Tag Archives: Life

Choosing to Live

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Mourning Mom, grieving with Dad,
responsible for another person’s
health and finances and life,
and a target for gossip and fabrication
by a pillar of my community –
I am battle-weary and sick –
at maybe the lowest point in my life.
And I’m thinking that maybe
I could just slide down deep into
sickness, slip into sleep forever, fade
out and die, and that wouldn’t be so bad.

And from some somewhere there comes
a moment of clarity – a question
at the crossroads: You can consent
to death, or decide to live.
It’s your choice.
Life won’t always be fun and easy.
Choosing life will mean complications,
responsibilities, and battles. It will mean
a commitment. It will take some courage.
That path is not going to be all rainbows
and butterflies and starry nights.

And I nod my head. I understand
what I’m taking on if I choose life.
I will encounter mean people. I will
have to balance checking accounts. I will
have to deal with grief and mourning
and loss and heartache and pain and lies
and disappointment and failure. But there are
people depending on me to choose life.
I am needed here. And there are people
that I need, too. And people here I love.
And sometimes there will be rainbows. And
butterflies. And starry nights.

And so I choose life.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

A Couple More Moz Poems

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Found a couple more poems Moz poems that I’d like to share.

Here’s one she wrote for my dad on their 27th anniversary:
Happy anniversary, Dee, my pet –
27 years and we aren’t through, yet.

We’ve shared tears, triumphs, ups and downs.
Sometimes we’re heroes, sometimes clowns.

But always caring for each other
Living as one, yet trying not to smother.

Our individuality, blending instead
to make a family, a home, truly wed.

Love and kisses,
Moz, Mozzy, Colleen

And this one – from Moz and Dad’s Christmas letter, 1974:
I always bite off
more’n I can chew.
I know it sounds corny,
but, honest, it’s true.

The school here, the chuirch there,
the errands to run.
The kids’ things; they’re everywhere.
Sometimes it’s not fun.

The dogs, cats, cows, ducklings,
keep us hopping like mad.
If you don’t hop just right,
things really get bad.

Like rounding them up
in a deluge of rain,
then slipping in poopoos,
it could drive you insane.

Well, say now! It’s Christmas!
I’ll strike a good chord,
Let petty things vanish,
and put up the sword.

Things never were better,
to that I’ll avow.
Got a gall off at college
learning “why, where, and how.”

The boys are still growing
and marching in bands
They like to go skiing
at good “Crystal Land.”

Dee’s painting and painting
mixin’ the right hue.
His new maps are progressing
and his hours are too.

I’m singing at weddings
and sometimes at church.
I hope to plant dogwoods
and maybe a birch.

Dear friends, everywhere,
I’m thinking of you.
So please don’t be mad
at my letters so few.

Seasons greeting to all
and to all a Good New Year.
Love, Peace, Joy, and Power
to all of you dear.
– Colleen Molenaar

 

Moz Molenaar

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December 26, 1927-
February 21, 2017

Colleen was born the youngest of ten children to Christian and Ida (Miller) Haag on December 26, 1927 in Pasco, Washington.

She graduated from Pasco High School in 1945 and went on to attend the University of Idaho (where she ran on the track team), the College of Puget Sound (UPS), and the University of Montana, where she earned her degree in musical performance in 1951.

During the summers between college she worked in the souvenir shop at Mount Rainier National Park, where she met her husband, Dee, who was a park ranger there.

Colleen “Mozzy” Molenaar was a treasure. She was fun and feisty and had a wonderful self-deprecating sense of humor. She taught her children that God is Love, and taught them to look for the good in people.

She was a gifted singer and had once been accepted into the Portland Opera Company, but decided, instead, to marry Dee and move to Colorado to begin a life with him.

In her younger years she spent much of her time in the mountains with Dee, hiking and climbing (she climbed to the summit of Mount Rainier twice!).

