A "Divergent" Book Club Meeting

This month it was my turn to host book club again, and I was so excited! We read Veronica Roth's "Divergent" as our novel, so I thought that throwing a themed party was the best idea in this case! I sent everyone an invitation in the mail ahead of time to the "Choosing Ceremony" (Book Club Meeting) at the "The Hub" (my house).  The invitation included the link to take a quiz to determine what faction you belonged in as well as a link to faction appropriate clothing ideas. I told everyone to come dressed for their faction.

Upon arrival to my house for the Choosing Ceremony, guests were greeted by this table.  I had 5 bowls with each of the 5 different substances for the factions as well as the manifestos printed out for the different options.  I got all the info off of fan sites, so I didn't do any original creating of the templates, I just printed them.  The guests dropped "blood" (red food coloring) into the bowl of their faction as the entrance of the book club meeting.  It was a lot of fun!

This is my friend Anna and I love her picture the most because it looks like real blood coming out of her hand! You can also see the Erudite water turned red in this picture from MY blood. Of course I was wearing blue...I'm a nerd!

What is a book club without food, though right? So I used Google as well as ideas from mine and my own friend's minds to come up with some food options for each faction.  Some of the food choices didn't make any sense unless you has read the entire trilogy, but luckily, I had.

Our food table started out with Amity.  I provided some orchard fruit as well as the peace bread mentioned in the second book that keeps all Amity members feeling happy.  We joked that it must meed it was laced with marijuana! BUT don't worry, mine was just laced with bananas. I served the amity food on the faction color of red.

Next was the Erudite food, which I served on the faction color of blue.  I served brain food a/k/a "Smart Food" white cheddar popcorn in blue cups.  I also set up a make your own fizzy drink option.  The Erudite drink soda, which to the other factions is overly sweet and weird tasting because of the carbonation, but I thought Italian sodas would be fun.  I just dropped blue food coloring into the soda water.

Next up? Candor! I served this on the faction color of white and because Candor always tell the truth and see things as black and white, I served Black and White chips and dip.  You also learn in the later novels that the Candor love ice cream, so I served white vanilla ice cream with black truth serum (chocolate syrup) because every initiate has to take the truth serum and be questioned while under the influence to be welcomed into the faction.

For my Abnegation section of the table, I served cheese and crackers and chicken on grey.  I got both of these ideas from things I read in the book about what Tris's family ate before she chose Dauntless. I also served little bottles of water that had a label on them that read "Abnegation's Selfless Sips."

When Tris sits to eat her first meal as a Dauntless initiate, she is surprised to see a hamburger as she has never eaten one before.  So I served Dauntless Hamburgers with cheese and bacon on the faction color of black.  Throughout all three novels, references are made to the Dauntless Chocolate Cake, so of course I HAD to serve that as well!

And of course, I couldn't forget the Factionless! I bagged dry fruit and threw it haphazardly at the table labeled "Factionles Grub" as well as provided a jar of peanut butter.  Funny enough, no one wanted to to spoon any out and pass it along to the next person in the circle like they do in the book.

Really, it was quite the spread!!!

I had a lot of fun putting the party together. I couldn't have done it without my husband, though, who is always such a good sport and willing to help me achieve these crazy ideas of mine. We had book club outside, around the fire pit, talking about a post-apocalyptic society. It was fitting. It was perfect.

I'll tell you what, though, I decided. I wouldn't last. I'd die in an instant.

How Much Time, Is Enough Time?

Photo Courtesy of Douglas Hammond

As we gathered in the Big Horn Mountains for the umpteenth time over the 4^th of July for our annual Shoopman Family Camp, I asked myself this question over and over and over again.  Why does it still hurt so much? Is it too soon? Would emotions still be running high? Will this even be enjoyable? With my firm belief in life after death, shouldn’t the pain have passed by now?

How much time is enough time?

My conclusion is one of hope. There is no such thing as enough time to “get over” the loss of a loved one to death because we aren’t meant to get over it. We are meant to look forward to a time we are reunited with them again, and that is far different than getting over it.

I would be lying if I said it wasn’t different, because it was.

