and I also gave birth to one. I can just imagine our future, we are going to have a blast! I can see it now—lots of girly stuff, late night giggles and talks about boys.

My paternal grandmother died 2 days before my middle son's wedding. No one told me. They didn't want to ruin that special day. It was the right decision—and yet still heartbreaking for me. I loved her dearly. After my parents, I loved her most. I spent my summers at her house and later for a time she even lived with us. We shared a room. I remember laying in my little twin bed telling her my secrets, my dreams, about school and boys. There was never any criticism, only deep thoughtful listening. I miss her. Our relationship was special.

Number 5 is due in June. He'll be the son of my middle son. The child most like me in personality. I can't wait to hold him, rock him, pray for him, sing to him.

That's what I did for my children. Mostly I prayed—from the moment I found out I was expecting. I laid my hands on my big round stomach and I prayed. I asked God to protect them (that was the most important of all my prayers) and I asked Him for wisdom--to help me to be kind, understanding and yet firm. And lastly I prayed that He would find the perfect mates for them, and He did. He answered my prayers.

Now I pray for my grandchildren. All the same prayers really, all the same love...

That's my new job. Oh, I still pray for my children, but now I also pray for their children.

And one day-- I hope to listen thoughtfully to their hearts.

Why La Dolce Veda?

It means the sweet life, and it's also my name. In several languages my name means life. Sometimes it's spelled differently and pronounced the same, sometimes it's pronounced differently but spelled the same. My name is pronounced with a long E--Veeda or Vita.

I grew up not liking my name. I wanted a simple more common name, something like Lisa or Kathy or Debbie—anything but Veda. It made me feel different—in oh so many ways. Not only did I have an olive complexion and darker hair than my sister and many of my cousins, I was quieter and a total bookworm. Stick me in a room with a good book and I was one happy camper. However, I wanted to be more out- going. I wanted to be normal—lighter bouncy hair, more playful, more fun--with a good solid name.

I think as I got older I grew into my name. I embraced it. I accepted it. Life. And the sweet life was to become my life. I've often wondered why it has been so sweet. Why have I been so blessed? I feel so grateful, so thankful, so...full of life. Don't misunderstand me. There have been times of heartache, frustration, second guessing, wondering why, sadness, anger, hurt, disillusionment, etc.

But, it seems I have a personality flaw...I'm an optimist. And so, eventually, everything seems sweet to me.

Starting Out

I set up this blog site a couple of years ago and am just now getting ready to start blogging.  I'm not yet sure how I'll use this form of communication. Will I post feelings, emotions, desires, what?  That remains to be seen.  I don't yet know how often I'll post.  I am just feeling the need to write something.  Your guess will be as good as mine as to what ends up on this blog.  But as they say, here goes nothing...