In her later years she enjoyed crossword puzzles, reading (her tastes were eclectic), caring for her animals (goats, llamas, and cats) at the family home in Port Orchard, keeping her bird feeders filled, watching Carl Sagan talk about the cosmos, and spending time with her children and grand-children.

In 2016 she and Dee moved to LaConner to be closer to her daughter.

She passed away peacefully in her sleep at her daughter’s home in Bow, Washington, on February 21, 2017.

Mozzy is survived by her husband of 62 years, Dee; her daughter, Karen, and son-in-law, Scott Terrell; her son, Peter, and his partner Sheila (Lindula) of Hoodsport; son David Molenaar of Olympia; and grandchildren, Andrew and Alexander Terrell (both of Bellingham), Claire Molenaar (Denver, Colorado) and Casey Molenaar (Olympia), and numerous nephews, nieces, and friends.

She was preceded in death by her parents and nine siblings.

Colleen’s family is grateful for the wonderful people at hospice who helped her through this transition. Special thanks to hospice nurse, Renee.

Thoughts from Moz’s grandson, Casey: I have never seen such an amazing soul, one that the world has had the great misfortune to lose today. No matter the situation, she ONLY gave out love and nothing but and she has been a huge part of my understanding of love and has instilled its importance in me. I believe that the thing I heard from her the most was “God is love” — and that statement, in the entirety of its meaning, looms inside me and will continue to for the rest of my life.

I am thankful to have had such a giving and goofy woman in my life…There aren’t enough words to describe this wonderful lady. I will miss her very much, as will I’m sure every single person who has had the pleasure of meeting her. And truth be told, as I reflect, I am happy; I was fortunate enough to know her and call her a big part of my family.

Thank you for teaching me that love is EVERYTHING.

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Another Moment to Love

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Another moment of life –
another moment to love.

another-moment-to-love

The Perfect Time

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It’s a great time to be alive, ain’t it?
(This is the time you’ve been given to live –
if you don’t live now, when are you planning to do it?)

There’s never been a better time to love.
(This is the time you’ve been given to love –
if you don’t love now, when WILL you love?)

There’s never been a more perfect time to be you.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

perfect-time

Join in the Dance

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I was feeling a little melancholy yesterday. (There are always reasons to feel gloomy, if you look for ’em.) And then this thought came to me and helped me…

music always playing

As Long As You Can Love…

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as long as you can love

Dad Turns 98 Today!

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Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you. Be afraid of nothing. There is so little time that your youth will last – such a little time.
– Richard Halliburton

God expresses in man the infinite idea forever developing itself, broadening and rising higher and higher from a boundless basis.
– Mary Baker Eddy

Dad turns 98 today. A couple months ago he thought he’d be turning 100 today. A month ago he thought he’d be turning 97. We finally got it all sorted out when I reminded him that he was born in 1918 and that it is now 2016. I saw him do the calculations in his head. A few minutes later we were sitting at the dining room table with my mom and husband, when Dad announced, kind of shocked, “I’m going to be 98 in a month! I never thought I’d make it to 98.” Later he told me that 98 sounds a lot older than 100. Apparently he just skipped over 98 and 99 and went right from 97 to 100 when he’d been trying to figure out his age.

Think about this: When Dad was born women didn’t have the right to vote, yet. Radios, telephones, and cars had just been invented. There were no CDs, televisions, cellphones, or computers. There was no internet. There was no Google. There was no Wikipedia. To find information people often went to the library and did research in these things called books – and sometimes the research might take days or even weeks! (Today if you want to find out more about Dad, all you’ve got to do is go to his Wikipedia page – et voila! There he is!)

People also read those things called books just for fun. The book that Dad has said most influenced him was a book called The Rolling Road to Romance by an adventurer named Richard Halliburton. Halliburton exonerated his readers to “Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you. Be afraid of nothing. There is so little time that your youth will last – such a little time.”

Dad took those words to heart.