I would be lying if I said people laughed just as hard, because they didn’t.

I would be lying if I said the pain wasn’t still really raw, because it really, really was.

But we went.  We felt cool mountain air cut through sleeping bags in the early dawn of the day.  We gathered for meals and games and competitions, and in the moments we immersed ourselves in one another, we laughed until we cried. We loved. We remembered. We honored.

We fished.

We hiked.

We saw moose. And birds. And bugs. And flowers. And endless evidence of the circle of life.

We all spent a little bit more time alone.  I can’t tell you how many family members I watched taking a walk on their own, turning their face towards the sky, letting the sun warm them, and I knew – I knew they were feeling them, they were letting their love surround them , they were reaching for their memories.

I clung to younger kids, remembering how much joy they found in children. I built forts. I rode 4-wheelers and Razors and hiked and played.  I listened to excited screams of “Auntie Ayz, come look!” and reveled in the sleepy, whispered words of, “You are my favorite.”

I lived a legacy. I remembered the love I have for them, and felt their love back tenfold more surrounded by those mountains than any other place I have been since they left.

And I looked to the night sky. And I saw two pairs of eyes in the stars. And I felt their approval. And I felt their love.

“Well done.”

Today My Hero Traded A Cowboy Hat For A Halo To Be With His Bride

1:11 a.m.  A call from home at 1:11 am could only mean one thing.  Grandpa had decided to join his sweetheart in the next life, leaving broken hearted loved ones in this life. 

As my Daddy broke the news to me about his own Daddy, it didn't feel real. It couldn't be this soon.  It wasn't supposed to happen like this.  The flowers on my table – sent as symbols of sympathy for losing Grandma – were still blooming on my kitchen table.  I sat there in the dark of the night, thinking that: the flowers haven’t even died yet, how has he gone already?  Through tears I told my Dad I loved him and hung up the phone.

The kind of grief I felt in that moment was suffocating and all encompassing.  It was different, this was it, and the last of my grandparents was now gone when just 4 days ago I sat holding his hand, laughing with him, learning from him.  It didn't feel real.  My heart, already battered and bruised, opened with fresh, gaping wounds. It wasn't just pain for my loss, but for my father’s, for my cousin’s, for my sibling’s…for all of us who are part of a posterity he created.

After an hour of being awake, I knelt in prayer by my bedside. In that moment, I felt peace in my heart knowing that he was with his bride.  He always called her that, “my bride.”  It was always the sweetest thing to hear out of his mouth. It was not joyous, I was not happy he was gone, but I felt some peace about it.  And I finally fell back asleep. 

I woke up again around 6 and retreated to the trusty old shower for more tears.  I have always allowed myself that much in moments of darkness in life.  I can fall apart for exactly as long as it takes the hot water to run dry, and then it is time to pick myself up and take on the day.  But today, that wasn’t coming easily. I wanted to stay in bed. I wanted to shut the world away.

My Mom took a page out of LeRoy Shoopman’s book and showed up at my house and forced me to take on the day.  That’s what he would have done.  He never let his days pass by idly.  There is always something to be done, always hope, always time to turn your day around.  So we went to breakfast and ran the dogs in the mountain.  It was perfect.  My Grandpa loved being outside, so an outdoor setting as I struggled to come to terms with what had happened was as close to him as I could have felt.

Six days ago I stood in my Dad’s driveway and told him and my sisters that I couldn't handle Grandpa going too soon.  I told them he better be tough.  I didn't want any tragic love stories here, damn it I am selfish and I wanted him to stay awhile!

But it wasn't in the cards. 

My sister told me today that when I said I couldn't handle this a few days ago, I might have been right if I were alone. “But you aren't alone sis,” she said, “I love you and my thoughts, my heart, and my prayers are with you.”  She is right. I am not alone.  I am surrounded by people who love me. Who lift me up.  Who lend up their strength when I can’t derive any of my own.

So, with a heavy heart, I have to accept that this Cowboy traded in his hat for a halo, to be with the woman he stood by and loved eternally in this world for over 67 years.  What a blessing he was to so many people.  Never a picture of perfection (none of us are), but always a perfect example of striving to be.

