Open Heart Surgery

   When I was a child my summers were defined by how often I could go swimming.  I loved to swim!   We never had a pool of our own but what we did have was a swimming hole.    Always!  There was nothing better than cooling off on a hot summer day in the freezing creek water.  Finding the right spot was a yearly ritual that always ended with a dip in the newly cleared swimming hole.  I have such fond memories of swimming, being nibbled on by curious perch, and picnicking—all wonderful remembrances except for one.…the journey there.   Before we could get to that place of sweet relief, we had to travel through the woods on a road that wasn’t really a road.  It was more like a trail, a treacherous trail.  There were spots along the way that were huge mud holes that would have me fearing that our truck, in which we were all piled, would simply sink to the roof.  There were also stretches of washed out areas that seemed like holes large enough to swallow the truck.  One such place was loving named Open Heart Surgery because that is exactly how it looked.  In my childlike mine we were traversing this dangerous trek that required me to hold my breath, pray silently, and hang on!! (That’s right, I was usually in the bed of the truck, sometimes on the tailgate and I’m not ashamed to say it!!)  Bravery was found in knowing that I could trust my dad to get us through the mud holes and washouts and never leave us stranded.  Because of my trust in him, I eagerly looked forward to what lay just on the “other side”— our much- loved swimming hole. 

   I often relish the memories that were made along the way and consider how like our faith journey were those experiences.  In this fallen world in which we live, there can be joy in the journey!  Sometimes there will be scary places and unpleasant things we must traverse.   Even so, just beyond this life…the sweet relief of Heaven awaits.  Our bravery can be found in the One who has promised that He would never leave us or forsake us.

When you go through deep waters, I will be with you.  When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown.  When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.     

Isaiah 43:2

Bread Crumbs

Bread crumbs.  I’m following bread crumbs, just like Hansel and Gretel.  The bread crumbs I’m following were previously placed on the path by me.  These are not just any crumbs…they are from the Bread of Life.  Each crumb represents a blessing, or an answered prayer, or a mountaintop experience in Christ, or a newly learned nugget of wisdom, or a moment when grace poured over me, or a time when God’s Presence was palpable, or instances when forgiveness brought relief from burdens I should have never brought into my life.  I am so thankful for these small beacons.  They light the path when I cannot see. 

Sometimes the way is well lit and following is no problem.  The path is bright and there is no doubt which way to go, which turn to make, and which answer we need.  Conversely there are other times the path is almost invisible…ALMOST.  These are the times we must navigate by faith, not by sight.  That’s where bread crumbs come in handy.  Each remembrance of God’s faithfulness illuminates the way when it seems God is silent and distant. Presently, I walk a darkened path, even so, I see through eyes of faith that compel me to move forward while considering God’s faithfulness in the past.

He Will Make A Way

I love it when scripture leaps from the page!  Several days ago, God gave John and I Isaiah 43:16-19 as our theme verses for 2016. 

                                ¹⁶ This is what the Lord says—
                                 he who made a way through the sea,
                                    a path through the mighty waters,
                                                ¹⁷ who drew out the chariots and horses,
                                    the army and reinforcements together,
                                and they lay there, never to rise again,
                                  extinguished, snuffed out like a wick:
                                                ¹⁸ “Forget the former things;
                                  do not dwell on the past.
                                                ¹⁹ See, I am doing a new thing!
                                 Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
                                I am making a way in the wilderness
                                 and streams in the wasteland.

We committed to remembering these words as we face whatever this year holds. But that was a week ago and how quickly I forgot…

Sadly, today  I find myself in what seems like an impossible situation that could very well take me off the treatment that in recent days (through testing) has shown to have decreased the high pressure in my lungs by half—a pressure my lungs have not felt in 17 years.  This issue has been one that has been mounting over the past couple of months and today served as what seems like the last nail in the coffin of this treatment. And yet, today was one of those days that God spoke directly to my heart with great clarity, “I AM.”

I spent the day, when I wasn’t on the phone with various caseworkers, insurance people and pharmacy reps,  in a place that is best described in 2 Corinthians 4:8, “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair.”  In a way, numb-- kind of incredulous, not understanding why this would be happening when the treatment was working so well...

  

And later this evening, that was the frame of mind I found myself in as I relayed what had happened to my son, Zane.  As I was texting, a song came to mind from the past and I began to sing (rather absent mindedly) the words--

               

                God will make a way

                Where there seems to be no way

                He works in ways we cannot see

                He will make a way for me

Suddenly, I began to listen to those words…where did that come from?...a song imbedded in my memory from years ago.  Gee, the writer was speaking directly to me and my situation.  Where did he get those words that were so soothing to my soul?  As I began to research the song, my breath was literally taken away…the songwriter based this song on…Isaiah 43.  The very scriptures that God had given me to lean on were reiterated in lyrics brought to mind 14 years later.  So with frame of mind in check and heart overflowing, I look forward to seeing “the way He will make”!

