Tag Archives: honor

Praying for Marie and Paris

November 18, 2015

When 9/11 struck the States, my stomach dropped, my heart broke, my soul gasped . . . then, my being went numb. When the Paris attacks occurred last week, it was the same feeling.

After confirming close friends were safe (sighing an ounce of relief at each text or Facebook message with “Sara, I’m ok”), I reached out to colleagues in Paris to check on their well-being. Somehow, I longed to offer support. In doing, I learned that Marie, pictured below, was a victim.

Marie Lausch

(photo courtesy of Twitter @ParisVictims)

I knew her as the charming voice on the other end of email. She was the sweet woman who always included a “have a great weekend,” “kind regards” or “thank you very much” and was never inconvenienced by going above and beyond in service to others. I would have known her for two months today, as we were e-introduced on September 18 for a series of PR projects for Coty. She was just beginning a promising year with the team.

She exudes vitality and beauty here, at age 23, with Mathias Dymarski, age 22. They moved to Paris together from Metz in 2014. Mathias was an adventurous BMX rider. Both died during Le Bataclan attacks, taken in the prime of their lives.

I know I am not alone in this shock or the profound sadness that such an unspeakable tragedy generates. I also know that I stand with the light workers of this world, refusing to let the spark of hope be extinguished. Darkness will not prevail.

God bless those taken too soon. Lord watch over those who mourn. Jesus save those who seek to do harm.

10 Posts for 10 Years: #10

January 31, 2014

Today, only a few words are needed. Words like . . .

I miss you. I honor you. I realize you are proud of me. I will see you again. I am so lucky to know you. I respect all you gave. I could not ask for a better father. I love you. I hope to be like you.

IMG_2444

God bless and keep you.

Always your Ace,
Sara

10 Posts for 10 Years: #3

January 24, 2014

Hands clap, they hold, they pull, they reach. My father’s hands were one of his signature traits. I could rely on those hands for mechanical miracles, challenged them to creative building projects and watched them sign one of the most picturesque signatures I have ever seen.

My father’s hands . . . a larger than life, careworn pair. Calluses aplenty dotted his hands, with little grease-marred tendrils flowing from his palms up to his cuticles. Lava soap, Gojo and pumice stones all failed to work complete magical feats, yet small gaps of unreal youth wedged themselves into the mix.

The tops of his hands hand a trace, nearly imperceptible scattering of blond hair and a permanent watch imprint at the intersection of his left wrist. They found a way to peel apples in one continuous swoop—a tradition I now proudly uphold.

They moderated sibling confrontation, wielded a twisted old strip of leather, and ever-so-playfully clicked back and forth on the mouse to play Spider Solitaire. His nails were always cut painstakingly short.

When striking up a conversation or consulting with a client at his desk, he always leaned forward and crossed his arms—looping his hands over each forearm like an ancient guardian.

When sleeping in his chair in front of the TV at night, he would have them resting at first on his chest . . . and then later they would slip to the sides as he snored like a hibernating grizzly through the details of PBS, Discover or History, which I swear he absorbed in his sleep.

I will miss them walking me down the aisle someday. However, I smile at the memory of them playing banjo or cradling a rambunctious harmonica. This is for you, dad:

10 Posts for 10 Years: #2

January 23, 2014

If the eyes are windows to the soul, then my father’s eyes told epic tales.

I “focus” on the eyes now because of the pivotal importance eyes play in empathy, in hope, in knowing a person and in loving unconditionally. The eyes show purity of emotion, they reveal attention, they help us to connect and they transform experiences into memories.

Dad's EyesMy father’s eyes . . . although damaged by pressure and the bombardment of strenuous work, still gleamed when he spoke. No, they danced.

By some uncanny knowledge (or, perhaps, a kindred innocence), his eyes caught us kids in our hijinks. It’s all about the way he knew to raise a brow, sneak in a wink, pinch them shut during allergy season or roll them at one of my notoriously bad jokes.

No eyes will ever see me for exactly who/what I am or love his family just the same. His eyes were accepting, stern, playful, tired and ever watchful. They were hazel, like mine, but with different stars circling the center . . . more feisty brown flecks. The crinkly creases at the edge deepened but never aged him.

I miss how his eyes looked to me with the responsibility of being his eldest child, to me as his goofy sarcastic buddy and to me as his spiritual student.

“I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people,” Ephesians 1:18

10 Posts for 10 Years: #1

January 22, 2014

On January 31, my father will have been gone for 10 years. Gone but not absent. Gone but not forgotten. Gone but not a day goes by that I don’t miss his hands, his hugs and his humor.

I will spend the next 10 days sharing thoughts, demonstrating hope in the grief journey and celebrating a man—Michael Dean McClellan. To many “Big Mike” and to six lucky kids, dad.

There will be tears, laughs, ah ha’s, pauses and reflections. Honoring someone is never one dimensional. So, I hope to successfully reveal the dimensions that keep his memory vivid in my mind and cross over the dimensions of time.

My father was, is and will always be the best man in my life. He was a remarkable human being. Imperfect? Undeniably. Loving? Nearly to a fault. Funny? Heck yeah! Best of all, he was my friend, one of the truest and most forthright I will ever be lucky enough to know. If faced with a choice to have more time but lose the memories I have, I would decline. I wouldn’t trade a moment, a smile, a tear or a contradiction.

I look forward to telling you more tomorrow, my friends.

With hope,
Sara (Ace to him)

Honor Your Essence

December 3, 2013

If every act in your life were contingent on the reaction of someone else, would you ever be happy?

I ask this question because I realize how much impact peers, society and loved ones can have on your sense of bliss. We are connected, true. We also each have free will, independent emotions and a unique heartbeat. So, doesn’t it stand to reason that actions should be based first on what you feel true to you, and second based on the reaction or potential outcome?

When you think of your essence, the beautifully individual way that you think, feel and behave, I hope you celebrate it. For instance, you may be a serial giver. What’s that? Someone who cannot resist the opportunity to give, to share and to help. If someone doesn’t appreciate it or doesn’t reciprocate, it makes the act of giving no less meaningful.

Or, perhaps, you are an expressionist. This is someone who feels like they will burst at the seams if they don’t communicate a thought, share a compliment or ponder the creative imprint of life as we know it.

Hmmm, or maybe you are a sassy pants. This is someone who is confident, a hair feisty, passionate and quick of wit. Such a soul will thrive on exchange, boldly strive to keep people guessing and soak up every inkling of experience.

Sure, there are likely hundreds of possible “types” that could define your essence as well as overlapping combinations. I, with both huzzah and humility, own up to being all three at times. The key is to honor your essence and accept that you are exactly who you are—others may revel in it or reel from it, the point is that you cannot stop being you to fit expectations.

Now, causing harm or hurt through action or expression is not at all what I am condoning. I am simply reinforcing that you should embrace yourself fully, so that you know exactly where you stand when your hope or your heart are challenged.