He was a soft spoken man.  A marine in World War II who stormed 7 beaches while fighting in the Pacific along with countless other battles for our freedom, yet the most humble of men who rarely spoke of the war and never bragged of his patriotism, keeping the fact that he won many medals and achieved many honors to himself, so much so that even his own family was in shock to learn about them in the last few years.  A China Marine with more dignity than anyone I’ve ever met. Who instilled that gratitude for freedom, that dedication to God and Country, that American pride he defended, into all of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. A true hero in every aspect of the word.

He survived 7 heart attacks, and in doing so kept the promise he’d made to his bride that he would never leave her side.  He loved nothing more than a team of burros pulling a covered wagon.  When I walked into their home after school or for water breaks from hot, dusty, summer days, he always sang as I walked in, “Here she comes, Miss America!”  He showed me small pieces of his younger self in these last closing years of his life.  He told me about how he hot-rodded a Marine issued Jeep on the top of the Great Wall of China. He talked about his first vehicle and "sparking" for the ladies.

Above all though, he loved his wife.  That’s how he taught us all how to live: how to be a good parent, how to be a good grandparent, how to be a good friend – it all stemmed from the lessons we learned about how to love your spouse, to be committed to them above all else, and to thrive in life by following the words in the Good Book to the best of our capabilities. I heard him pray so many times I couldn’t count them, and I will hold in my heart the sound of him reciting the Lord’s name, the way the cadence of his voice always expressed his humility in his Savior, the awe and love to whom we were praying, the way his prayers always possessed more statements of gratitude than requests.

I wrote something once that I revisted today and remembered the commitment I made to him in the moment I was writing it. I will reiterate it today.

The thought of losing him in this life devastates me, and whenever the day does come that he slips to the next chapter, I will be the biggest ball of tears around. However, he has taught, he has loved, he has cherished, he has procured and cultivated and shaped his family into one of the strongest inheritances I have ever known.

So while I beg you to wait Grandpa, wait to see my first born, wait to see me publish a book, wait to see your first great-great grandchild, I know that those wishes are mine, not yours. Those wishes are selfish, not selfless. So because you taught me with all your might to be selfless, I will instead tell you that I STILL beg you stay, but in the same breath, I reassure you that if you must leave, do it knowing that you harvested a great many, wonderful people to carry on your heritage.

We’ve got this.

We will cry and our hearts will hurt and we will seek comfort in the knowledge and belief that families are forever. We will suffer immense loss. But because of you and what you have taught us…

We’ve got this.

“God be with you till we meet again;

Keep love’s banner floating o’er you;

Smite death’s threatening wave before you.

God be with you till we meet again.”

  

Heaven Gained an Angel Today

As I have watched my family slowly post the sad news of my Grandmother’s passing on Facebook throughout the day, I have taken time to quietly process this news.  When my father called in the early hours of the morning and I heard his ringtone cut through the dark room long before the sun did, I knew in my heart what news he was calling to tell me. He held it together like a champ. He reminded me he loved me.  He told me in his sturdy and unwavering voice that her pain and suffering was over. I cried. He told me it was okay. Then he gritted his teeth together, hung up the phone, and continued calling family members with the weight of remaining a pillar of strength in this difficult time weighing on his shoulders. 

I hung up and collapsed into my husband’s chest, sobbing and trying to process it all.  When the tears stopped flowing, I checked my phone again and saw that I had a text message with the same news from my Aunt, another woman I am lucky enough to count as one of my many “mothers”.  I called my Mom, who despite no longer belonging to the Shoopman family, loves Billie just as much as the next person. We quietly spoke in the early morning hours while my husband’s warm hand rested on my lower back.  I don’t remember what she said other than that she loved me, that no one makes it out of this life alive, and reminded me of my firm faith that Grandma was in a restored body with a restored mind now. 