Things Aren't Always as They Seem

The year was 1973.  I was a new creation, having professed faith in Christ at the age of nine.  The revival at our church that began a few days after my decision set the stage for memories that will be with me for life.  Freddie Gage... Pulpit in the Shadows Ministries...straight from Houston into small town America and I was all eyes and ears as the revival began.

Sunday morning, I took my place conspicuously on the front row, directly in front of the pulpit.  I now realize this was my parents’ doing because they both sang in the choir.  From that distance, I was still able to receive an effective dose of the ‘look of death’ from the choir loft that would put an end to the inappropriate behavior in which I may have been engaged.  Not that I am confessing…I am just saying I was told to sit on the front row and there were a few times that I got the “head slightly  tilted-lips pursed-barely detectable nod –that screamed “DON’T MAKE ME COME OUT OF THIS CHOIR LOFT”.   Even so, I was there soaking up every word as a new believer. 

I was mesmerized as the evangelist began to talk about a life that was spent ministering to folks that like him had been in the shadows of society.   Stan Redding is quoted in the preface of Freddie’s 1970 book, Pulpit in the Shadows, as having said, 

“Freddie Gage is an ordained minister of the Gospel. But there his link with religious convention is severed. In the legions of the Lord, he is a rebel. In the staid hierarchy of the ministry, he is a non-conformist. In the carefully thought-out, polished oratory of the pulpit, his is the rash and dissident voice.
Before the Bar of Heaven, Freddie Gage is the “mouthpiece” for the hustler, the prostitute, the dope fiend, the hood, the killer, the alcoholic, the scuffler, the restless and the troubled. His story is – of necessity – the story of those who people the shadowy domain which society, properly or improperly, terms the “underworld,” where Freddie Gage has set up his pulpit.”

As he preached, I cannot help but believe my mouth was probably a gape.  He used the “cool” vernacular of the day and was unlike any preacher I had ever heard. 

As the invitation ended with many flooding the aisles, I stood taking it all in.  WOW!  This was like nothing I had seen. And according to Freddie, there was more in store.  It was at the end of that first service that he uttered the words that I knew would somehow change my life.  He laid out the plans for the week and talked about different people from his ministry that would be coming to our church and giving their story of redemption from a life bound by sin.  And then he said it…the highlight of the week…he would be bringing in a young man ‘with a monkey on his back.’

At first, I thought I had heard wrong.  But, as he continued to talk I realized he was talking about MY Church!  He was coming to MY Church!  This was beyond my hopes and dreams.  I had been asking Santa for a monkey for some time.  I dearly loved “Cheetah” on Tarzan and I wanted a chimp of my own! This would be my one chance to get up close and personal with a monkey and I could not contain myself! 

Throughout the week, I daydreamed of this man with a monkey.  How long had it been on his back?  Why was it there?  Why wouldn’t it get off his back?  Although I didn't understand what was so bad about having a monkey on your back, I knew I was really good with animals and I was the one person who could coax that cute, little chimpanzee right off his back and into my arms…it was going to be a great week.

And then the day came.  At the proper time, Freddie introduced a young man that made his way to the pulpit.  He began to talk about a life that had been wrecked with drugs and loss.  He talked of how through the outreach of Pulpit in Shadows, he had come to know the Lord.  I listened intently to what he had to say, all the while straining to get a glimpse of his back.  For a monkey, it sure was quiet.  And then, the young man moved to return to his seat and in full view of everyone…was his back…sans a monkey.

I was so disappointed.  All week long I had dreamed about what it would be to hear from a man ‘with a monkey on his back” and instead, we had heard from a drug addict.  Deflated on the way home, my mom explained that having a ‘monkey on your back’ actually meant you were addicted to drugs.  The man had clearly stated what torment his life had been.

I grew a little that evening.  I learned that things aren’t always what they seem and that God is even bigger than a ‘monkey on someone’s back”.  I also learned that maybe monkeys were not all they were cracked up to be… and just maybe Santa had been wise to overlook that request on my list.

The Hummingbird

The conversation had been interrupted by the shadow that intermittently passed by the transoms looking out onto the patio.  Could it have been a wasp or possibly a wayward butterfly?  My parents and I picked up the conversation where we had left it.  The last few months had been hard, a struggle – physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  And as usual, our conversation was both cathartic and just plain fun.