Dad was born at the end of World War I. He survived The Great Depression with his family, served in World War II, has climbed on the highest mountains on earth, went to the South Pole, and close to the North Pole, has been on six of the seven continents, has moved easily among world leaders, and traveled the world with a close group of fellow adventurers and explorers. At various times he’s worked as a photographer, cartographer, geologist, hydrologist, artist, mountain guide, ski instructor, and author. He’s moved through life with no sense of limitation about what he might accomplish or where he might go or who he might meet, and that – what I guess some might call “naïve” – sense of freedom has served him well in his life.

And today he turns 98. He’s still engaged in his life – still enjoys exploring the nooks and crannies of Life’s highways and by-ways. He continues to live “the wonderful life” that is in him.

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Dee Molenaar

 

Two Earthworms

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I came upon two earthworms on the sidewalk today –
their noses suspended in the air, frozen by the heat
of the sun – dried out and stiff
and I reached down and plucked up the first
and carried him to the dirt.
I dug a little hole for him and covered him
with earth – a grave to bring him back to life.
Gently I used my fingers as tweezers and pulled
the second worm from the sidewalk
and lifted him to the moist soil, laid him down,
and covered him with a wet leaf.
Fare thee well, my new friends –
May you revive and spend the rest of your days
happily leaving a trail of rich earth in your wake.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell, earthworm lover

“Patience is symbolized by the tireless worm, creeping over lofty summits, persevering in its intent.”
– Mary Baker Eddy

 

No Endings

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Sitting here with the calico cat on my lap – watching her ears twitch, feeling the breath going in and out of her warm body. She is 16. I’ve had her since she was a four-week old feral kitty – hissing and scratching and scared. I’ve shared almost all her life with her – from the beginning to today. She trusts me now – trusts me enough to jump into my lap and curl up there, and let herself be petted.

Now that she’s older I sometimes find myself thinking about that moment when my calico cat will no longer be with me. I think about death.

This year a lot of people I’ve known and cared for have died. November was especially challenging – a former student, a man who became my friend after he and his wife read one of my books, and a friend of mine from my walks in Bellingham all passed on.  Last week a dear woman in her 90’s with a kind heart, a stalwart faith, and a twinkle in her eyes – a woman who had been a member of our church most of her life – passed on. It’s all gotten me to thinking about the nature of death – what it is and what it isn’t.

The thought came to me the other day that death isn’t really an “event” – that there really aren’t any seams or borders or divisions separating one part of life from another – but that it’s forever flowing in an endless stream.  It’s true that I can’t see the friends that have passed on, but I can tell you there are times when I feel their love. Death can’t end the love we have for one another.

It probably seems weird to connect the insights I’ve had about death to the Superbowl – but that’s where my pointy little noggin went when I contemplated the end of the Seahawks season this morning. If only the game could have gone on a little longer, I thought, the Seahawks might still have been able to pull it off. “But it’s done. Over. Ended. It is what it is. And the magnificent catch by Kearse, the receptions by Matthews, the runs that Lynch made, the colossal efforts of Russell Wilson and his teammates – none of that matters now because they lost.”  Those were my initial thoughts. But when I stopped thinking about the Superbowl as an “Event” – when I started thinking of the game as just a step in an endless progression – a step towards progress – a character-builder – another life-lesson – my feeling about it changed.

I would like to think that all the lessons we’re learning here – the lessons about honesty, compassion, integrity, friendship, courage, perseverance, honor, selflessness, generosity, love – are lessons we can build on and carry with us as we ride the current down the stream. It doesn’t make sense to me that all of that learning can abruptly come to an end at the close of a Superbowl, or a life.

My calico cat is with me in this moment – alive and breathing – and this moment is forever.

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Karen’s calico cat

The continual contemplation of existence as material and corporeal – as beginning and ending, and with birth, decay, and dissolution as its component  stages – hides the true and spiritual Life, and causes our standard to trail in the dust.
– Mary Baker Eddy