I hung up the phone and checked Facebook. I saw that there were already postings about it out there from other family members, so I sent a few text messages to my closest family and friends to let them know the news, I didn’t want Facebook to be how they learned about it.  Then, I walked into my bathroom, sat on my toilet, and sobbed some more.  And all this before 6:30 a.m.   During this time my oldest sister said one of the most valuable things to me when she said, “It’s just this Ayz, your brain knows that Families are Forever, but your heart will continue to hurt.” And that’s ok; I am letting my heart hurt.  My youngest brother offered his shoulder to lean on, even though this grandmother is not one we shared.  I was reminded that Grandma’s last gift to us will be that we are all together again, even if it is for such a sad reason, and she will love it. She will love seeing her family gathered together, and she will smile down on it. 

I pulled it together long enough to call my boss and sent a few emails letting people know I wouldn’t be in until noon. I got a call from the same Aunt I mentioned above to check on me, she knew I would be taking the news hard, maybe harder than the others, maybe not, but either way she wanted to check.  We cried together. We remembered that Families are Forever, and after I hung up I took more deep breaths and tried to start my day again. Another Aunt and I exchanged text messages, both of us too upset to speak. We smiled thinking about how none of us would be able to sing a single song at the services without crying.

I sobbed in the shower.  I sat on the floor in my shower stall and let the water run cold. Then, with a soaking wet body and sopping hair, I crawled back into bed.  8:00 a.m.  I exchanged some messages between a cousin who shared my special relationship with Grandma, no phone calls, because we both knew all we would do is listen to each other cry.  By 9 I was drying my hair. Going through the motions. Getting dressed. And at 10:30 I thought I was ready to face the day.  Until I looked in the mirror.  I looked like a million bees had stung my eye lids. But there was no fixing that.

I thought of Grandma. I thought of how funny she was.  I remembered the first dirty joke she ever told me. She smiled at me and asked me, “What are the three main parts of a wood stove?” I replied, “I don’t know Grandma, what are they?” With a mischievous light in her eye she said, “The lifter, leg, and poker.” I remembered the first thing she taught me to cook, to bake.  I remember how STRONG she was.  I borrowed strength from everyone who offered it.  Some from my Dad, some from my Aunts, some from my husband, a chunk from my Mom, a little from my baby brother, a tidbit from a prayer, and the remaining strength I needed I gathered from her memory.  And I started my day. I worked. I went to class. I completed assignments, I completed work. With an angel on my shoulder, because my own mortal strength was not enough to do it.

I wanted to share a story that would wrap up everything she was, but it is impossible.  She was so much more than a small story. I knew her best at night though, as everyone else faded into sleep and the house got quiet and dark. No matter how late at night it was, if I was talking, Grandma was listening.  She was never too tired for me, and even as she aged, she treasured those late night conversations.  We were the most naked with one another in those moments, saw the deepest parts of each other, loved each other fiercely.  I wrote once that I love to visit. The kind of visit where we pull up a chair and really listen to one another, where hours pass us by but we are too busy getting to know each other in the nooks and crannies of our souls that we don’t notice the fading the light, and that kind of visiting I learned from my Grandma.  How to listen, to really listen, to respond, and to love – it runs through my blood.

Everyone will heal differently. Everyone will process this differently.  Some will offer the gift of music. Someone will write her a poem.  Some will honor her through singing, others through instruments, others through work, some from serving others, but what I have to offer is the gift of words.  This pain is too fresh to write about, to do her justice, but if you have read this blog before, you know I have written tributes to her in the past.  They remain here, and in my journal, and sometime in the future, when the pain isn't so fresh and I don’t feel like there is a gaping wound exposing my heart, I will write more.  For now, I am going to borrow the words of President Dieter F. Uchtdorf:

“In light of what we know about our eternal destiny, is it any wonder that whenever we face the bitter endings of life, they seem unacceptable to us? There seems to be something inside of us that resists endings.  Why is this? Because we are made of the stuff of eternity...Endings are not our destiny...endings here in mortality are not endings at all. They are merely interruptions—temporary pauses that one day will seem small compared to the eternal joy awaiting the faithful... there are no true endings, only everlasting beginnings."

So I will process this very, very painful interruption, this bitter ending for THIS life, and I will search for peace knowing that she is waiting for me, for all of us, in a better place.

God be with you until we meet again, Grandma, I love so very much…goodnight John Boy.