Spiritually, I was in a desert.  I had allowed circumstances that I had no control of to rob me of joy.  During my quiet time, I had begun to pray the first half of Psalm 51:12, “Restore to me the joy of Your salvation…”  I needed to remember the full extent of what Christ did for me.  The things going on around me had so captured my attention that I felt hidden away.  And I knew if I could be reminded again of His great love, refreshment would come.  This was the place I found myself that day.

As we continued to talk, I walked to the patio door and looked out to see a hummingbird traversing the perimeter of the patio, either unable or unwilling to fly out from under the overhang to freedom.  As I walked away from the door, it disappeared from sight.  Thinking it had finally found its way out, I turned back only to find that it had attached itself to the brick- wings outstretched- to cup the wall. 

Immediately, a rescue attempt ensued.  Broom in hand, I attempted to get the bird to attach to the straw end so that I could gently remove him before my cat did.  As the broom neared the bird, he let go and fluttered down to the window sill near where I stood.  I reached down to pick him up believing at any moment he would dart out of reach and be gone.  Instead he lay perfectly still.

It wasn’t until I picked him up that I realized he was bound, beak to tail feathers, by spider webs.  Every part of his tiny body was affected by the silken threads.  I proceeded to my sewing room to put him under the magnifying glass and light to carefully pluck off the webs with tweezers.  My mom, who just happens to be a hummingbird aficionado, took to the kitchen to make nectar for his recovery.  As I worked, he continued to lay motionless, though his eyes were bright and watching everything going on around him. 

Once the webs were gone and he was allowed to drink the nectar we set out to release him in my back yard.  I took him near a bush that was covered with blooms and carefully opened my hand.  He didn’t move.  Not knowing what to do, I brought him back inside.  It occurred to me that my hand is rather small and though I was trying not to, I was certain that my grip was too tight.  There was not enough space to keep him confined, in the event he suddenly recovered, and yet room to breathe.  It was then that I placed him in my dad’s hands. 

Once again, we took him outside and as my dad stretched out his hand, the tiny bird took flight and landed on the lowest limb of a nearby tree.  He peered at us for a few moments and then disappeared in a blur.

Soon after, my parents headed home and I was left with my thoughts of the close encounter with the hummingbird.  It was then that I heard the voice that speaks directly to my heart and understanding followed.  God used one of His tiniest creations to answer the prayer that had been on my lips that very day. 

You see, He reminded me that just as the hummingbird was bound by the webs, before I accepted Christ as my Savior, I was bound by sin.  The little bird had completely surrendered his will to mine when he fluttered to the window sill, trusting me.  Likewise, unable to save myself, only the complete surrender of my will to Jesus' was necessary to make me whole again.  What I did for the hummingbird, in plucking the bindings that had disabled him, is what Jesus did for me on the cross.  He freed me from the sin that “so easily entangles.”  And finally, just as I placed the hummingbird in my dad’s hands, true freedom came for me when Jesus placed me in the “Father’s hands”.  

 I will not soon forget that experience. Thankfully, it is not exclusively MY reminder, but a picture of a love so great that He would set aside His life as a ransom for that which was lost.

John 10:29

Hebrews 12:1

Honesty Is Always the Best Policy, Conclusion

 …Very long story short, the Circle of Concerns came to a screeching halt that day.  That was not our intent.  But, in fact, the principal had NOT been aware of the practice and was none too pleased that this teacher had chosen to keep her students indoors while the other first graders were at recess.  There were no cross words spoken that day.  But, the way the teacher carried herself and responded to her supervisor, in front of us, created, in me, a general distrust.  Throughout the next several months,   I made myself available for homeroom stuff and each time I came away with the sense that she was stuck in a job that she really did not relish. 

   Imagine my unease when one day our son came home with a permission slip for a field trip…to HOUSTON.  Unable to go as a chaperon,  I worked myself into a dither imagining my son in her care…would she allow the frustrations of any trip with children to cloud her judgment?  Would she watch after him as I would? Absolutely not!  I was deathly afraid of her watching after my child on a field trip that far from home.  The only answer was to keep him home that day.  And that’s what I did.

  The next day, I was presented with a dilemma.  Being the rule follower that I was, I knew I had to provide the school an excuse for his absence.  What would I write?  As I discussed this with my husband, I failed to notice the two big ears that were tuned in like radar to our conversation. 

My husband ever the pragmatist, said, “Just say we kept him home because we did not want him to go on the field trip.” 

I answered back, “Then his teacher will know for sure we don’t trust her.”

He said, “We don’t.”

I said, “I know, but I don’t want her to know it.  I think that I will just say we kept him home because he had a temperature.”

“So you would rather tell a lie?” he asked.

“He did have a temperature!” I shot back.  “It was 98.6”

 With a roll of his eyes, I knew he wasn’t in favor, but he left for work with no further protest.

   Excuse in hand, I dropped my son off at school and headed back home to begin my day.  Errands run, and housework begun the dilemma of what to write on his excuse was taken care of -- my mind was a million miles away.  So the phone call from the school caught me by surprise.  It was the nurse calling to say that my precious one had gotten sick to his stomach and had thrown up. Rushing to the school with concern for his well-being, the “little white lie” I had told was forgotten until I pulled open the front door.  In the foyer, I was confronted with a sight that sent cold chills down my spine. 

  I had developed a highly sensitive radar that signaled that something was about to come out of his mouth.  (Need I remind you of this boy’s proclivity to ‘big talk’?) Red lights were flashing and buzzers were going off in my head.  Quickly, I surveyed the situation and ran through the options that came to mind.    Too far away to scoop him up like a football and race for the door-- out of earshot—without looking like a complete nutcase, I soaked up the scene.  There he stood with his sweet little arms crossed standing in the midst of the principal, his reading teacher, and the school nurse.  As I drew near and attempted to speak with the ladies, he, very confidently, put his hands on his hips and quipped, “That’s what you get for lying to my teacher.” 

   Awkward.  Now how do you recover from that?  Being the super mom that I was, I very quickly took my leave from the ladies, knowing full well, they needed the opportunity to guffaw at what had just happened.  Like any loving mother, I reached out and put my arm around him and began to move him toward the front door.  What was unseen to those behind us, was the fact that I actually had him in a ‘vulcan death grip’.  Amazingly, he was rendered silent.  As the doors to the school closed behind us, I bent down and spoke gently into his ear.

  “Do you see that house there across the street?”

He nodded in the affirmative.

I whispered, “You had better be thankful that we do not live there.  As it stands, I will have time to cool off before we get home…otherwise, if we lived in that house across the street, I would blister your behind before we got in the front door.”

   It was then that I recognized the ‘death grip’ on my own heart. I was upset with my first grader for calling me out on a lie.  Even though my motive was pure, I was wrong.  Scripture says that “out the mouths of babes you have ordained praise”.  In that moment, “conviction of wrongdoing” proceeded from the mouth of my own “babe”.  

   Humiliation and conviction together are almost too much! It was enough to stop me in my tracks and prevent me from following through with my very viable threat.  We did have an earnest conversation concerning his mouth, and I reminded him, again, that he was indeed only 7 years old.  21 years later the whole incident is relayed as one of many Personal Moments of Parental Failure.  I shall never forget that day and the lesson that I learned…truly honesty is ALWAYS the best policy.

Honesty Is Always the Best Policy : Part 2

    ……and what was this teacher going to do with her first graders concerns?   After conferring with my husband, it was decided that he would make an appointment to see the teacher.  This was our first (and no, not last) foray into “childhood education concern-ville”.  I had recently read an article about schools integrating yoga into their P.E. classes and I was convinced the Circle of Concerns was a mystical first step into transcendental meditation.  (Did I mention that due to the very recent birth of Wil, my hormones were through the roof?) Needless to say, John was more than willing to get to the bottom of this, what was probably a harmless, situation, to ease my mind.

   Unfortunately, when he returned home, I could tell he had more concerns than when he left.  As it turned out, this particular teacher was keeping her class in from recess to conduct her “Circle of Concerns”—light out—candle in the middle of the circle—OF FIRST GRADERS!!  INSTEAD OF RECESS??  Evidently she was very abrupt with my husband and none too pleased that she had been questioned about it.  According to her, hers was the only first grade class that had adopted the practice.   It was something she started with the blessing of the Principal and she was kind enough to offer John the chance to take it up with her.  He was more than happy to oblige with the added caveat that when the appointment with the Principal was made, she, the teacher, would be in that meeting, as well.

   We had been so spoiled to his Kindergarten teacher.  She had been stellar and we had expected nothing less from this teacher.  No, initially, this one  had not been as personable but, neither had she been a nightmare.  As we sat across from the principal’s desk, she assured us that, although the other classes were full and we could not move him, she felt certain we could work out the issue.  My heart began to lighten as we awaited his teacher’s arrival in the meeting.  I envisioned us forging a bond that would bring us together in the common goal of educating our eldest…Until she walked in the door.

   An empty chair sat to my immediate right and it was the dirty sneaker that first caught my eye.  The dirty sneaker on her foot, that whizzed by my head.  The same dirty sneaker, connected to the leg, of which she hiked over the back of the chair next to me.  With a masterful leap frog maneuver she plopped down in the chair beside me and folded her arms across her chest, all professionalism hopping right out the window.  Two things crossed my mind: #1 This is not good.  #2 This is really not good...(to be continued)